Tight clothes, short
skirts, fuck-me heels, fake nails-- that’s what
little girls are made of. But today, we are in the
night, just about
eleven pm, and you are waiting for your friend to
call you on your cell to say she is on the way.
You check your outfit one last time before you run
out the door.
Damn girl, you
are one fine piece of ass tonight. Your only
worry- Will I look better than my best friend? I
hope she doesn’t wear that red dress or I will get
no attention at all!
The car pulls up,
and you are on your way. Five girls packed into a
small car, blasting dance music, and talking about
what a great time you are going to have that
night! Someone lights up a joint, and the
pre-party has started already.
The driver glares
in her rearview mirror thinking, “How did I get
stuck as the designated driver yet again…” Sorry
baby, the rest of us have to get drunk to have a
good time. Besides, if we don’t get drunk, we’ll
just take it out on you in the end.
You get to the
club; there is a line that wraps around the
building. Big muscled, small-brained men guard the
doors, checking Ids and making sure not to ever
crack a smile.
Halt- who goes
It is I, little
club girl. You don’t want to stop me—I’m hot and
there are much larger, less fashionable girls in
the line behind me.
You may pass GO
and collect your funds on the way to Chelsea
OK you’re in. It
was freezing out, your skin is tainted a faint
bluish color, but you did not break fashion
commandment number seven- thou shall not cover thy
body with a jacket, coat, or sweater lest you will
anger the bouncer gods who will detain your
entrance into the never world.
First stop- the
lady’s room- where all the young maidens gather
before the ultimate sacrifice. Reapply that
lipstick, pull your top a little lower and your
skirt a little higher, and give that foreign lady
a whole dollar to get one piece of gum. And most
important- check out what those other girls are
“Ew she is way
too large to be wearing that top. Look at how her
arms just bulge out. And the cellulite…”
confident? Now it’s time to hit the bar. 1 drink,
2 drink, red drink, blue drink. It doesn’t matter
as long as it gets you drunk. The lights are
flashing, colors swirl into each other-a rainbow
display of music on the dance floor. The
designated driver is talking to you, but who can
hear her over the music? She looks bored; better
turn to your other drunken friends. Don’t make eye
contact or she may make you leave early!
A good song comes
on, but no one is on the dance floor. You have two
choices—wait until the crowd gets on the floor or
go out and start dancing with your friends while
it is still empty. What do you pick?
Choice two- get
out there and dance girl, dance. It is always
better to be the first ones out because all of the
attention is focused on you. It is your time to
impress those guys and make the other girls
jealous with your dance moves and supreme sense of
style. The boys are ogling; the girls are
sneering. You are a true dancing queen…
hotter—people are beginning to crowd into the
center of the floor. Drink, dance, drink, dance- a
pattern is forming. The more you drink the freer
you feel. Bodies sweating, pressed up against each
other, music so loud you can’t even think
straight—or is that the alcohol?
You see him there
dancing his way over to you. He’s tall, he’s big,
and he got all of the right moves. But then it
happens- the rear attack of the “uglysweatyguywiththehugehardonpressedintoyourass.”
You can smell his cheap cologne mixed with body
odor. His hot breath is on your neck, and his
slimy hands are groping at your body. He presses
his stiffy into your butt, and you look towards
your friends with a look of fear and desperation.
They are laughing
at you and your predicament—sure it isn’t their
bums being assaulted! You have one other option.
Run off the dance floor and make a beeline for
your sober friend who is sitting miserably on the
couch in the corner in between two couples who are
practically having sex with their clothes on.
She nods her head
sympathetically as you retell your horror story.
Wait- did she just roll her eyes? No- it must have
been the trick lighting. It’s almost three
o’clock, and they are setting up the free
There is nothing
like runny eggs and cold bacon after a good night
of drinking. The clubbers stumble into line
formation as three Spanish guys shell out the
left, left, left,
right, left- forward march!
You have to act
quickly and find a seat or you are left balancing
by a speaker with a cup of coffee, your plate, a
napkin, and a plastic fork. Good thing super sober
friend is saving that couch for you and your
She jingles her
keys singling the end of the night. Your lucky
friend who hooked-up is kissing her guy goodbye
while the rest of you look on. Damn her and her
red dress. Who does she think she is anyway? The
guys only go for because she has large
breasts—otherwise she has the personality of a
piece of dried up wood.
You squish into
the car and head home. At first, everyone relives
the events of the night, but one by one the
partygoers begin to pass out. All of them, that
is, except for Miss Designated Driver, who is
contemplating locking everyone in the car and
driving off of a bridge to a watery death.
As you stumble
into your house and crawl into bed you think about
what you will wear next weekend. You will surely
get the hook-up then. If only you wore those
silver shoes with the short pink dress…. You drift
into sleep as visions of club outfits dance in
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