Thursday, September 10, 2009

For you I wear my Sunday best on Tuesday...

I've been listening much too much to a particular De/Vision song called What You Deserve. For some reason, the lyrics catch me just right.

I was introduced to this song recently, through my clubbing friend.

See, a few weeks ago I was out at a club and this other song came on (don't watch that video, by the way, I'm fairly certain it's crap, but the song is good) and I was blown away by the beat. Much dancing ensued.

My clubbing friend, by my request (which was delivered when I saw him walking by the edge of the dancefloor, watching me dance, stopped, screamed at him, "WHAT IS THIS SONG?!" and he shrugged and I said, "FREAKING FIND OUT!"), got the song information and told me he'd burn me a CD with it on it.

The next time I see him, he gives me this CD which he turned into a mix CD of songs he could see me dancing to.

...I'm not sure if that's sweet or creepy. Currently going with sweet.

He does love to watch me dance.

So... maybe creepy.

It was bizarre, listening to that CD. Songs that had been my favorites months ago, years ago, and new songs. A wide variety of genres, too. Yet he nailed it, for the most part. It was a CD of club songs.

Started making me wonder how many days (weeks?) of my life, hours all added up, that I have spent on the dance floor in various clubs through Southern California.

I'm coming up on eight years of clubbing. When there is a "retro" room at a club, chances are that the majority of songs they are spinning are songs that I danced to in clubs when I was 18 or 19, when it was me and one of my closest friends out going several nights a week, coming back blasted out of our minds with exhaustion more often than not.

After I settled down with Stuntcock, then he settled down with his partner, then I escaped mine... it was just me, running solo.

But that's what I like to do.

Darkeyes and I went clubbing every week while we were dating, with him insisting on me teaching him how to dance, if he could ever be taught. His lack of rhythm and body awareness, and his complete inability to take criticism, no matter how well intentioned, meant that I was stuck with a clubbing partner who could not dance, who usually ended up injuring others with his dancing, myself, with all my years of learning how to dodge and move around others, included.

He was that bad.

How embarassing for me.

Anyhow, I went out to a club last Sunday, a big event. Showing up early and knowing people working the event led me to volunteer to help. So, for a good hour+, I was working the line at the door.

Yes, that's right.

I was an honorary doorwoman. I entertained myself in the wait by making sexist comments and making fun of the patrons. It went over oddly well.

After the initial crowd died down, I escaped the door and went to enjoy my evening.

Where some man tried to pick me up with the following line:

"Do you ever find yourself missing someone else's cat?"


This was followed by the worst physical escalation I've possibly seen in the last several years, which consisted of him leaning towards me (even though we were outside on the patio and I could hear him just fine), putting his crotch on my hip, his chest on my shoulder, and half-shouting into my ear about this cat and how I have to see pictures of this cat on his cell phone, which, against my protests, he showed me.

This was when I hunted down my still nickname-less clubbing friend and told him he had to play the role of boyfriend/lover until this guy got off my back.

Sidenote: I'm normally okay with telling people that I don't have interest in them and to cut it out, but some people are so socially inept that to tell them such things is to provoke an argument as to why they are unworthy of my interest. This was close enough to one of those men that I did not wish to do this.

Oh, and while I was running around dodging this guy, that guy I one-night standed last November was there giving me the eyeball and I was polite and fine until he spent the length of three songs watching me dance, making me wonder if he was going to leave another creepy voicemail on my phone with the message being, "Hi, I was... uh... watching you... uh... dance... and I was... uh... wondering... if you were doing... anything... uh... later tonight."

This, this is what happens when you pick up someone at a club. They might be good looking (apparently he was a vampire extra on the (second) season finale of True Blood , so, yes, he's hot enough), and they might past as socially competent, but this was fail.

Also, when a man keeps the used condoms because he believes in his pagan ways that consuming his own sperm is a way of cycling energy, you just leave. You go, "Thank you for an odd, odd, evening and for bruising my cervix but I am leaving you and your sperm-filled condoms here, good-bye." And then you run.

I mean, it's been coming up on a year now and he's still trying.

So I see him and he's watching me and I'm pretending I don't see him because I take my glasses off when I dance and, eventually, he realizes that I'm not going to be stopping anytime soon so he wanders off and I hang out for another song before stepping off the floor to find my friend out on the patio, who tells me he's not going to be joining me for out usual post-club dinner, and I'm walking with him back into the club asking why not and the one-night guy overhears us so I'm standing there going fuck-fuck-fuck.

Because, after ever club I see him at, he always approaches me to go home with him and I always turn him down because I have other plans.

This leads me spending the end of my evening (when I'm not dancing) clinging to my friend like his penis is the best thing in the world and no other will satisfy me.

While on the floor, the guy who tried to pick me up with the cat comment (and the conversation had continued from there), joins me on the dancefloor and says, "I'm going to blame (insert clubbing friend's name here) for this."

Just this obscure, flailing shot in the dark, declaring interest, nodding that he had been "defeated" by a better male, etc etc lameness.

So I looked at him with my best confused-blonde expression and said, "Huh? What do you mean?"

He smiled at me like I was a dope, this condescended grin, and said, "Ah, nothing," like he was the Most Mysterious Man In The World.

This was, mind you, after he saw me with my friend, which was before he decided to take offense at my inavailability and strut by me, then plant himself two inches away from me with his back to me, staring into space for a good three minutes before strutting away.

Men, men are morons.

While all of that stupid male crap was going on, I was running interference for my clubbing buddy, whose ex-girlfriend of four years decided to show up to the club with her new boyfriend (mmm, two day rebounds), which sent my friend into all sorts of emotional melancholy so I was running around checking on him constantly, harassing him, flirting with him, making fun of people with him so he'd keep distracted.

Along with the rest of the usual club madness. Drunks, staggering, dodging lit cigarettes, dodging morons on the dance floor, and then some girl taking to me strongly and wanting to dance with me and be all "oooh, lesbian sexy" with me which was... something I don't engage in. But then the DJ joined us on the dancefloor and she cut that out.

Interesting night.

Overly long, pointless journal post.

But at least I'm not saving used condoms for dessert.

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