Hands In The Air
May 19, 2010 § 1 Comment
Because of finals week, my sleeping schedule has been completely out of whack. Yesterday I slept from 7AM-430PM, which is what my whole week has basically been. It sucks because the sun seems to rise and set earlier here than at home, which means less sunshine when I want it.
I also woke up yesterday with one double eyelid instead of zero. No amount of rubbing would make it go away, which put me at a loss for how to do my makeup.
Anyway, last night was my first time going clubbing on a Tuesday night — ladies’ night in Tsim Sha Tsui. We left an hour later than planned, which is not uncommon but especially inconvenient this time because this certain club [Zaza] is only free until 2AM. The line stretched down the block by the time we finally arrived, and we hung out for a while at the back before getting the courage to join the rest of our friends in the very front of the line.
It was hot & sweaty with people mashed up against each other and women lighting up right next to me. Tempers ran high when the bouncer finally let us all in after making us wait for 45 minutes AND having us all pay the $100HK entrance fee even though it wasn’t even 1AM.
Five minutes after we stepped into the club, the lights turned on. Word reached us that the police were coming. Seriously? We JUST paid to get in. Were they coming to check ID? I had stupidly forgotten mine. Everybody stood around chattering amongst themselves until the cops arrived and we were told to be quiet.
A table and chairs were set up in the middle of the dance floor for the officers, and one of them sat and looked through documents as the others walked around and inspected people. It felt like the longest 25 minutes ever. We had no idea what was happening, but nobody was detained. The whole thing was really weird, but after they left, the party started right up again.
To me, the clubbing experience seems to consist of dancing, drinking, looking for stray members of one’s party and waiting in line for the restroom [whether one needs to go or not], with lots of picture-taking in between. It’s a fun time, but I don’t see how people can do it day after day or even week after week. The routine gets monotonous.
I danced with one guy whom I deemed acceptable: good hair, good skin, good teeth, good body, good clothing, taller than me & seemed my age. Total stranger. And he didn’t really speak English. His name was Bert? Curt? Couldn’t hear. Toward the end of the song he tried to stick his tongue in my mouth — I don’t know if he was drunk or inexperienced, but I just wanted to dance and maybe feel him up. Two hours later we found each other again and had a round two, heh, but had to stop because my thighs & feet were screaming in agony. I kissed him on the cheek to let him know I was leaving, but he tried to slobber all over me again so I escaped to the bathroom with some other girls.
Other than that, I went crazy when the DJ [finally] played “Sorry Sorry,” my feet are still in pain as I write this at 7AM, I feel greasy but satisfied after another round of 3AM dim sum, and I’m going to miss the club scene here when I go home. Down at school, everyone drinks but no one dances. Lame! Anyway…time for bed.