Nightclubbing

Last night, we went to Orchid.

I now remember why I prefer comfortable, smoky, urine-soaked pubs to dress-code-in-effect meat markets. In fact, if I am ever again tempted to go the dance club route, I am going to come back to this post and remind myself why I would be better off going to Reservoir or something:

1. Really bad music with throbbing basslines so persistent that they made me want to hurt somebody. Badly. Possibly myself.
2. A multitude of cheerleader skirts that barely cover no-no areas.
3. Bathroom conversations that sound like this: "Sarah,hon,thisismyfriendTammy.Heyhow'sitgoing?Cool.HeyAdamishere!NOWAY!Ohmigod,whyishealwayscomingbackhere?Didyouseetheskankhewaswith? Forrealshewenttomyhighschoolandshe'sthebiggestho,
   Iswear.Wellobviously,lookatthewayshedresses.Whatacompletewhore.
   Doesshethinkhe'safter
   herbecauseofherpersonality?Imeanreally.CanIborrowyourlipgloss?Kay.Thanks.Noprob.Cutetop.Thankshonit'sPaulFrank.NOWAY!IlovePaulFrank.Metoo!OHMIGOD!"
4. "Drink specials all night long!" translates into Blue Light = $0.50 cheaper than usual.
5. Boys with chains and gelled hair who smell like cigarettes, musk, and formaldehyde. (These are not your potential future boyfriends, Sofi. Stay away. Far away.)

In much happier news, I got a surprise cheque from Chart today. It's for a substantial sum, so I think it was probably for the uncredited work I did on the Sexiest Canadians feature last month. Needless to say, I am no longer bitter that I was uncredited. Now I can buy groceries AND pay December rent! Awesome.

(Now playing: "Good Enough", Mike O'Neill)