Boredom for those who really just have no desire to know. Which is most of the world. This is why I love LJ. I can bore people in *groups* and be oh so unapologetic.
Because that's the defining moment of my night.
He stood about six six, long blonde dreadlocks, great black leather jacket, cool black boots, and a leather thong. Probably a little older than me. Maybe. It was--interesting.
The most interesting of the non-performers was in an absolutely stunning gold ensemble, vaguely Egypitan-y, though I wouldn't swear to that. Bronze hair in this complicated knot. I spent quality time just staring, because she was gorgeous and I wanted that outfit badly.
I didn't dress for it, as I have no idea *how*, one, and two, the three or four of you that have seen me walk in Very High Heels know very well that I look better sitting in them, as walking causes injury and death, and no, not just to myself. Though I admit, dancing in them would have been an interesting exercise in America's Funniest Home Videos.
There were two shows--a kind of boring seduction thing involving suits and pasties, and a really interesting one with a chick playing with fire. Lots of background writhing onstage that I couldn't quite figure out what they were doing, but then Fire Girl would eat fire and I'd get all, ooh, pretty!
Like I said, interesting.
Vannezsa knew some of the performers, and let me point out, unfair competition, because they came in thongs and lingerie and let's all face it, wearing jeans and a tank top doesn't have the same allure. I just don't have that level of comfort with my body. Or my underwear. But that just made me have to be social, and actually, proactively so, since true to form, two guys magicallly appeared at our table to offer drinks and of course, the one that hit on me was--
--Jesus, drunk. Also, high, I think, though I can't prove it. And a little gropey in a non-good, jenn-likes-her-personal-space-way. And way, way too intimidated, which is cute at first, then just annoying. Also, he couldn't dance. Now, *I* can't dance, but when I'm with someone good, I'm pretty capable of pretending, and well, it's not like you need classic ballet training on the floor. And God--so many poor guys all hanging about the edges trying to look cool and failing miserably.
Then there was Brian.
Yes, that amused me, too.
He kind of had to be coaxed--walking around behind my table and following me to the bar was kind of a sign, but like I said, shy is cute but only for a little while, and after that, get some damn balls. I decided on a fifteen minute window and went to smoke near one of the televisions broadcasting a spanking, getting vaguely depressed that I would never, ever look that good in a red bustier and ten inch heels, and I watched him trot up and down the stairs a few times before he finally dropped down and asked for a cigarette.
So, ice broken. Dancing, flirting, blah te blah, and then it was twelve thirty, and I had work, so I gave him my beer and wandered off with Vannezsa to go home.
The only thing I actually like to do at clubs is dance, which I'm not entirely sure is the goal of any other given person. It's relaxing. It's freeing. I lose a lot of my self-consciousness, because who the hell am I ever going to see again in this group? It's music, sound, light, and it's--in a way, it just completely lifts my mood for days.
You know, re-reading this, even when I go out, I'm boring. But, I got to wear comfortable shoes, which I think counts for a lot.
Anyone have anything interesting to read? Yes, misskatherine, got your email, and let me say, WHOO! Read it at work between clients. Did you release it yet?