My outfit was chosen for me the night before, so attire was not a brain cramp for me.
My Fairy God brother who has amazing fashion sense was able to bibbidi bobbidi booped me into looking presentable. The only thing that really wracked my brain were these stupid shoes…
My first pair of heels…. yes I said first again….
I did my best to walk more like someone my age, who knows their way around every wedge, heel, and bootie known to man, and less like a toddler who tries on her moms shoes for dress up.
We arrive at the door where there are red velvet ropes and three to four white bouncers who all speak with a Russian accent.
He tells us we have to have let’s call him “Ken” to come to the door.
After waiting about 5 minutes and listening to the bouncer tell a group of 3 girls that the reason why there not letting just anyone in is because there were girls who got blasted and ran from the cops etc. after batting there eyelashes and promising not to drink he let them in.
By then the rest of our party arrived and Ken comes upstairs to let the nice men know that we’re with him.
And like magic the ropes are removed and were in….
Score one for plain Jane over here.
I finally put my glasses back on, and of course the last thing I want to experience, long wooden wide stairs. They reminded me of any teenage come of age comedy where the nerd walks down the stairs and slowly you realize she’s beautiful and everything you wanted.
But walking down those stairs wasn’t as fabulous for me.
After finally making my way down these steps I’m greeted by amazing décor, but I’m sure that’s not what you want to hear about so lets get to the good stuff. So what’s it like inside?
No one really dances until the liquor kicks in so for the first hour or so , you kind of hug the wall.. or in this sense your table or reserved area…
When the party finally does get started you can find…
You’ll find a “hype man” or one random dude by the DJ booth next to the DJ that is there the whole night, maybe for moral support.
A group of femme fatales who are usually just their to dance with each other, usually in pairs of four to five, weather or not you break the magic circle is purely up to them and them alone.
A group of either sex which I call grinders, grinding up against each other not really caring about the tempo or rhythm.
A usual jock or shall we say gentlemen surrounded by groupies or a group of fabulous females who jump around and get down literally.
Mr. popularity that has a great looking girl on each arm because you have two arms so why not two beautiful girls. But don’t be fooled, Mr. Popularity and his trophy girls are only usually their for about an hour or so before gathering up their very expensive fur coats and leaving.
And last but not least you have your bottle girls, which would be like cheerleaders but better… Beautiful and edgy in their black little lingerie that honestly looks like dress slips (hey if I were fit enough to rock it I would) accessorized with black thigh highs and tattooed sleeves.
It was a bit to me like an updated version of going to a club when you’re in high school except better attire, you’re actually aloud and encouraged to drink (open bar and bottle service), and if you wait long enough they actually might play some of the songs you jammed out to back then. “Engine engine number 9 anyone?”
Over all, pretty awesome night and I lasted a whole two hours dancing in those heals and this new girl didn’t face plant into the floor, get obnoxiously drunk, or lose a cell phone.
I’ll be sure to bewilder you when ever my next step out of my comfort zone aka my existence here on planet normal takes place.
Reporting from the other side of the train tracks,