The Club Scene

It’s old.

Oh wait, I’m supposed to be giving advice. At 21 or 22 the club scene “rocked the nation” as I would say. It was sexy, had an abundance of strobe lights, and the drinks in the plastic cups were more delicious than nectar from some exotic fruit. Being a young, dumb, 21 year old was awesome.

And now here I am on the cusp of 30.

I haven’t stepped foot in a true club in what feels like years. I’ve visited the occasional “lounge”. The difference being nothing really, except a smaller dance floor and slightly more clothing. Maybe cleaner bathrooms.

I celebrated with my friend when I closed on my home and hit a club for old time’s sake. It was exotic dancer night (had I known I would not have gone) and some 5 foot tall guy in converse was working the floor. I’ve never been the same since. No seriously, I’m still recovering.

The club scene is old.

It’s like the Viagra triangle in Chicago on a Saturday night.

When I did frequent the club scene I had zero success. I met my ex boyfriend in a dance club and for six plus years toted the phrase “you can meet good people in clubs”. Touché.

Clubs are like a bad fashion trend. The Maxi dress. Or skinny jeans, perhaps.

You see them on other people, they look amazing. You try them on and convince yourself you can pull it off. You rock them – hard. And weeks later you find pictures of you in those skinny jeans circulating and you look awful. You’re bloated, greasy, stumbling - - - oh wait, are we still talking about skinny jeans?

All I’m saying is be cautious of the club scene.
You won’t find me there anymore.

Besides my tube top dress just doesn’t fit me like it used to.