rubadubindaclub.

I know you don't like to read this blog, I know this; but I'm gonna get you to look at it today, 'cause it's Friday; you ain't got no (real) job... and you ain't got ish to do (but read this). Ok, ok, I stole that from Smokey... but I am excited about the weekend, though. Zero K is on his way back to town... you know, the ultimate wingman... and trouble is about to ensue. Regardless of any mess that may have gone down through the week, on the weekend you are appreciative to be around your friends (unless they are the depressing kind who never want to anything fun - but that's a blog for another day). Before I get too sappy, let me tell you about the weekend plans…

It’s back to Club Chili’s for a round or 3, and then to the club (if you think this routine is the same as last time, just know that it is.) Not much to do here in the ‘Ville - it's a damn shame - ain't it? To be honest, it's getting harder and harder to find things to keep my interest. I think it's a product of monotony and getting older. I'm starting to think that by the time I'm 30, I'll be going to bed at 8:30 right after I watch my shows and sit in a bath of EPSOM Salt... but let's face, at least I'll be comfortable in my PJ's instead of worrying what outfit to get sweaty and smoky...

I mean, really, how comfortable are you when you go to the club? Females are generally wearing something extra tight and have on some type of heel that I'm sure looks better than it feels. For what? To get someone to notice them... yeah, I'll notice you and then I'll notice the seventy-five other women in here who have on similar get-ups (I won't even get into the chicks who wear next-to-nothing in zero degrees and complain about the cold). You’re not really yourself in a club – you’re you - remixed. The version of yourself who wouldn’t even talk to the regular you. You, the remix, doesn’t have a care in the world.

Unfortunately for many of us, that version of you can be any combination of an asshole, lush and/or bitch, willing to fight over dumb things like whether or not 'Pac was better than Biggie.

Sometimes, the remixed version of you is also on the loose, the more promiscuous version of the regular you, and you already know what kind of trouble THAT can cause. As such, what little hope you had for meeting a nice dude or chick is gone. Usually, this is because you’re drunk. And as we’ve all learned (some of us the hard way), drunk is not the best way to find someone.

But what else makes people in a club act the fool? Perhaps it’s the yelling that makes you crazy. No matter where you are in the club, the music is so loud you have to yell to be heard. Personally, I don’t hear half of what’s said to me in a club. I just nod a lot and act cool and interested. This might explain many horrible past situations, as well as lots of potentially good situations gone wrong (I'm shuddering at the memory).

Then at some point, you have to get to the bar itself. And, of course, people are camped out up there like they were handing out reparations. Getting to the bar is much easier for women (especially when they have on their uniform - nothing and stilettos). Dudes don’t have an advantage like this. Fellas, now if you walked up to the bar with your pants unzipped, people would move – right towards security.

In front of the bar, other women will step aside, too, but only to talk about what a whore the thirsty girl looks like, even though half of them are wearing the same outfit and makeup.

Of course, once you’re at the bar, you have to get the attention or the bartender. I know from experience that standing there looking pissed-off doesn’t work. We all know what does work – waving the loot. Even if you’re just getting a cup of water (piercing glares from the other customers thrown in for FREE), waving the $20 is the only way to guarantee that you’ll get some of that ol’ dranky-drank. If you’re smart, you send a woman to get the drinks, simply because they’ve got the whole stiletto thing working. They can wave that, and save your $20 (which is just enough for a martini... mmmm.... Super!).

Hell, although the club isn't my favorite spot - you'll definitely see my ass in line (along with Shaquessha with the fishnet stockings and six-inch stilettos).

See y'all back in the cubicles on Tuesday...