I had not thought about it in a long time, but — presumably due to my memory being jogged by some Energy 92.7 in the background recently and my mindless singing along to old Ian Van Dahl — I remembered that I used to go “clubbing”. Yes. That kind of clubbing. I didn’t do it a lot, but enough that I had a foolproof strategy for getting in: get dressed up in as little as possible and preferably in something either fluffy or shiny, wear heels that strap on (if you’d like an example see: here or here), add glitter, lots and lots of glitter*, and leave the glasses in the purse. In the dark, with the glare of all the glitter I couldn’t see people’s horrified faces, making me fearless. I may have permanently rearranged my insides, between the thump of the bass and the dancing, being a mover-and-a-shaker. But it was fun an experience.
My most …shall we say “authentic” eurotrash clubbing experience was a night in D.C. with a few girls, Lindsay and Sheba (yup. Sheba), it started with cosmos and Nat Shermans, involved hours of standing in line in some outfit that had feathers and sequins on it, and ended, naturally, in a shady all-night middle eastern diner with some diplomats’ kids and their chauffeured Maybachs. It was pretty quintessential.
Incidentally, I often got to go not because I was such good arm candy, but because I was a guaranteed DD — I was always sober since I was all “straightedge” at the time and I could drive anything.
Moral: Girls, learn to drive stick, invest in some ridiculous shoes and glitter and you too could be invited along to all sorts of eurotrash events. Oh, and the part about not getting high, that’s a good lesson too. Being the sober one can make you indispensable.
*HOW am I the same person?!!
