A Club That Would Have Me As A Member

I went to a club – a gay club – with my friend Brooke last weekend. It was loud, crowded, and filled with people sporting a lot of hair gel and a lot of cotton. Seriously, who knew the layered t-shirt look I wear to buy zit cream at Target was high fashion? These people would give Eli Whitney a run for his money! (It should also be noted that I found myself checking out the wrong gender, but I assume it’s because they were so much prettier.)

Anyway, I realized I am painfully uncool from this experience. First, I knew none of the hip hop songs that seemed to prompt sweaty people to dance very closely ...and in most cases very poorly. So yes I am a folk fan, but I like to think I’m cool and still up with what the kids are listening to these days. But really, not so much. I hate it, didn’t know any of it, and would be very happy to never meet it again. Hip hop my ass.

I also noticed that some guy in a rap video looked like Orville Redenbocker and felt the need to point that out. Wonderful.

Second, I move. And I don’t mean that I dance or get things accomplished. Let me be very clear that I was neither a mover nor a shaker this weekend. What I discovered is that I move in the least cool way possible – I get out of the way. Perhaps it’s my mid-Western roots (would anyone care for something made with cream of mushroom soup?), but I politely step aside when people try to get by. Not cool. It's no wonder I went home alone, or well, with Brooke and Cat #1 with a strange peeing problem, Cat #2 who paces in circles, and a dog who recently had ass surgery. Nice.

Third, I wore a sweater. Now, who the HELL wears a red sweater to a club?!? I did, however, wear two layers of cotton underneath (who’s gay now!) and ultimately stripped down to a white t-shirt. Maybe other people can pull off this look, but I’m pretty sure I can’t. I probably looked like a high school English teacher dressed as the Fonz for the Halloween dance.

So after geeking it up for a few hours, I eventually put my red sweater back on and high-tailed it out of there. And that was my night.

As I think more about it, I guess anyone who goes to a flea market the day after going to a gay club can't possibly be cool. But what about someone who responds with “Actually, I prefer brunettes” to a creepy flea marketeer’s comment that “All blondes are cute”?

Would that be cool? Sure, I didn’t actually say this, but damnit I thought it later while sipping tea and watching The Golden Girls. And that my friends, makes me cool.