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Oh Clubbing.... - zombietwist
Oh Clubbing....
What a fucking night!

Tonight was the night that Anne, Julie, Tanya and I went Goth clubbing. Yup, you read that right. Goth clubbing. Now, the night started off as expected. We got dressed up. We took pretentious black and white pictures. We drove to the club. An insane taxi cab driver almost plowed into Anne’s car. You know, normal stuff.

The club itself was kind of “eh.” There was a lot of slow music. But there were some good songs (Republica’s Ready to Go! WOOT!) and we danced on the stage for a while. But then, a little bit before 1-ish, we decided to leave. Easier said than done. You see, the club did not have a real coat check. It was more like a closet. And by this point, the entire closet was full…and there was a 3 foot tall, closet-wide mound of coats amassed at the bottom. Thus, we begin digging for our coats (we had put them over the coat rack, but they fell off). Anne finds hers quickly and Tanya finds her pretty soon afterwards. Julie and I are not having as good of luck. Julie eventually dives into the piles and begins swimming through coats for her coat/bag. During this epic struggle, she loses a shoe. Yes, you read that right.

By now, about 20 minutes have passed, about a dozen patrons are frantically searching for their coats, and there is a 25 person line behind them of people who also want their coats. The bouncer keeps ordering people who have their coats to clear the area so other people can look for theirs. Eventually, he gives up and just keeps saying “This is a clusterfuck! A CLUSTERFUCK!

Julie eventually finds her coat and bag and I find mine. Julie’s shoe however is nowhere to be found. She surrenders the shoe as a victim of the night (“This night was so crazy, I lost my shoe!”) and we left. Into the 19 degree weather. I’m at slightly dressed (jeans, button down shirt and my bomber jacket and glovers), but the girls are all wearing REALLY short skirts and fishnets. Yeah…not fun. And Julie is hopping on one foot and holding onto me for support.

Now, comes part II of the adventure. Being true Jerseyites (okay, well Anne’s from Pennsylvania…but no one’s perfect), we decided that at 1:15, after a night of chaos, the logical choice is to go to a diner. Except, we live in Boston (or suburbs of Boston). Therefore, 24 hour diners do not exist.

But IHOPs open till 2 in Harvard Square do. We find the IHOP and exit the car. We didn’t know at the time how late it was open till…so we’re panickedly rushing in the 19 degree cold (Julie has given up the hopping and just decided that the stockings will die), hoping that IHOP doesn’t close. Oh…and by now, Julie’s stockings are falling down…and her skirt is REALLY short…and she’s looking more and more like a rape victim. We thought this could come to our advantage if they tried to deny us seating (“I’m a rape victim! Give me pancakes!”).

We enter IHOP. By now it’s 1:30. Our waiter seats us, and, looking at our black skimpy outfits and ruined make up, can only say, “Helluva party, huh?”

What follows is one of those beautiful, strange conversations that can only occur after a long night in a fast food sit down place. The kind that includes line like “Back when I was a Deli” and includes retelling of fucked up high school memories. Oh…and thanks to Steve, ending sentences with “womp womp…” (think: pathetic trombone sound), has become very common among the four of us. Good times.

The final highlight of the night: Anne and I got the car as Julie and Tanya went to Bank of America. We drive up to Bank of America and there’s a cop right by Anne. So Anne makes me call the two to tell them to hurry up since we’re illegally parked. They come running out in their coats and fishnets, right in front of the cop. Pretty much…we looked like we were picking up some hos.

What a fucking night.

Current Mood: amused amused

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