Alas, it is Saturday, and i'm a little pained up after a long day, and an even longer night. Hardcore soccer after six months of not playing will do that to any man, but going to a club and fighting the futile fight is also a pretty draining experience. (At some point in the night someone WILL be cockblocked by "Jesus").
Ibiza is a relatively new club on first street in DC near the greyhound station. When we pull up, the line isn't very long, but then again we are hellishly early for club time, being there at 10:05 to get in free. The first thing I notice is that at least 70% of people in the line, or working at the front are Asian. I know a Korean girl I met over the summer said she had a job at Ibiza, but I didn't realize it was part of some, unseen Asian coalition. After a few minutes of idle conversation in the line, we enter.
I was 25% impressed. Only 25 because I don't like going to clubs for a myriad reasons. Secondly, when you step in there is a HUGE dounut shaped lounge area recessed into the floor. It looks pretty cool, but unless I was lucky that night, I probably wouldn't be sitting there. I didn't walk into the club going "wow", but more like "hrm". It was part warehouse meets hotel lounge.
The crowd at first was pretty mixed. A smattering of Black,White,Asian and Latino people. However, this would change drastically within only an hour of reaching the club. After another 45 minutes passed, I felt as If I was at a club in a foreign country. Almost everyone in the immediate vicinity was Asian. Many of the bartenders were hot Japanese-looking chicks, or part-time Asian male models, and a large number of the patrons on the dance floor were Asian as well. Now, I don't mind the Asian thing, I've even dated a few Asian girls, but this was taking the club thing to an extreme. Not only do I dislike clubs because sometimes being a minority in certain clubs either really goes in your favor, or makes you the really awkward sweaty black guy dancing too fast in the middle of the club, but this was crazy.
I was in a majority minority situation.
I didn't want to go to the club. I dislike clubs because they are very impersonal, overtly superficial and 99% a waste of my time. Though I might be wrong, I'm convinced that the nature of clubs only work for people who are (a) extremely attractive (b) a part of the social group in the club (c) club owners and affiliates. Either way, as the night went on my friends and I had a few stilted conversations with girls that ended up ignoring us (go figure) and then, jaded and disgruntled, I put forward the option to head to Wonderland.
Wonderland, as usual, was supposed to be my Friday night outing. Wonderland's weird, almost Dimension X feel draws me in and makes me feel relaxed. There I know I can have fun. Big club full of cute Asian girls in the middle of DC? No chance.
When we are heading out we find out they have lost my friend's credit card and his driver's license. This adds another 30 minutes to our Wonderland departure time. For our wait, we are given a few bottles of water to drink( I swear someone got maced somewhere in the area, but they say that's not club policy), but then a bouncer tells us we can't leave the club with the bottles of water. At this point I don't care. I've already resigned myself to the fact that I won't go to a club for a long, long time. I can never understand the atmosphere. Maybe its just me. Sometimes I think I am a cell-phone/club pariah.
Yes, a pariah.
Its not the most inspiring thought, but its all I can come up with. The club scene is a bit gay. Gay in the way that makes a guy feel like a loser when really he's only a loser at big clubs :p
We head to Wonderland and reach there around 1:45 a.m. Even at that late hour, things are still swinging and I feel like slapping myself for going to Ibiza and spending too much money on drinks that cost half the price at Wonderland. The after effects of a work-laden-patronage-out-on-the-town are obvious. People are still chatting excitedly, a lot of people are drunk, and all around people seem "happy". I know if I had come there at 11, I might have been there just in time to meet a nice little lady, just itching to chill with a Jamaican.
Sad.
We go upstairs and my friend follows this Filipina looking girl with a great body. She was wearing something that loooked like Moccasins, which was odd for early Fall fashion, but it worked. My friend kept commenting on her ass, and how great it was. Personally, I was in a blurry place. After a long stressful week, my Friday was completely wasted. The images that kept running through my head were seeing the single Asian guys that came in, all have girls on their arms about the time we were leaving.
"Argh!" I shouted.
My friend was trying to squeeze in on the girl with the indian boots, when Jesus (I kid you not) zooms in front of him, effectively creating a wedge between them both. "Damn," my friend said.
"I got cock blocked by Jesus." I laughed when I heard this. The guy was the splitting image of the stereotypical white-jesus. Long hair, fuzzy beard, calm-ish demenaour sans the halo. He was wearing a faded read shirt that read "Do it for the cookies!" (whatever that meant).
Wonderland started dying down and I ended up sitting on the stoop of my friend's place a block away in a group of five, delineating on the discourses of attractive people and how much easier their lives are(I did not initiate this conversation). We sat and we drank beers. My friend who was previously cock-blocked by Jesus found a good chatting companion in the sister of a friend of my friend. As they were talking, I could see her comfort level rising. Even being cock-blocked by Jesus wouldn't stop him this night.
After another forty-five minutes of pointless conversation, everyone was asking for food.
"Where is some fucking food!" the sister of the friend of my friend asked me. After scratching my head a bit, we ended up going to a 7-11 up the road (but not after trying to jump and grab onto a tree branch 19 feet above us...Twice.) During this time period, the sister of the friend of my friend calls my friend "cute" and shows him definite signs of interest. He is definitely "winning" as we like to say. I smile to myself, marveling how the after effect of Wonderland is so powerful, that good things flow even when we aren't there.
Then I remember that I haven't been called "cute", "attractive", or much less anything for as long as I can remember (even when I was dating ). So again, my Friday night was a waste.
But I learned two things.
(1) There are a LOT of Asian people in DC
(2) If Jesus-cock blocks you, its to point you in the direction of something garaunteed.
Today is Saturday, hopefully I can "win" this weekend, or I will jump into a pot of boiling oil, or just watch C-Span for hours on end to torture myself.
peace
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