Dope dance floor jams. Shooter drinks made of sugar, jello and vodka.
These are the things I despise...but can't get away from.
It seems that our culture has an obsession with dance clubs. Tonight,
I went a little buck wild with a few friends. After starting a very
laidback night with a few creemores, my friend Taylor and I had
a nice feel and motion to the evening. The groove seemed to be set.
Darcy McGees on Sparks was a perfect old spot to hear a few singer/
songwriters.
Two pitchers in, all hell broke loose.
Landon showed up with Seb and they decided that we needed to hit
a dance club - and HARD. Fuck. Taylor and I grudgingly but interested
went along for the ride. Zaphods.
We walked into the usual musty fare of Zaphods and the club was
boomin'. In a strange turn of events, though, everyone and everything
inside was decked out in Halloween garb. There were cobwebs strewn
about - dracula types skulking around - ladies dressed as...well...
sluts - and jager bombs being inhaled.
I don't like it - but I sure do study it. The culture of dance clubs is
a serious hobby course of mine.
It would be moot to sum up everything from the night but just know
that the following things happened:
-everyone made it home safe
-Landon danced like a tribesmen yearning for rain
-Taylor got a phone number given to him
-Taylor passed out in the cab and cranked his head against the window
-Taylor and I had a conversation about physicality and relationships
betwixt intermittent pass-outs by both of us
The next morning, I walked out the living room of the place I
crashed at, only to find a nappy-headed Taylor eating from a box
of pizza that I barely remember ordering, shaking his head and
saying 'What the fuck happened last night?'
As awful as those spaces are, there is always bound to be a story and
a bit of a random theme. I think I'm going to write a book called
'Dance Clubs; Sometimes, You Just Have To Do It.'
