Quarterlife Mocha Girl

Monday, April 09, 2007

Club Chronicles: I Got Served

In celebration of a dear friend's birthday, we decided to go out to Old School Sundays at a popular club in the city. Everything was cool, aside from the fact that even though the theme was old school music and the DJ continually shouted out the 25 and up crowd, the dance floor was full of children. Children who probably just turned 21 to be exact. Pumping and sweatin', grinding and damn near conceiving on the floor. Ok, whatev...

The guys there were killing me. One guy who stalked my friend the first 45 minutes, clearly was old enough to be Freddie Jackson. He wore a Kangol turned backwards (of course!) with shades on, with an oversized suit on. Then another guy starts doing Kappa trains on the floor as if this was a college frat party. I'm Greek, so this is not a biased statement. Rule of thumb: Greek shout outs, calls, handsigns, trains, etc. are strictly prohibited in the "regular" club atmosphere, unless the DJ prompts the crowd. No one cares if you are an Alpha, Delta, AKA or Omega (you can never calm them down though!), but you!

Back to the story. After all of these fools comes the Fool of Fools. And you know I had to be his target right? Standing directly in front of me, he cuts up because he thought I touched him. Don't flatter yourself, dude. He starts making all of these hissing noises and licking his tongue out. I'm thinking is this the club or the zoo?? He is obviously 23-ish. He was yet, another, wearing the Kangol with the shades, a white button--down with the blazer and jeans. Was that the dress code or what? Only his Kangol was turned to the front. So innovative and fashion forward. Let me not forget the grill on the bottom row of teeth for thug appeal.

After he stood there and looked me in my face for what seemed like hours, they cut the old school music and played current music. Just as soon as that snap music came on, he instantly turned into Omarion/Chris Brown/Usher on my ass. Dancing circles around me, okay? As if his dancing skills were going to win me over. He was wiping his shoes down, spinning, turning, pop-locking, moonwalking---the whole nine! So now I'm stuck in a lost episode of Dancelife. Save that ish for Jenny from the block, not me.

I got served. In a major way. This is my life. What a life!


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