Trading your Cowboy Boots for high heels and then trading them right back.
Now I have been to exactly three clubs in the city of angels and I have to say I am not impressed. Please don’t mistake my meaning; I love to have a good time. But there is a huge difference between a Southern good time, and a good time for the rest of the country.
For one thing the dress code is apparently something out of a show on the Vegas Strip; I swear I haven’t seen that much shiny, tight spandex since my mama’s Sweating to the Oldies exercise tape starring the ever flamboyant Richard Simmons. As if the jazzercise dresses weren’t enough, the stockings these women were wearing were covered in holes, not fishnets, holes. My mama would have yanked me back in the house faster than a snowball melts in hell if I tried to leave looking like that. I mean is it really that hard to find a pair of black tights that don’t look like they lost a fight with your cat? How is it that they can spend the money to pay the valet and the cover charge but can’t seem to part with the $4.95 it would cost at the Walgreens down the street for a whole pair of tights? I just wanted to walk up to them and say, “You know a little nail polish would have stopped that run in its tracks honey.” Now here I do have to give credit to these city women and their shoes! I love a good pair of shoes. While I wouldn’t wear any of these shoes to dance in, they were fierce. Every single pair I saw were bona fide “come F me shoes” (if you don’t get my meaning just think on it a spell)! However the mistake these women made was wearing the sexy shoes with the skanky outfits. To put it simply it looked like a weekly gathering of women of the night! The free clinic across the street really completed the picture.
As if the clothing wasn’t enough to take in, there was also the hair. I suppose they were going for a messy chic look, but to me it just looked like sex hair and not in a good way, in fact most of these women look like they have been rode hard and put up wet. Down South that look would never be tolerated in a public forum. In fact hair is something we Southern woman take particular pride in. On any given night out a belle can be found in her bathroom spraying on the white rain so every curl or poof stays in place. Big hair is staple in the dirty South. I’m pretty sure that the hole in the ozone layer everyone keeps freaking out about can be traced to a haze of hair spray settled above the Bible belt. Sorry folks but when it comes to making sure our hair doesn’t fall in 98% humidity we do whatever it takes environment be damned.
Something else about these fancy nightclubs is you can’t ever just drive up in the lot and park your Chevy in any old spot. No there is always a valet, because apparently people in the city have evolved beyond parking for themselves and now have better things to do. Like standing in a line for an hour pretending to be higher than their raisin just to get into an overcrowded club where the music is so loud you feel like you’re standing in the speaker at a rockabilly concert. And speaking of the music that is another thing I just don’t get. We finally get into this club to see what I’m sure is a fire hazard number of people shaking their naughty bits to what seems like the same base beat over and over again. Now I’m sure that this is a remix to some popular song, in order to make it danceable, but if you can actually figure out what that song is then you are smarter than me my friend. No, down home we like our music with a bit of twang. There is nothing like dancing to a good country song. In a honky-tonk or country bar I don’t ever have to worry about them playing some crazy remix of a song that was perfectly good on its own! Another plus about partying down South is you aren’t always confined to a bar or “club”. Just drive down a country road on Saturday night and look for the glow of the bonfire. My point is that Southerners can have a good time just about anywhere; and there are some things you just can’t do inside the city limits. But don’t take my word for it, come on down and see for yourself. Just a word of advice to the ladies, don’t wear those stilettos because they will just get stuck in the mud.
Despite my initial impression of the club I decided to give it a shot, mainly because I refused to accept the fact that I had squeezed into a dress that was too tight, put on so much eye make-up I felt like one of the members of Kiss, and paid a 15 dollar cover charge just so I could feel like a sardine in an airtight can sitting on the shelf at Wally World. However, despite my best efforts I couldn’t bring myself to enjoy the smoke and lights of the L.A. club scene and haven’t been back since. I would much rather relax in a bar or pub of sorts, preferably a hole in the wall type place. Now many people have asked me how I expect to meet a guy without going to the clubs. Well the way I see it the man of my dreams won’t be found jumping up and down in a glittery club to a remix of Katy Perry’s Fire Works, because if that was the case, I would have to throw myself in front of a bus either to kill myself or to inflict enough brain damage to be able to tolerate a man like that. Not that I mind a man who dances but prefer a little more strong and sturdy, than shimmy and shake.
As far as those who actually enjoy night clubs and sipping martinis go; I say to each his own. Who am I to spit on the recreational mating rituals of a culture that I don’t understand. I am simply a visitor in this strange land, and it’s not my place to “hate on” what others do for fun. But as for me, I think I’ll be trading my stilettos back in for my boots. Not that I mind a good set of high heels and a pretty dress that makes me look like a movie star, but if I’m gonna be dancing it’s gonna be country, and I’m just not sure those skinny little heels can handle it.
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