Lights are swirling in randomized patterns and occasionally hitting me straight in the eye. Strangers pass me by with drinks, purses, cell phones and wallets as I try to squeeze through the crowd while delicately balancing my two drinks and my own self on my feet. After 3 beers and 2 rum and Cokes balance is becoming a challenging task, but I've done this drunken waltz before and I can surely do it again.
I just introduced mrX to my core group of friends and I am curious to find out how they're getting (or not getting) along while I was gone to purchase drinks. I stop in my tracks for a second and lift myself up on my tiptoes and glance across the club to spy on mrX and the gang. I see S. engaging mrX in a conversation. They're talking. That's good, real good.
I manage to avoid a body-on-body collision with a drunken mess of a girl who passes me by without looking where she's going. Her stiletto heel misses my foot by sheer luck. I try to imagine how it would feel if her heel was to actually hit the target. I can almost feel the excruciating pain and that warrants the girl a staredown, courtesy of me. By that point though, she's already made her escape into a faceless crowd. Lucky for her.
As I walk through the crowd I look around to see if anyone is watching me do my rockstar stroll. Ah, the rockstar stroll only comes out when I am already tipsy and therefore feel invincible and incredibly important. I see a guy by the bar mentally x-raying me as his eyes travel up my body until they lock with mine. I smile. Normally, in any other situation, his behavior would have warranted him a look very similar to the one I was going to give the Stiletto Girl, but it's completely acceptable and even flattering at clubs. Besides, he is kind of cute and therefore I don't mind the attention.
I return to my friends and exchange a few snark remarks with S. about the crowd. I am here, I am here to judge and be judged. I dress up, put gel in my hair, shave my legs and pluck my eyebrows to be more beautiful and if I couldn't deal with the narcissistic world of nightlife I wouldn't be going out every weekend. Monday it's back to the grindstone of nine to five and the subtle urges to sleep in instead of going to work... But tonight, the world is on my platter. With a cherry on top.