Wednesday, August 31, 2011

nightclubs are depressing.

there was a pregnant bitch at the club saturday night. and i don't mean "barely visible on a sonogram" pregnant, i'm talking "if she bends over in that short skirt you can hear the baby crying" pregnant. THIRD TRIMESTER PREGNANT. at first i thought i was just drunk. and she was wearing skintight black and white horizontal stripes, so i figured the optical illusion was contorting her body into a real live funhouse mirror or some shit. but as i kept staring at her willing my eyes to focus, i realized that what i was seeing was, in fact, a young woman who just so happened to be gestating her human offspring AT A GODDAMNED DISCO. between this and the fact that kids these days refuse to read anything longer than 160 characters, we are all going to be slaves to the chinese in fifty fucking years. i just wanted to snatch the drink out of her hand and ask if she'd yet purchased a crib and a case of enfamil. or if she'd submitted her application to westwood college already.

pregnant ladies always be ruining shit: taking the good parking spots and all of the handicapped seats on the bus, sprinkling macaroni and cheese on their pancakes without anyone in the restaurant turning his nose up, getting paid for six whole fucking weeks to "stay home" and "take care of their newborns." what a sham. and now they're at the club?! what part of the game is THAT?! it's not good enough that everyone gives up his seat or pretends to be interested in your alien baby sonogram, you have to put on a tube dress and leak amniotic fluid all over my feet? selfish assholes. how am i supposed to compete with that? everyone loves babies. especially ones that haven't been born yet! tell me how to get this dude's attention when he's got his ear pressed to her belly, trying to hear a heartbeat over the goddamned DJ. dudes are buying glasses of champagne while she tosses her head back with laughter, regaling them with stories about signing up for WIC and medicaid. and OH SHUT UP ALREADY. i went to headstart, too.

i'm not hating, i actually love pregnant women. backaches and stretch marks and swollen ankles are some shit i can RELATE TO. plus, omgunicornz and i went to lockdown friday night and ate one burger with peanut butter, a carmelized banana, and bacon on top of it, and another with fuji apples and gruyere cheese on it, and goddamn i wish i had a babycake i could blame all that heavy lifting on. seriously, if only there were a fetus in my life that could be the reason i wouldn't turn down a peanut butter and jelly on rye bread. disgusting, right? totally.

anyway, i'm across the room scowling laser eye beams of hate and wondering if mama mia is taking enough folic acid. FML. i was only out in my fancy clothes on a saturday night anyway because blaxperiment 2011 is still in full effect. although why is still a mystery to me, as i am easily discouraged, so i'll be wrapping this shit up any day now. first of all, trying to find places to go is EXHAUSTING. and trying to find places to go where i don't already know (read: haven't already stalked or texted or emailed or banged) someone is FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE. everywhere i go there somebody already goddamned IS, reminding me how i fell asleep in the middle of intercourse or vomited during a blowjob or whatever. isn't chicago bigger than this?! and if it isn't some asshole who's already been disappointed by my lackluster sexual efforts, it's a dick who reads my blog and is all in my space shouting, "bitches gotta eat! tell me some jokes! TELL ME SOME JOKES!"

when is this pseudo fame going to get me laid by someone with a goddamned checking account?! not really, because i'm enjoying this long stretch of celibacy i've had going for the past eighteen months or whatever. and by "enjoying" i mean "my lazy ass doesn't have to maintain my pubic hair." but in theory i would like for someone else to have paid for that banana burger i ate the other night. at big star a couple weeks ago this adorable girl was making eyes with me across the room, and at first i thought, "well this shirt does accentuate my my cellulite," but then i realized that she recognized me from the internet and wasn't going to volunteer to hand wash my delicates or put that shelving unit together i've been staring at for three years, she just wanted to shake my hand. and that's cool, too. (also, i don't even know why i go to ikea without a lesbian, for real. it's like going fishing without a pole. SO DUMB.)

so clubs are weird now, right? or have i just reached the "quiet evenings at home" phase of my life?! goddamn it, everyone is ten years old and drunk as shit and throwing up and dressed strange and dancing in a way that is totally confusing to me, and the way they flirt with each other is disarming to a puritan such as myself. now i've gone home with my fair share of bad decisions, waking up the next day smelling like shame and a bag of white castles, but never was that exit preceded by clothes-fucking some dude on the dancefloor whom i'd just met on my way back from the bathroom. here's the thing: i like loud music, and i like dancing like an asshole in a room full of people, but that's not what's happening in 2011 clubland. here's what's killing my party boner:

1 "models."
i like pretty girls, okay? i really do. and i respect the discipline and effort that goes into limiting yourself to a daily diet of broccoli spears and a handful of jelly beans. plus all of that being tan and bleaching your butthole takes a lot of goddamned work. what i don't like is the bored standing around all of you girls are doing, especially if it prevents me from 1 taking a piss or 2 getting another drink. i understand that the best place to do coke is off the toilet seat, sweethearts, but mommy had seven vodka waters and needs to put her ass there. RIGHT NOW. and what is this loitering near the bar? everyone knows that the best way to get a dude to buy you a drink is to hold the only one you're willing to pay for until some nice man who wants to bang you offers to replace it. at least that's what i'm told, because i'm too impatient to stand around waiting for someone to notice i'm thirsty. either way, blocking the one spot on the bar into which i can wedge myself between two reeking axe-holes to get another beer makes me want to cut you with something sharp. "move, bitch, i'm too sober to be in this club!"

2 perpetrating pretty dudes. here's the thing about living in a town with a lot of sports teams: any dude over 6 feet with a smattering of shitty neck tattoos can get a haircut, put on some shit from kenneth cole, and pretend to be a third-string chicago bear wide receiver. we were at the shrine one night when a group of tall dudes basically insinuated their way into the roped-off VIP. i watch sportscenter, you assholes. i elbowed my girl and shouted, "do you recognize any of those gentlemen?" over the DJ. she glanced over and was dismissively like, "i don't watch sports, asshole." undeterred, i walked into the VIP on the heels of another dude who kinda sorta looked famous and sat next to a dude with pinky rings. "what team do you play for?!" i demanded, and as he sheepishly shrugged his shoulders and motioned to security, i backpedaled and told him what a good job he'd done "with all those rebounds and shit." i still hate myself.

3 thugs. i know the whole "t-shirt and gym shoe" rule was supposed to weed out the riff raff, but the species has adapted, and now they just sit around looking like rick ross and shit. and i don't care about dying, especially when i'm going to leave such a hot corpse, but more than a few times i have seen grown men either hit with garbage cans or thrown through a goddamned table, and nothing dries up a party like THAT. no one wants to hook up with the dude with the gaping head wound.

4 $12 drinks. i already know, if i want to drink $2 pbr's i can go to cole's. or any one of the million and one other dive bars in the city. I GET IT. but what if i want to hang with some grownups in clean clothes who don't pay for their beer with laundry quarters?! do i really have to pay more than i would for a decent cheeseburger for a cocktail?! i don't know, maybe drinks have always been this expensive. or when you open a tab, which i no longer do, you're too drunk to care how you got to three hundred dollars so quickly. shit is cray out here in this obamaconomy, and more than once i've found myself hesitating over the change the bartender has handed me, trying to gauge just how much of an asshole i'll appear to be if i only tip on every other drink. (answer: A GIANT SHITTING ASSHOLE.) you have to fucking budget if you're going to holler at a nightclub these days, and while i'm busy soaking dried beans for my dinner because i couldn't resist a $30 cab ride home, i can't help but think, "is this really what it takes to meet new people? that is totally fucking depressing." then i spend the rest of the night farting, which makes me glad that dude with the face tattoo apparently lost my number.

5 the shittiest music you've ever heard. THIS IS WHAT MAKES YOU OLD, complaining about "what the kids are listening to." and fuck it, i guess i'm old, because WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU KIDS LISTENING TO?! is this what my mom used to be so mad about all the time while i was blasting faith no more "the real thing" alone in my bedroom? (editor's note: I STILL DO THAT.) my nephew and i went to get tattooed a couple weeks ago, and he put his ipod on in the car and was like, "do you know who this is? what about him? what about this group?" and i felt so stupid and out of touch. thank god that dude isn't a smug little asshole, reminding me how he's young and cool and in college and listening to bands i won't hear about for another three years. he just sat there and let his silence imply that shit. WHAT A GENTLEMAN.

so i'm still going to see live music and co-host the sex show and drink at the morseland sometimes, but i think the universe is telling me i have to hang up my wristband/handstamp hand and sit in my bed listening to music that was popular in my early twenties until i'm old enough to not feel like a jackass going someplace that refers to itself as a "lounge" full of middle-aged people wearing support hose and church shoes. maybe i should invest in some blouses.