Why I Hate Going Out

I came to this epiphany last time I was in LA.

I hate going out....and pasta. But we'll concentrate on the topic at hand.

My cousin and I go out whenever I'm in LA, and I'm always so excited because I actually get to go to a real club instead of the non-existent ones around here. I figured because since its a bigger city, its a broader scope of men to dance with, better music, a stricter dress code, blah blah. So needless to say, I was looking forward to having a good time.

I have narrowed down my club experience down to science and each one is practically the same. First, going straight to the bar trying to generate a strong quick buzz that will carry you the rest of the night. Second, waiting for a good song to come on, then waiting, and waiting. Third, people watching while commenting on the jostling of your surroundings (a.k.a talking about girls who are too big to have on the outfits they're wearing).

And lastly, we have the actual dancing, which consists of finding a spot on the floor to get your groove on.

Hence, while partaking of the getting on of the grooving I encounter the part that I hate the absolute most about going out.

The fighting off of the sweaty men

There's nothing I hate worse then the smell of man who has been dancing hard as hell all night long, in a crowded hot club, who then spots you and decides that you are the one that he was been waiting all night to see. Therefore, he feels to need to entice you to have sex with him by rubbing his sweat drenched, musty, deodorant running, cheap cologne wearing body directly on top of yours. In motion. Ewww...dry heave.

And...here's the rub. They don't leave.

You try to politely dance away, they dance the same way. You try to turn your head, they turn it back. You try to hold your hand over your nose, they pull it down and put it on their neck. You pass out face first on the floor from the inhalation of toxic fumes, they dry hump your lifeless body on the floor. So on and so forth.

Also, when you manage to wrestle free from sweatbox and actually see someone cute that you want to dance with. One of these three instances occur:

They don't dance, nor they don't want to
Cuties don't really dance that much. If they do, they do their "I'm so cute I don't need to dance" two-step about 3 feet away from you. I also believe by the time the sweatbox is pried away from your ass with the jaws of life, every single girl in the club has tried to get in their pants, he's already chosen, and he's retired for the evening.

They're with their girl
I hate this shit. Why the fuck would you bring your girl to the club, why? What romantic memory are you trying to recapture by going to the club? The club is congested as hell so there's a big chance your going to see someone that you used to fuck. Also, desperate losers like me do not want to see you making out with your girl. I'm bitter enough being there in the first place.

Something is wrong with them
This category includes plenty. The most popular being gold teeth and speech impediments. The most common being upon first meeting uttering these words, "something ain't right about this motherfucker." If you have any more, feel free to tell me. I'm actually researching for future posts.

Yeah, and about that pasta thing. Its just slimy and gross and unfulfilling, and I'm going to stop forcing myself to eat it. That is all.