CLUB OVICH

Carla and I started out the night at Cowgirlz Inc. (ok, it really doesn't have a "z" in it....). After my wonderful idea to walk there from the ferry-- which started out as a "two block" walk (according to me) and ended up being an eight block walk--we were ready to start the night off right: lots of alcohol.

The music wasn't so great. Your booty can only take so much Shania Twain before it starts to crave Beyonce and Aguilera. I got sick of all the old men in cowboy hats with western shirts barely covering their protruding guts. WORST OF ALL: no one was on the dance floor! Well, no one besides us and three other girls who danced worse than white men. Oh yeah, there was that lesbian chick who tried to get up in Carla's business.......Enough of the amateur stuff, I was ready for some serious booty shaking!

Carla and I caught a cab to a club called Venom--we had heard of a full three minutes earlier. It was dark and shady on the outside, edgy and pulsating on the inside- my kind of place! I took a look at the boring, foot shuffling girls on the dance floor and knew it was my defining moment in history. This was my chance to make a difference in the world-- by throwing some booty in it! I always like to think of myself as the dance floor pioneer (like Christopher Columbus without all the indigenous murder and sailing stuff). Even when the night is early and no one is making that first bold mood to get the party started- it takes me about thirty seconds to walk into a club, throw my stuff in a corner and get out on the floor. Soon after, the floor is usually full of people moving like Michael Jackson on stereoids- coincidence? I like to assume not! Maybe its my lack of a sense of decency, my insensitivity to looking like a fool, or the shots of rum I pounded ten second earlier......

Calra and I danced for three hours straight before passing out, chugging water, and stealing a "reserved" seating sign.