The night had started off rather nicely. The three of us had pizza delivered from Amato’s and we were drinking wine, beer and rye. After finishing my second piece of the Canadian pie, I announced to the two gents that I was going to head upstairs in order to get ready for a night of dancing. Of course I was indecisive about what I would wear for the evening. We were going to Velvet and I didn’t want to seem too over the top but I definitely wanted something short with fishnets. I decided on an outfit rather quickly, a feat of great magnitude that those who used to go clubbing with me can confirm, and then moved to makeup and hair. I had music blaring in the background and would stop the paint application process to bounce around every now and then. I made ridiculous faces in the mirror and realized how much I missed getting dressed up for a night on the town.
I was done the transformation of freshly-showered-girl-with-no-makeup-in-jeans-and-button-down-top to sexy-goddess-with-make-up-and-a-kick-ass-outfit-with-boots-that-make-me-6′2 in less then an hour. Of course the boys were rather shocked when I reentered the room. I could hardly blame them considering I went from a rather plain Jane to this club vixen in so little time. (ahem) My entrance was all the urging they needed to get up and ready for the club. Of course having a penis seems to give them the super human ability to get ready in five minutes. I had just started a drink when they both reentered the room and announced they were ready. Bastards.
After finishing our drinks we piled into a cab and hit the bar. The guys don’t dance and I’m bouncing around the booth itching to shake my bootie. Luckily there was a girl in a similar position with her boyfriend who was sitting across from us. After some prompting from the guys, we hit the dance floor together. Within moments we were both lost in our own worlds, enjoying the music, alone on the floor. I looked up a few times and she had her head down with her eyes closed, a pose I often have when I dance in a club. We finished the song, danced for another and then headed back to our respective tables. Slowly the club became more and more packed and my desire to dance diminished with every body that squeezed itself onto the dance floor.
It is times like this, when the club is so packed all you see are bodies and faces, that I have no desire to dance anymore. I’m almost ashamed to watch as people grind their way into the hearts and asses of drunken friends of the minute. All sense of personal space is lost as you try to ignore the guy with bad body odour who keeps bumping into you while he chats up a girl who is completely intoxicated. Or, when you suddenly find yourself on the edge of a “route”. You know what I mean, the path that people weave as they try to determine which group of people or individual are going to get the least upset by being repeatedly bumped as others make their way to the bar or the bathroom. I’m always on that route and I get frustrated but I smile and say sorry. I’m sorry, but I’m Canadian, what else do you expect me to say?
I do not dislike these people as individuals, it is the crowd I can’t stomach. Groups of people becoming upset and they start to shove others because you have to touch them in order to get by, drink raised high above your head. I have always gravitated towards areas in the club where I can actually move. I remember in my university years the stage at the Kingdom and the back area at Fever. But this was before the stage at the Kingdom became the DJ both, before Fever filled in their pit. I guess a part of me misses those days, when I could dance hard, fast and with lots of space. We were a small community, and a flailing arm or kick was laughed off and quickly forgiven. We made our own room, our own space to do what we wished. Now I’ve grown older and the people that would form the circle of space are gone. Unfortunately my desire to have the room has only grown. Maybe this is why I don’t visit the land of club kids very often even though my desire to go out dancing is sometimes tangible.
The night ended when we decided we had all had enough. Enough booze, enough small talk, enough of the plastic smiles plastered everywhere we looked. We finished our drinks, and piled once more into a cab home. We sat around my coffee table on overstuffed green couches, smoked and wondered why we thought we could have another drink when obviously we should be having water. I remember getting M set up for the night with comforter, pillow and sheets. And I placed a glass of water on the table, because I’m a good hostess. Gary and I made our way upstairs and fell into bed. I laid there concentrating as hard as I could to make the room stop spinning. The last thing I remember was cuddling up next to Gary and falling asleep to his rhythmic snoring with Pandora curled up by my legs.
