What's sparkly, drunk, and more annoying than a Scene Kid?

Geeeeeeeeeeeze!

I used to be a clubber... from 8th grade till Senior year of high school (Rave scene... I was in my annoying stage... and senior year it was maybe twice... and only because there was one other idiot who would encourage me to go). Am I a clubber now? HELL NAW!

I'm un-cool, we all know that. I like things like... I don't know... the outdoors maybe? I guess you could say I like the free-maybe-a-couple-of-dollars type of entertainment (although there are a numbered few activities that aren't so cheap that I do enjoy).
Nightclubs never really tempted me. If you would have asked me at 16 if I wanted to go to a nightclub though, I probably would have ran over to the nightclub itself.
But now... I don't really care for them.

"Is it because you can't dance?"
I get that all the time.
Bitch, I'm Mexican, rhythm runs through my blood. I'm born knowing how to dance!
"What are you? A Jehovah's Witness?"
Nah... but I could be if I wanted.
"Are you embarrassed?"
Eh, kinda. I'm anti-social... so... clubs... with pricks that only really want to fuck you doesn't make me that comfortable.

My reluctance to go to night clubs seems to baffle my clubber friends, Lucky Soprano in particular.
Their desire to go to nightclubs baffles me.

I had promised Lucky that I'd go to her party at Tao.
Then my grandpa died... and I felt a little awkward about the whole thing (I mean, tradition calls for a year of being chill and not really partying. I think spending only 3 weeks in mourning may be a little on the jacked up side).
However, Lucky Soprano didn't understand why I'd wait so long to party (she doesn't understand the concept of guilt. Although she sent me on a bad guilt trip by informing me that "If you only knew how much this party cost me! You'd understand why I wanted you to come to this thing so bad")... so in order to not flake on her ONCE AGAIN, I decided to go to her party.

***

As I was getting ready for this clubbing experience... a couple of my aunts and cousins came over to the house to give Mom their condolences. Where was I? In my bedroom... getting ready... feeling like an ass and praying to God that Mom wouldn't call me over to say hi to them because who knows what they would have said if they saw me getting ready to party so shortly after my grandfather died (and we know these people love to talk).
I thought I was going to get caught by the family before I left the house... but they happened to leave about 5 minutes before my ride got in.

So yes, we had originally been told that this partying would start around 8:30 PM at a pub... then we'd move it on over to TAO.
Well, when we called Lucky to see where this pub was at, she informed us that "Um, yeah, about that... there isn't going to be a pub. We're at *Prettybutrudegirl*'s house. We're getting ready there and we're all gonna leave at around 10:15 to get to TAO no later than 10:45."
Ok... nice. I'm glad you called us to inform us of this change in plans, wait, you didn't? Oh... so how did you expect us to know about this had we not been too ADD to pay attention to where this pub was and then call you to confirm in the first place? Oh, that's right, you weren't.

This had me and Chase pretty pissed... so we chilled at Chase's house by watching some George Clooney movie as I straightened her hair (one of the only girly tasks I actually enjoy).

Once 10:20 rolled around (You know, we did that as an act of rebellion to try and piss off these people), we decided to leave Chase's place and head out to the Venetian.
Once we got there at about 10:45, we called Lucky Soprano to see where the gaggle was, and lo-and-behold, they were yet to get there.
Niiice.
They finally arrived at 11 PM.
Lucky had failed to inform us that the party wasn't just going to be about her, but also Prettybutrudegirl.
Niiice.
I have no real issue with Prettybutrudegirl... aside from how much I've disliked her since I met her back in ninth grade when she was a hardcore bitch to me in PE (So what? I hold grudges. Don't ever piss me off and we'll be cool). I still remember her trying to "teach" me how to hold a bat during softball. I had to fight the urge of telling her:
Bitch, I was raised in the ghetto... you think I don't know how to hold a bat? Come here, let me just give you a nice tap upside your head and you tell me if my batting stance is acceptable to your softball gods.
Anyway, this news made me even more uncomfortable/irritated.

The group was of about 12 people... actually, about 12 girls and 3 guys. All the guys were douche bags... big time... so I don't originally consider them "people" in my story.
The girls were all trying to participate in small talk. Chase and I participated in "God, this is so stupid" conversation.

These people had tried their hardest at making it appear like they were super VIP at night clubs (at least, that's what they claim in their Myspace profiles and pictures). Well, guess what... their super VIP status was put to the test when they had us waiting outside for an hour. Super VIP status... made me feel like Jennifer Lopez, for real.
It sucked balls to realize one of the girls responsible for ringing us in/shooting us up/whatever the fuck the slang is for "letting us in to use the fucking elevator to our VIP area," turned out to be some bitch we knew in high school.
Now, the girl never really had beef with me... I wrote her Huckleberry Finn book report Junior year of high school... so she was OK with me... but apparently, she didn't like many of the girls in our group. So, according to the people in the group, it was all thanks to her that we waited outside for so long (maybe next time, you shouldn't be such a dick to other people... you know, we all remember, and given the opportunity to exercise any sort of power over you, believe me honey, you're gonna be paying for those bad moments you made us pass).

Once we got to our area... it was all so weird. It made me feel like I was in some sort of bad dream.
It's so fucking retarded.
And they call me a nerd!
AHAHAHAHA. AHAHAHA. AHAHAHA.
Good stuff.
Dancing while walking to your seat? Dancing while serving yourself a screw driver? Dancing while walking with a bucket of ice?
AHAHAHA. AHAHAHA!!!! AHAHAHA!
Alright dude... I'm a nerd... but at least I'm not a douche.
For a while, I just stood around.
WTF, dude, am I supposed to stand here with my bag over my shoulder... and just start dancing? Right here? You mean... there's no dance floor? OMG... and I thought Mexican night clubs were ghetto/retarded. No wonder you guys have no rhythm... you dance in a living room setting.
It didn't help that all they were playing was ghetto music.
I don't do ghetto (I can, but I don't).
I was surprised to see they had no techno... or house... or even jungle.
Dr. Dre?
Cypress Hill?
What the hell is this? 1992?
What's funnier than watching a bunch of spoiled, drunk, white kids dance to, and sing along to, Tupac's California Love? NOTHING. Absolutely nothing.
Want me to pour one for the homies, while we're at it? Where the hell's my 40?

When I finally got a seat, Chase and I sat around... and counted how many people we had superior dancing skills to... and it was more than half the room... but I guess sober people have an advantage over drunks.
I also sat directly in front of the go-go dancers that dance on top of the sofa... that was interesting.
Mom... when I grow up... I want to be a Go-Go dancer! (seriously... now I understand why God made me the way I am. Had I been given the body type that easily forms a six pack, I'd be dancing my ass off in tiny little skirts and a bra the whole time. It's just fucking amazing)

It was even more entertaining to see the drunken girls trying to imitate the Go-Go dancers. It wasn't so fun when the drunken girls started climbing the sofa to get to the top of it to start dancing... not fun at all.
Particularly, it was not fun when the chubbier girl of the group decided she wanted to do just that. Now, there wouldn't have been a problem had she been wearing, say, pants. No, but she was wearing a flowy black dress... that resembled a shirt... and under that... a black G-string. How do I know? Well, she had to flash me before she got on the sofa (remember, I was sitting in front of it, where people had to climb on). It was cool for the hard-bodied Go-Go dancers to do (I'm sure men and women alike wouldn't mind that)... but her? Man, why would you ever be so inconsiderate and wear so little?
It wasn't just me who she flashed, but everyone else seated on the sofa... and we all made the same, distraught, AH!-Now-I-must-cleanse-these-eyes-with-acid face.
Not a cool thing to do... and I must say, brave soul whoever decides to ride that.

Then one of the chicks in the group decided she wanted to talk to both Chase and I... mainly because during one of her drunken dancing marathons, she stepped on Chase's foot.

DrunkenFootStomper: Hey, I know you...
Chase: Yeah, we went to Durango together.
DFS: Oh yeah! I remember you! You used to have really long hair! That was up to like... here (she touches Chase's arm to where her hair used to be)
Chase: Yeah... (how the hell does she know me?)
DFS: Well, nice to meet you, I'm *DFS*!
Chase: Hey, she went to Durango too.
(Great... now she's focusing on me. Quick... lift your feet off the floor and place them on sofa!)
DSF: Hey! I'm *DSF*! What's your name?
Me: Hey, I'm *AnoMALIE*
DSF: AnoMALIE? AnoMELIE?... Like the model? Campbell?
Me: Yeah, I guess (If my parents were native English speakers... and I don't really like being associated to that phone-flinging criminal of a runway model)
DSF: Cool! Do you know *Name of model who I really don't know*?
Me: ...No.
DSF: Ah, well, she used to be this famous model back in the day. My Mom named me after her!
Me: Cool?
DSF: Model! Model! Model! Model! Cool!
(She was pointing at herself... then me... her, then me. Then she high-fived me. She walked away to dance and stomp on some other people's feet. Chase leaned in and screamed)
Chase: Drunk, sober, drunk, sober!

Ahh... lovely drunk people conversations.

So yes... Chase and I sat there... saw and heard thing that made us gag or laugh... and finally decided to leave once 1 o'clock came around. We just couldn't take it anymore.

***

I don't understand... I see nothing that attracts me to that scene. I tend to enjoy the scene in Mexico a lot more, even if it is packed with cocaine usage and everything (from others, never me). At least they play better music... and people are convulsing because of the cocaine high... not because they think it's "dancing."

Silly U.S. kids... silly, silly, silly.

What got me through the night, you may ask? Well, aside from my rosary that's in the shape of a bracelet (I had to take off my little virgin around my neck because it would have looked "tacky" to mix silver with gold), knowing that I had a concert to go to today made it all better.

Scene kids... I'll never complain about you guys... at least you jump to the beat of the music... and you're much more attractive than the clubbers with caked-on make-up... and you're nicer and don't talk so much shit.
My apologies, gentle, misunderstood people (I'm still making fun of you if you have a tie wrapped around your head, sorry).