My enthusiasm and desire to venture out to the clubs with my freakum dress, 4 inch heels and drink all types of over-priced mixed alcoholic concoctions are dead.
I was never the type of girl that got excited for Friday night just to go the club. While my friends and classmates were raiding the racks for cheap polyester outfits from Rainbow and Wet Seal to booty shake at the Kiddie Disco and The Tunnel, I was strapping up my field boots to do the typical movie, dinner, or arcade with my boyfriend. After having a friend get killed going to a club, i was convinced that I wouldn't end up as one of "those".
Baltimore is big on the clubscene. So big that Baltimore has a tradition that involves having Kiddie Discos on Easter where kids as young as 2, dressed up in the most expensive shit from CitiTrends, get their early lesson in soft porn dancing. Baltimorians have their own "club music" and I use that term loosely as i dont think repetitive statements, overly energized beats with someone yelling "K-Swift, if you dont mind, can we get freaky?" in auto-tune is music but eh... to each his own. For further explanation Youtube Baltimore club dancing. I'll wait.
Now that you have the "what the fuck was that?" face, we can move on....
On any given day, you are bound to encounter at least 30 different fliers with slutacious women posted to the local carry out windows or sitting on top of a Downtown Locker Room counter promising you the "hottest party in Baltimore" with the "hottest women that Baltimore" has to offer. First of all... the only thing hot about Baltimore clubs are the clubs itself. They don't believe in fans and I'm sure the 1000 people occupying the 600 square foot basement club is not only a fire hazard but the main reason why it smells like boiling bacon. Secondly, those chicks on the fliers are not fair representation of most of the women that frequent the Baltimore clubscene. I'm sure the producers of the flyers edited some bullet holes and teardrops off the face of those "models" or copied and pasted something from King Magazine (R.I.P King) . Trust me- there are a lot of offspring produced by crack-infused ovaries in Baltimore and... I'm just saying... I've never seen a cute crack baby. Sorry???
It wasn't until my days in Delaware that I went to a club. It was exhilarating. Bright lights, loud music, liquor, grown men that whispered "fly shit" and I was just experiencing freedom that I didn't have back in Baltimore. Even the fact that I waited 25 minutes in the line just to get in for free was exciting to me. I made sure to spend my damn Pell grant refund and load up on some club friendly outfits. Those were the days *sigh*
After moving back to Baltimore, the club hopping died down but still lived in my soul. I was working full time and going to school full time all while paying my bills to my own apartment and brand new car. I was a responsible adult now and thought that I had not time to party anymore. In addition to my new found sense of responsibility, I had a relationship that I thought for sure would succumb if I continued to booty toot on some random individual. I hung up my plastic hot pink pumps (don't laugh, ya'll know they were hot) and fell back from the club scene.
Fast forward a few years and I decide that maybe I should get back into clubbing, grinding and two stepping. Da fuck was I thinking? At first it was cool. i was going to the club damn near every weekend- spending my hard earned 8:30 to 5:30 paycheck on a new outfit, shoes, hairdo, acrylic nails, fee to get in, parking, gas to drive to DC and drinks. Now that I'm typing this, I'm thinking "Damn, that sounds quite hoodrattish".
Anyway, the last time I went to the club was Halloween and while I'm standing there sipping on my 13.00 Ciroc and Lemonade AKA Devil's Semen, I come to the conclusion that I partied myself out. Yeah, I'm the girl that stands near the wall and texts or only grinds on my boo-boo Sunshinestar and with damn good reason- I DON'T BELONG THERE. I don't fit into any of the club categories...The drunk party girl- the drunk as a damn skunk girl screaming shit like "fuck niggas" and exposing titty just for attention only to not remember what the hell happened the night before. I'm not the Coat Check girl standing by myself, against a wall just because my friends don't want to spend 10.00 to have their belongings left at coat check. I've never been the Desperately Looking for Love chick with pre-written napkins with my phone number on it ready just in case Tyrone wanted to hook up later and NEVER have I been the Music Video girl desperately waiting for the opportunity for me to flaunt my dance skills and pre-made up routine to Single Ladies.
I'm the weirdo at the club and I see that now. I'm OK knowing that my club life has lived its term to the fullest. I've experienced all that clubbing has to offer. The good- posing like I'm Tyra Banks with smiling eyes an' shit for my Myspace gallery- and the bad- the drunken fights that I got tangled into.
So with all of that being said... Rest in Peace club life. It was a fun ride but I'm tired of mufuckas stepping on my shoes, getting charged ridiculous amounts of money to drink and dance, the bullshit D.J's advocating one night stands, the bad breath men that don't know how to take a hint, the under-dressed-overly-stank bitches spilling drinks on me, the 20.00 parking space, the guest list that closes at 10, the 40.00 celebrity sightings that never happen, the non-existent open bar from 9pm-10pm and fuckery that I force my eyes to endure every time. We've had our time and sadly it's time to put you and my club socks (I love SimoneDior) to rest.
*Cue 'It's so hard to say Goodbye'*
CRAZY LADY DOES IT AGAIN.
10 months ago