| Hello my pretty pretties,
What a fucking night!
Tonight was the night that Anne, Julie, Tanya and I went
Goth clubbing. Yup, you read that
right. Goth clubbing. Now, the night started off as expected. We got dressed up. We took pretentious black and white pictures. We drove to the club. An insane taxi cab driver almost plowed into
Anne’s car. You know, normal stuff.
The club itself was kind of “eh.” There was a lot of slow music.
But there were some good songs (Republica’s Ready to Go! WOOT!) and we danced on the stage for a
while. But then, a little bit before
1-ish, we decided to leave. Easier said
than done. You see, the club did not
have a real coat check. It was more
like a closet. And by this point, the
entire closet was full…and there was a 3 foot tall, closet-wide mound of coats
amassed at the bottom. Thus, we begin
digging for our coats (we had put them over the coat rack, but they fell
off). Anne finds hers quickly and Tanya
finds her pretty soon afterwards. Julie
and I are not having as good of luck. Julie
eventually dives into the piles and begins swimming through coats for her
coat/bag. During this epic struggle,
she loses a shoe. Yes, you read that
right.
By now, about 20 minutes have passed, about a dozen patrons
are frantically searching for their coats, and there is a 25 person line behind
them of people who also want their coats.
The bouncer keeps ordering people who have their coats to clear the area
so other people can look for theirs.
Eventually, he gives up and just keeps saying “This is a
clusterfuck! A CLUSTERFUCK!
Julie eventually finds her coat and bag and I find
mine. Julie’s shoe however is nowhere
to be found. She surrenders the shoe as
a victim of the night (“This night was so crazy, I lost my shoe!”) and we
left. Into the 19 degree weather. I’m at slightly dressed (jeans, button down
shirt and my bomber jacket and glovers), but the girls are all wearing REALLY
short skirts and fishnets. Yeah…not fun. And Julie is hopping on one foot and holding
onto me for support.
Now, comes part II of the adventure. Being true Jerseyites (okay, well Anne’s
from Pennsylvania…but no one’s perfect), we decided that at 1:15, after a night
of chaos, the logical choice is to go to a diner. Except, we live in Boston (or suburbs of Boston). Therefore, 24 hour diners do not exist.
But IHOPs open till 2 in Harvard Square do. We find the IHOP and exit the car. We didn’t know at the time how late it was
open till…so we’re panickedly rushing in the 19 degree cold (Julie has given up
the hopping and just decided that the stockings will die), hoping that IHOP
doesn’t close. Oh…and by now, Julie’s
stockings are falling down…and her skirt is REALLY short…and she’s looking more
and more like a rape victim. We thought
this could come to our advantage if they tried to deny us seating (“I’m a rape
victim! Give me pancakes!”).
We enter IHOP. By
now it’s 1:30. Our waiter seats us,
and, looking at our black skimpy outfits and ruined make up, can only say,
“Helluva party, huh?”
What follows is one of those beautiful, strange
conversations that can only occur after a long night in a fast food sit down
place. The kind that includes line like
“Back when I was a Deli” and includes retelling of fucked up high school memories. Oh…and thanks to Steve, ending sentences
with “womp womp…” (think: pathetic trombone sound), has become very common
among the four of us. Good times.
The final highlight of the night: Anne and I got the car as
Julie and Tanya went to Bank of America.
We drive up to Bank of America and there’s a cop right by Anne. So Anne makes me call the two to tell them
to hurry up since we’re illegally parked.
They come running out in their coats and fishnets, right in front of the
cop. Pretty much…we looked like we were
picking up some hos.
What a fucking night.
P.S. Question of the night: Who would win? 40 unarmed midgets or a lion?
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