Me not understanding boundaries

Despite clubs not being my usual haunt, I found myself at three different ones this past weekend. While I enjoyed myself based entirely on the people I went with, I came to a realization that the club life, like the thug life is not for me.

The first issue, and probably the most important one is that I don’t own a pair of pants that boast both the requirements for fashion and for dancing. While I do own a pair of what I simply refer to as “dance pants”, they don’t look fancy enough for the sorts of places I’m referring to (here’s a hint: they’re tights). I do own a few pairs of standard walking pants, ranging from ultra casual to decently dressy but they’re quite restrictive and tend to mash my private parts. Being that showing up in my dance pants is a pretty bold move, I’m forced to compromise comfort. I did my best to scope out the pants of the other dudes at the club, but none of them were too keen on me exploring their fashion sense. Besides, based on the fact that most of them sat around bobbing their heads, they’d more than likely compromised with their dance pants as well.

Speaking of dancing, mastering the art of appropriate dance is something I never really thought about until this past week. In the past I’d drink too much and just do my thing, but I totally underestimated the impact of misplaced hip gyrations and eye contact. It’s tough enough to explain to someone “Don’t worry, my pelvic thrusts weren’t aimed at you,” when you speak the same language, but it’s all together different when you flail your arms in panic when a poor German girl steps into your dancing cross fire. Fortunately my wife was there, so I opted to redirect my moves towards her which I think helped matters. That was until I did a spin move during “Party Rockin” and smacked a Korean girl right in the face. Dance may be a universal language, but the resulting misunderstandings are not.

In the above example, you can actually see (and hear from my wife’s expression) the moment when innocent dancing takes a turn for the worst.

I used to think that the drinks were too expensive until I realized that clubs do that as a service to their guests. It’s easy to get drunk in bars because of the dim lighting and easy access to exits but clubs are a quagmire of laser lights, smoke and large crowds. Coupling intoxication and strobe lights is a dangerous thing, especially when you’re attempting to dance in a peaceful way. That being said, I like to get silly when I go out and it’s tough to do so with the aforementioned barriers. I felt so lost and scared every time the strobe lights got going and I swear that I saw ghosts and/or vampires in between the beats ala that scene in Blade where he dance fights all those vampires on that bloody dance floor. I used to think that the people who wore goggles in casual ways were dumb but I now realize the necessity of good eye protection.

That being said, the clubs with tamer laser light shows should offer a cheaper alternative for dudes like myself who enjoy getting silly. I realize that I’m not the demographic for these places, but vegetarians aren’t the demographic for Burger King and they still get their veggie patty. All I’m asking for is a dollar menu of sorts because I can’t imagine a time in my life where $1000.00 bottle service is something I’d be willing partake in. I understand that dudes like me can be loose cannons at times, but the worst that can happen is that I make all of the other patrons look good by comparison. I’m like the ultimate wing man but in an indirect sort of way.

I don’t think it’s a bad thing that I’ve come to this realization, nor am I saying that clubs are generally horrible places. It’s just way too easy for a goofball like me to get into trouble in a place I’m not acustomed to. A lion might be the perfect predator on land but he’s useless in the water. When it comes to clubbing, I’m a sea faring baby lion with a strange shaped head.