Let me start by saying that in Scottsdale, or probably anywhere for that matter, the only way to go out on the town is with a designated driver, a big group of your real friends and a plan of action such as reserved tables or listedness.
Having said all of that, this weekend I headed out simply for the fact that it was Saturday night and I had nothing to do Sunday morning so sleeping all day was an option. Apparently if you are single (as in not married) and you are between the ages of 21 and 40 something, you “go out” on the weekends. That’s the rule.
As for myself, I honestly do not like to head out for the pure and simple goal of getting annhilated. I also don’t ever go out trying to meet my future ex husband or my new best friend. It just doesn’t work that way and I am hip to it.
I sort of feel bad for that guy in the club, vodka redbull in hand, stumbling over to me to ask me if I “wanna dance” or “wanna drink”. I know I am the 23rd chick you used your “it’s my birthday” line on that night and I just have very little interest in it. I don’t mean to sound like a hypocritical bitch. I’m sure out of the 15 guys that will approach me or my friends that evening (and every other halfway decent looking girl in the bar), at least 2 or 3 are probably okay dudes. But the sad irony is, if you are in a Scottsdale night club drinking, the very same club I am drinking in… I’m probably (when I say probably I mean definitely) not going to give you all that much of my time.
So I call up one of my girlfriends, one that I know won’t require any babysitting by nights end, and talk her into this silly ritual knowing fully just how the night is going to go. We talk about how we have “nothing to wear”, how we need to do a “serious cleanse” and how we should start totally working out together because we are getting fat. Then we argue with eachother that the other one is not fat, usually follwed by statements like “well atleast you have big boobs” or “yeah, but your ass is really cute”. All girls do this, and as a side note, pretty much all girls are crazy. I do not exempt myself from this rule.
After all the blah blah blahing, we finally make our way to the only area in town where there are several bars and night club selections in one spot… good old Scottsdale A.K.A. Snottsdale.
Arriving at 11pm, the lines at any club are already insane. There are now two choices if you are not “on the list” or locally famous. For guys, the choice is simple, make your way to the front and slip the bouncer a hundred. Unless you are rolling 5 hot chicks deep, that’s about your only shot at passing the line and even with the 5 hot chicks it will probably still cost you. If you are a female and are pretty attractive and either alone or with only one or two friends, you make your way to the bouncer up front, look cute and wait patiently until he is not busy, then politely ask if there is any way you and your girl friends can get in because your other 5 smokin hot friends are already inside… it’s usually about another 2 minute wait and then they check your I.D. and open the rope.
So that whole fiasco takes place, now we are inside, and the usual routine begins. Upon entering, I always look for the beer tub girl rather than the bar. She is usually hot, friendly, and you can get shots and instant service rather than waiting for 15 minutes or trying to push your way to the front of the bar to get a weak drink from some spiky haired bartender with bleached tips, a spray tan, and a cocky attitude. I’d rather have a beer and a shot of jaegar for nine bucks from a hot chick than a martini for thirteen from that dildo.
The night continues on and most of what I talk about above takes place. By starting the night at 11pm, you must accept that about 80% of the crowd is already drunk,I mean really drunk, some are even falling by this point. You can either watch and enjoy or try to get to the same drunken point as quickly as possible to make the evening tolerable. I have done both of these but on this particular night I decide to sit back and watch. A funny occurence that always takes place on night like this is the marriage proposal. Random guy, often times foreign, walks up and proposes marriage as his pickup line. Not sure how other girls handle it, but I usually respond with friendly laughter and a head shake, then turn and start talking to my girlfriend until he gives up and walks off.
The next funny character that shows up is usually what I like to call “the stalker”. He is always one of the first guys to approach you when you arrive and you just seem to keep “bumping into” him all night after this. There are a few different of ways handle “the stalker”. You can be polite then laugh it off and crack jokes with your friends every time he appears and disappears, you can be a total bitch making it clear you aren’t interested at which point the stalker, who is usually drunk, often responds with anger and a rude comment (but keep in mind this opens the door for a drunken apology later), or you can latch on to the next non-threatening guy that hits on you and keep him around a bit, letting him know you have a stalker.
Now guys who are actually still reading, pay attention if you care.
The Stalker is your friend. He may help to provide your chance to get in with a girl at the club that usually wouldn’t give you the time of day. Offer her your protection from the stalker! From this you can usually buy her a drink, get a dance, and by the end of the night or when the stalker gives up, you ask for the digits. If she’s single, she will probably give them to you because you were “just so nice”.
Anyhow, all of the above pretty much took place in one way or another between myself and my friend… in addition we also encountered “creepy much much older than everyone else in the club and all by himself guy”, “loud obnoxious thinks he is funny but he’s not guy”, “incoherent drunk guy”, and my personal favorite… “hey it’s my or my buddies birthday guy”…I like to bust this one by asking him for his astrological sign, works just about everytime so girls should be hip to the Zodiac. I mean what does Birthday guy expect anyway? A pat on the back? A kiss on the cheek? A blow job?
I guess my point in all of this to the men out there is …. just don’t be that guy.
At the end of the night I feel unsatisfied just like I knew I would, my feet hurt from my closed toed heels (no time for a pedicure that week, lol). I am more buzzed than I want to be to drive, but was no where near buzzed enough to handle the aformentioned goings on .
As always I promise myself again that I will save my going out for my travels and times when I can catch up with my Industry friends that I don’t see that often. I will also do productive things to have fun from now on with my very rare free time, and I decide to seriously start reading more about Buddhism.
While driving, I pass Jack in the Box and successfully fight the urge to stop for greasy fast food. I head straight home where my dog has destroyed my favorite heels and pooped on my living room floor as a show of his distaste for my five hour abandonment. We have a Mexican standoff which he wins and we crawl into bed together and hug it out. I wake up the next day to the annoying sound of a long distance ring (you know that triple ring) at 8 in the morning.
My head hurts.
So next weekend is my birthday party and I will probably get to do something similar to this all over again, but one thing I do vow here and now is not to approach a single dude with the line “Hey, it’s my birthday”.
I can buy my own drinks, but thanks anyway.
Loading ...