A Night On The Town

What a crazy night! Went shopping on Sunset, then grabbed some dinner with Jennifer Aniston at Madeo. The paparazzi were insane! We practically had to run them over just to get out onto the Boulevard. Then we went back to the Chateau Marmont to get ready and ended up bumping into Chelsea Handler and Jenny McCarthy. So we shared a taxi downtown to dance the night away at the Supper Club. I got eight phone numbers, eleven free drinks, and the girls and I have reservations at the V.I.P. lounge tomorrow night.

Ennnnd.... scene. In reality, last night, I ate chicken parm with friends and fell asleep under a dinosaur comforter watching Season Five of Grey's Anatomy. As you have maybe deduced by this series of events, I'm not exactly a party animal. You won't find me out on the town bar hopping 'til the sun comes up. I actually am a total night owl, but I'd rather eat midnight snacks and host a movie marathon than throw on heels and hit the clubs.

Of course, adventures have their place too. And getting out of the house sometimes is a must. But I have to say, any future I may have had as a club promoter ended on one particular night last year:

It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, the air was rather clear and warm, but I digress. I was attending a bachelorette party in Atlantic City. I had never been to this strange, mystical land of casinos and fancy hotels, and I had definitely never been to a real nightclub before. But at this point, I'm excited to be with my girls and totally up for a good time. So we all get ready in the hotel, cab it over to Caesar's and walk right over up to the club like we own the place.

I hand the girl at the door a $10 and she gives me a look. Now, a look like this would only have been inappropriate if I had just insulted her leopard print mini-dress or grabbed her boob without warning. So after we stand there together for a few more seconds, she switches from "bitchy" to "patronizingly sweet". She holds out a hand and goes, "So sorry, honey, the cover charge is actually $20." Of course it is. Anyone would find that to be an appropriate amount. Whatever. I hand over my life savings and we're in.

Right off the bat, I'm aware of two things: a pit of blackness has just swallowed me whole and loud techno beats are bouncing off the walls. I wouldn't describe myself as a grandma in many contexts, but this is one of them. I might as well be Bea Arthur walking in there thinking, "How do these kids do it?" Between the vibrating bass and the blaring speakers, my ears physically hurt. I am 100% sure I will never hear the same ever again.

The girls and I force our way through the crowd and onto the dance floor. We're trying to stay together, but it's like driving a caravan of ten cars through rush hour traffic. By the third traffic light, you've already lost half your group. Not to mention, with as many people as there were, each of us has roughly one square foot to ourselves. And even that space isn't sacred; anyone can invade it by walking right up and grinding against you.

So after about five minutes, my focus switches from dancing to self defense. I'm constantly swiveling, keeping creepers in my periph at all times. Most of these crazies are just roaming by themselves, on the prowl for girls drunk or easy enough to respond to their weird mating rituals.

So imagine my surprise when, after playing one-on-one defense with these weirdos for hours, a cute guy comes up and actually introduces himself. My initial reaction was to blink at him. I felt like I was living in the Stone Age surrounded by primitive cavemen and a 21st-century gentleman just appeared out of nowhere to compliment my bearskin dress. I was rendered speechless and completely awkward. He made several noble attempts at a conversation, but I just mumbled like a spaz until he gave up and left.

Before you judge my social ineptitude, let me paint this picture in more detail. Creatures of the night are attempting to creep up on me from behind. Synth-tastic bass-heavy remixes of Jay Z and J Lo are not only causing permanent hearing loss, but are making me vibrate like a bobblehead. The only things visible in the darkness are multi-colored lasers flying around and piercing my retinas. So now I'm deaf and blind. And if that weren't enough, machines are stationed around the ceiling to blow cold, heavy smoke at random intervals. So even if the lasers are positioned perfectly so I can see my friends around me and we're close enough in proximity to scream over the thumping bass, we are still being interrupted for 10 to 15 seconds at a time by cold, unwelcome blasts of air.

Still wondering why I spent last night having a chicken parm picnic on my friend's living room floor?