I went to three separate clubs in one evening, something that happened less than five times back when I was young and clubbing (to my parents’ absolute horror and disapproval. They still don’t fully approve but they are less horrified). The first club was a latin dance one, where I tried to coax all my friends to dance without having to dance myself. What a dilemma this latin club brings up for me: I love, love dancing, but I hate the idea of dancing with a stranger (I don’t want him to think I’m a total klutz, or hideously fat) or with a friend (just plain awkward to have a friend learn how many fat rolls are between your bra and your waistband). I want to dance with my significant other, dammit, who has to deal with the fact that I’m just as likely to step on his toes or break his back as a result of him trying to dip me.

We next went to the one and only club that I know of which caters to the over 25 crowd, where I was actually picked up by a guy. What is funny is that the moment I saw this dance floor-hogging gentleman, I had a flash back to my earlier clubbing days when I used to see this same guy take over the dance floor: blink and he’s gone from one side to the other. His dancing style is very energetic, with much arm waving/flapping and choppy movements. I saw him and groaned to two of my companions and explained why he got on my nerves. I then went to buy a drink and who should engage me in conversation but this guy. He had had a drink or twoelve and insisted on calling me Juroke (I guess ‘m’ and ‘r’ sound similar when one is intoxicated because the only other time I’ve been called Juroke-and not in jest either, Ves-is by a drunken neighbour who crashed my highschool graduation party). He offered to buy me a drink, I declined, then he told me to come up to him at the end of the night and if he didn’t remember my name, he’d buy me a drink and vice versa.

The last club was one that caters to the 19+ crowd. Boy did this crowd make me feel old! One thing I noticed that differed between the clubs is the willingness of the patrons to engage in full out necking and/or bumping and grinding on the dance floor: the older folk tend to leave the club to get their extra curricular activities on (I guess), while their younger counterparts have to do what they have to do, now, since mom and dad will probably not let them bring a stranger home! And a staple in 19+ clubs seems to be the late 30/early 40s gentleman who seems to have come alone for the express purpose of ogling women he is old enough to father.

After bussing home most of the way (I ended up sitting beside my erstwhile suitor from the club) and refusing an offer from him to walk with him home (I did appear to be going his way, instead I was going to the coffee shop so I declined), a taxi dropped me off at home just before 4am and I sipped some hot chocolate while I browsed the web until my eyes drooped shut. I managed to crawl into my chilly bed and sleep for a good many hours.

Saturdays bring out the lazy in me: all I did on Saturday besides laundry was pack for my upcoming (today) work trip and run two errands that I could have run in one.

I had been invited to three events, decided only two would be feasible, and in the end decided against both. I’ve been going out far too much in the last week.

I’ll be away for work for a few days. I expect it’ll feel like a holiday since my schedule is pleasantly light.

Filed under: Mundane by jummy