I went to the club on Friday or maybe it was Saturday. I don’t make it a habit to remember anything besides my social security number and even that’s become a little blurry these days (last four digits hmmmm). I don’t club anymore, I have no reason to prowl, but when I get there I always have a good time looking at chicks in dental floss dance to a song I probably hated on before I heard it through Booming speakers.
It’s funny as shit being at the club when you’re not patrolling for coochie, you may think it’s the equivalent of a kid with no arms watching the rest of his non-deformed buddies play catch, but it’s not that bad. My mind isn’t crowded by thoughts of who’s fucking, who’s faking, and who’s not too fat to have sex with in case I don’t get the girl I really want. I’m more analytical, even while I’m totally wasted, I’m observant of what’s going on. I may be in the middle of the dance floor, but it’s like I’m a camera recording all of the madness so I can tell you, the good people who read this blog, about it.
The Old Dude: You know him well. The dude that sticks out like a soar thumb, his goatee is grey, he’s either balding or rocking a hat that hasn’t been fly since Black People were still considered colored, and he’s trying to do that same two step with every girl who pushes by him to get to the bathroom.
The Hair Stroker: This is the sexy chick who stands close to the dance floor but not too close. She wants to be seen, but she’s not going to dance or conversate. She’ll sit with her Remi hair over her shoulder, stroking it like her hands a comb. Some brave fool will muster up the courage to try and talk to her and she’ll give him that “if you don’t’ go head, nigga can’t you see I’m stroking my hair?”
Too Happy Girl: This bitch is a little too happy to be outside. She’s hugging people, speaking to you even though you haven’t said anything to her, telling her homegirls “bitch I love you Yo! No I really love you! You always been there for me!” and the key feature is that laugh… that horrible horrible laugh that you can hear above the music even if you’re next to the speaker.
Mr. I know Everybody: I hate this guy. He’s like the local non-celebrity. He walks the floors like it’s his wedding. Shaking hands, saying “I ain’t seen you in a minute” to everyone.
Facebook Shawty: I never noticed this before but everyone is on their phone. I admit I twittered twice — don’t judge me. But women were literally dancing, backing asses up while on their phones. This girl next to me was on Facebook (yeah I was being nosey) and two different dudes came trying to run game on her and I swear she did not look up at these dudes she just smiled, nodded, laughed and continued to type.
Ugly Sexy Girl: She’s the freakiest thing on the dance floor. Body like Toya, face like Tiny. But man does she get the party jumping. This chick doesn’t care about her hair or if her tits are popping out. This wildebeest is on the floor grinding, two niggas at a time, taking it! She’s ugly and proud of it!
Random Asian: You see him/her walking around like they accidentally went to the Rush Hour 4 audition, at first they looked lost but after a few shots they roll with it because we’re all Ninjas.
Random Famous Dude: This is probably an LA or NY thing, although during my classic nights in
Big Girl Who doesn’t know she’s BIG: I support big sisters doing they thing, them plump girls are pretty damn flexible. But I don’t like the 200 pounder who think she’s still at her high school weight of 122 with curves in all the right places. A medium shirt is not default for all women honey. Sometimes you got to face facts and tuck that fatty goodness into something with an X in front of it.
VIP Dude: It’s so lonely over there. You done paid 500 dollars for a bottle of vodka and a big ass flower vase full of Orange Juice and all you get to do is sit down and look at the ass jiggle five feet away from you. I’m standing next to him doing the same thing, just with 500 extra dollars to my name.
I want to Fight Dude: “Yo get off me man! I’m tired of this shit!” Don’t be afraid, this isn’t Gary Indiana no ones going to stop popping off. This dudes going to get worked up, try to take his shirt off, say “What’s good my nigga!” a few dozen times, but when the bouncer walks over he’s quiet.
The Light Comes on Girl: Parties over, Drake and Timbaland are being faded out in favor of silence as the DJ thanks you for coming out tonight. There she is, her light grey contact lens trying to adjust to the light. She’s drunk and looking to fuck, but the guy who she spent the last ten minutes talking to isn’t that cute in the light so she throws a horny girl Hail Mary, “Who trying to buy me Roscoe’s?”.
Angry lame dude: The night’s over everyone’s piling out and you hear him say, “This shit was weak, wasn’t no bitches up in there.” Sorry dude, there were “bitches up in there” even an Asian one. Maybe if you hadn’t spent the night mean mugging with your back to the wall and face in your Iphone then you would have noticed them.
Party Don’t Stop Girl: We’re at the diner across the street eating pancakes cus that’s what drunk people do. And there she is the last character of the night. Loud, rude, knocking shit over, and screaming “turn that up!” to the imaginary DJ as she dances to what she thinks is Rude Boy… the party’s over ma sit your tacky ass down.
But overall I love going to the club, not as much as when my Goal was to have sex in the bathroom, but it’s still a good time. It’s like a 3D rap video where grabbing ass is expected, the drinks are strong, and the blackberry batteries are low.