Thursday, March 1, 2012
Last night started out like any ordinary night - we did our hair & make-up, picked out our outfits, started pre-drinking and pumped ourselves up with the right kind of tunes. Our taxi showed up and we made our way to HQ for "Flashdance." Flashdance is HQ's regular Wednesday night old school themed club, and last night's theme was Night at the Roxbury. That, combined with a rainy and miserable day, resulted in practically no line outside and heeeeeaps of room on the dance floor.
We immediately made our way to the bar and then outside for a cigarette, after I had checked my jacket into coat hire, and then magically found Elliot outside. He asked why I wasn't drinking wine, to which I informed him that I only had time to down half a bottle before our taxi showed up. Elliot is well aware that I'm a wine fiend. For whatever reason unknown to Rachel and I, half the goddamn club was closed off so we only had two rooms. I'm unsure if that's strictly a Wednesday night thing, but I was severely disappointed. Soho was full of rnb and all that kind of music, which neither Rachel and I enjoy, so we stuck with the main room playing pretty much everything from the 90's and good shit.
Both of us were hit on numerous times, and each male was met with harsh rejection. I learnt an important lesson last night - do not make eye contact with the opposite sex if you don't know them. It opens up Pandora's Box and you're stuck trying to be polite and nice all the while being straight up about your disinterest in them. Rachel royally fucked us over when she asked one of the guys [there were two of them] where he lived in Adelaide. He lives in the same suburb that she works in, they went to the same primary and high school, and even had common friends. At least it took the heat off me and the other guy wasn't too bad. He actually could tell that we weren't interested and tried to pull his friend away. Meanwhile I was sneaking horrifying "help me" faces towards Elliot in an attempt for him to rescue us or something. It didn't work. OHYEAH, AND THE GUY RACHEL WAS TALKING TO KNOCKED OVER MY FUCKING DRINK THAT I HAD LIKE TWO SIPS OUT OF BEFORE IT WAS ALL OVER THE GODDAMN TABLE. Motherfucker.
I love Rachel's honesty. One guy came up, sat next to me, and asked if he could buy me a drink. I said no, quite politely. Rachel, out of nowhere, leans across me and towards him, then swiftly blurts out, "Go away. She's got a boyfriend and isn't interested. Seriously, fuck off." I think she basically told every guy, minus Eliiot, that came near us to fuck off. She's not my best friend for nothing.
I think we stayed until about 2:30am-3:00am before the club closed off the main room and we were stuck in that shit rnb room. Rachel and I managed to convince Elliot and his random friend to come dance with us before we left. I don't even remember the song, only that Rachel was busting out some sweet moves. Catching a taxi home was a pain in the ass because we had to direct the damn guy. I'm sorry, but you have GPS in your taxis now and it's your job to know the city; expecting us to tell you where to go defeats the purpose of catching a fucking taxi. You should be able to jump in, tell them a destination, and relax knowing your driver isn't going to kill you with their reckless driving and that you'll get there fuss free. Assholes.
All I can remember from earlier this morning is that Rachel had woken up real early since she had work at 8am, her phone shined a light that I could barely see through my barely opened eyes, and that I must've been stress dreaming because I had hives during the night only on one arm. I woke up and there was nothing there except for a small mark on my wrist, which I'm guessing is from a lit cigarette that swiped past my arm. We both somehow managed to keep our heels on the whole night - no complaints or serious discomfort. It's 12:00pm and I don't feel like shit. Sweet as night.
Note: remember how I started listening to Lana Del Rey's album the other week ? I've been listening to it non-stop. It's so easy to enjoy.