Last night a DJ saved my life

New York doesn't seem to have the same sparkle shine it once did. Last night was the first Saturday in a while that I did the NYC thing. I went with a friend to a tiny club I had heard of but never had been to. Her friend had suggested it and, well, what did we have to lose, so we had an impromptu night out that started off with a fun train ride in to the city (which was probably the best part of the night).

Exiting Penn Station at 8th ave. so we could walk down to 28th St. and over to 10th Ave., I got my first taste of male pattern rudeness as a pack of guys walked in our direction and one in particular decided he fancied me so much (as I was practically covered from head to toe in clothing) that he just had to touch me. Even though it was "only on my hand" and his hand "only graced my waist" it was enough to make me wish that we were in another part of the city and he was without his friends so that grrrl inside me could get all riled up and demand to know what made him think that he ever had the right to touch a complete stranger? Huh, you ugly clueless unintelligent insensitive senseless asshole?!?!?!?

But I ignored his advances and made him feel like I didn't notice that I had been touched by a stranger.

We finally got to our club on a strip of many. I wonder when this one will too change owners and get a new name. Waiting in line, ID please, I always look away even though yes it is me in the picture and I have been above the legal drinking age for years.

The hallway looked decent. No cover for two girls who come in alone. We walked into the dark abyss like animals freshly born and blind. I thought that there was a height requirement or that it was Amazon night because almost everyone was over 5'10" for girls and 6'0" for boys. There was no noticeable dance floor as the room was packed with tables and couches - "VIP" bottle areas where the women danced on anything they liked.

Needless to say there was more unwanted touching, but thank G-d no groping. Obviously there was drink-spilling, toe-stepping, and when I couldn't stand the claustrophobia anymore I knew it was time to give in and buy myself a drink. A $12 drink. The most expensive drink I've had since $13 Apple Martinis at Guastavinos on Saturday nights some 4 or 5 years ago when they still had their Saturday night after dinner hours party and apple martinis still weren't too sweet for my taste.

I haven't had much to drink lately, what with the three weeks and all, so it was no surprise that after 4 sips of my Stoli and soda I definitely had a buzz going on. After my drink was finished I was satisfied in knowing that it was my first, last, and only of the evening. I think I'd like to remain a one drink queer for a while.

While I had my buzz going so that it made me dance, I stopped for a few minutes and had a good look around. A couple to my left was doing their own version of dancing, which was really his leg in her crotch and moving from side to side sloppily. Scantily clad girls were everywhere and men were trying to catch them. In those brief moments that's when I wondered, is this what's really important in life? Is this what brings fulfillment? These nights of dancing and drinking when everything blurs into one and becomes one, where his touch of your flesh is still all your flesh and in the morning everything has become a question mark. Maybe it was at 22 but 25 seems to demand a bit more, like the opportunity for conversation even if it isn't taken advantage of. Dinner with someone you love. The ability to make a connection with someone that doesn't require making out with a stranger.