As I write this, I have a splitting headache. I'm tired, my body aches, and I'm attempting to suppress menacing waves of nausea. No, I don't have H1N1...yes I'm hung over. Last night, I tried my best to create a “smoky eye” and manipulate the frizz on top of my head to something resembling a hairstyle. I then left the warmth and safety of my apartment for the dark and rainy streets of San Francisco and paid a cab driver an exorbitant amount of money to take me all the way across town, to meet friends at “the club”.
Oh, the club. Right before I turned off the TV to watch a youtube video on how to create said “smoky eye”, I was watching the hilarious TV show How I Met Your Mother, and this particular episode was about clubs—and how much they suck. Ted (the show's protagonist) is thrilled to finally get in to an exclusive club called“OK”, only to discover that the music is too loud to have an actual conversation with anyone, the drinks are outrageously expensive, and really, it isn't that fun at all. He spends the rest of his night commiserating with the coat check girl. Exasperated, he says to her “These clubs are supposed to be fun, right? Why do I hate them so much?”. She answers, “Because all of the stuff you're supposed to like usually sucks, like these clubs. Or cruises.”
I tried to ignore the irony of seeing that episode right before I embarked on a night of dealing with self-important bouncers and overpriced drinks (seriously—how is a vodka soda $8.00? IN THIS ECONOMY!!!). The truth is, though, the coat check girl was right. Clubs are a scam. I don't fully understand how it took me 24 years to finally realize that, but I've seen the light. And trust me—I have gone to A LOT of clubs. Basically my life ages 18 through 22 was one long episode of Jersey Shore (with slightly better outfits and slightly less sun damage). I even worked in a club during college, as a Hostess.
The problem is that clubs reel you in time and time again with the promise of glamour, excitement, and handsome strangers. You forget that there is nothing glamorous or exciting about spilling your $8.00 drink on yourself when someone shoves past you because it is too crowded to move (fire hazard, anyone?), or waiting twenty minutes in line for the bathroom or the bar. And don't even get me started on the whole “handsome stranger” thing.
Actually, do get me started on it. In college, I had great success meeting men at the club. It was basically like “just add alcohol” and behold, bad decisions were coming out of the woodwork. As much fun as I had with those bad decisions at the time (xoxo boys), its just not the same now. A random guy at a club tugging on my sleeve now induces extreme annoyance rather than romantic intrigue. Its possible that I have raised my standards...I like to think so. I can't say that there are no decent guys to be found at the club, but they will probably be drunk and acting like pricks to impress their friends, so you won't be able to identify them.
Another issue is that as much as I love hanging out with my girls, once we are all liquored up and thrown into a huge crowded club, its hard to keep everyone on the same page. One of us will need to go to the bar, one of us will have to pee, and one of us will want to sit down because she has been dancing in 5 inch heels all night. Since we don't want to split up (and run the risk of losing each other for the night), a lot of time is spent on missions to ensure that everyone's basic needs are met. At a bar, its much easier. You can actually go to the bathroom without five people's permission.
All that being said, it isn't like I will never go to the club again. I'm not really so naïve to think that at age 24 I am mature enough to make a statement like that. I reserve the right to be a hypocrite, so remember that when you see me spilling vodka on myself and talking to a random dude next weekend at the hottest nightclub on the scene.