I am so over clubbing!

Okay, I’ll admit it – I was never really a club hopper. The urge would pack me once in a while and if I managed to go out clubbing two weekends in a row – it would be too much for me. But lately I have lost all interest. Nowadays dressing up with make-up that totally make me look like a hooker and skirts that are way too tight and too short, while trying to compete with girls half my age just doesn’t do it for me anymore. I don’t know, was that ever fun?

In any case, this of course does not mean that other people in my circles feel the same way and every so often I get invited to tag along on a night out to paint the town red. My ritual usually takes the whole day starting with a looong shower or bath. Getting rid of every poor hair on my body except for the ones on my head. Then I start the tedious chore of washing my long curly hair and putting it in curlers before I blow dry and iron the shit out of it. This is very important! Your mane must be properly groomed in such a manner that the humidity in the club won’t frizz it into a hot, sweaty mess. However this often happens to me and I usually leave the club looking like a clown with my make-up running down my face and my hair transformed into an afro... ... but more on that later!

After all the hard work, I take a nap, to regain my strength and so I can manage to stay awake during the early hours of the next morning when I'll still be in the club. When I wake, my hair is usually all messed up again and this means I have to straighten and blow-dry the shit out of it AGAIN. After this, I start browsing through my cupboards for the perfect outfit. I obviously have an idea of what I wanna wear and what I wanna look like but it doesn’t hurt to have a few outfits ready just in case you change your mind. After I make my choice, I start making up my face. First the foundation, then the eyes and eyebrows, then the cheekbones and lastly the lips. I put on some earrings and maybe a necklace – I don’t really like jewellery – just earrings. I slip on my dress (it’s usually a dress to show off one of my best features – my legs) and my shoes and some perfume on all the right places, check my hair once again (sometimes iron or brush the shit out of it AGAIN!) and then I’m ready to go, go, go!

It takes a lot of hard work and planning to get ready for a night out. And afterwards you look good, you feel good and you smell good – you’re ready to dance up a storm, meet new people, make a fabulous impression and just have fun – or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. Through the pain in my feet, the sweat pouring down my face, taking my make-up with it, sweaty people spilling their drinks on me, drunk people stepping on my toes, strangers grabbing my ass and freezing my buttocks off when we go outside for a breather or if my friends wanna smoke. Tying my hair back somewhere between 01:00 and 03:00 because I look like a witch and turning in a zombie between 03:00 and 04:00, wishing I was in my bed, all warm and cozy and happy. The “best” part is feeling like crap the next day recovering from your late night, the alcohol maybe still in your system trying to get out and punishing your body from the inside and doing nothing you set out to do because your body just doesn’t want to or cannot commit to do anything in it’s crappy state.

Just recently someone asked me to go out with them again. I probably would have considered if it wasn’t for the fact that it was 22:00 at night and they gave me only 10 minutes to get ready. My answer was “oh hell to the no!” Because as you know, I need a whole day to go from classy to assy… Needless to say I stayed at home, left my hair in curls, put my feet up in my favourite slippers, watched a movie under the covers, drank a cup of good, strong tea, and collapsed all happy and shit on my nice big bed. Thanks but no thanks.