Yeah, I went to a club once...

I have gone on "Spring Break" exactly one time in my life.
That's me in the back upper left.
Okay, okay... that's a lie.
In 2007, my college roommate, Liz, and I spent a week in Florida sponging off assorted family members. Specifically, my aunt and grandma. God bless them.

And while it was not a tequila-fueled, Mexico meets MTV, sexfest of loose clothing and looser morals, we still had a blast. The most memorable moments of which consisted of going to a *real* club in Orlando and being violently sick for three days. However, not (surprisingly) in that order.
Although I must say, after three days of non-stop puking and sucking down ice chips, I rocked that bikini.

Rocked it like a hurricane.
Slight dramatization.
For the record, us being sick was not drug or alcohol related. Our best guess is that we picked up a bug on the flight down, or that the Florida oranges we ate immediately upon arrival were poisoned.

Seriously ya'll. Watch out for tainted fruit.
Anyway, once Liz and I completed our yak-extravaganza, we found ourselves desperate to make up for lost time.

So we drove to Kissimmee, played around in Universal Studios, and made friends with a caricaturist and some ride operator that Liz swore bore a strong resemblance to Johnny Knoxville.
Eh. Maybe if I squint?
It was from these guys that we learned that the real party scene was thirty minutes away in downtown Orlando.

Being young, single, and on spring break, exchanging phone numbers with strangers and getting sketchy directions to a club in an unfamiliar city was clearly the best decision we could have possibly made.

Yet we never saw Le Caricaturist or Pseudo Knoxville again. 

Just faces in a crowd...
But we did make it downtown to the club our newfound friends had recommended.
It looked like this:
Not the place I want to spend my once-in-a-lifetime vacation.
So, naturally we immediately turned that car around and went up the road to a place that looked more like this:
Jager bombs!
After securing a cheap hotel room within walking distance, we followed the crowd to worship at the shrine of dollar shots, house music, and general excess.

It was my first and only true club experience, (somehow I don't feel like Detroit counts). So, though my experience may seem tame to other people, it was pretty damn foreign to me.
And I have never learned so much in such a short period of time.

For starters...

4. Best check yourself at the door.

Apparently sunny Orlando is consistently ranked among the most dangerous cities in the U.S.
So, although it seemed a little ridiculous to go through airport-esque security just to get to the booze, it was reassuring to know that my chances of getting stabbed were significantly decreased due to the bouncer's insistence on searching everyone before they walked through the door.
This man has no problem looking you in the eye while patting down your junk.
Once we were checked out and allowed to go in, it became very apparent that weapons were the only thing security cared about finding.

Which brings me to my next point...

3. White girls can get all the drugs.

I feel like I should provide a brief description of this particular club: It was the largest, loudest, and most ridiculous party I have ever been to.
And, well... ever play that game, "which one of these is not like the others"?
I think you get the idea.
Also, weed was everywhere. I'm still not sure if contact high is a real thing, but I did feel lightheaded at times, so...maybe?
Seriously though, there was just copious amounts of ganja.
The first time I went up for drinks, the guy next to me asked if I'd like to partake. But being a criminal justice major who wanted to be employed eventually, I had to say no thanks.
My former D.A.R.E instructor would have been proud.
This same conversation was replayed several times over the course of the night, albeit with different guys. A little later, we were offered ecstasy, then cocaine.
I tried to be funny by saying I only liked cocaine in my morning coffee. To which the guy asked if we wanted to have morning coffee with him. I believe it's #31 on the list of dirty pickup lines.

Yup, walked right into that one.
I am an idiot.
But hey, it's a club. We kind of expect things like that.

I can't say the same for...

2. Making it Rain.

Imagine taking a portion of your paycheck and just lighting it on fire.
Simply because you can.
We saw regular dudes "making it rain," by casually tossing money out over the crowd, and the girls were eagerly getting down to snatch it up. No camera crews for a rap video or anything.
Apparently throwing money away just ain't no thang.
"Hundred dolla bills, ya'll!"
Don't get me wrong, I've definitely been irresponsible with money at times. We're talking about a girl who decided to buy a cheap pack of Hanes because I was too lazy to go to the laundromat.
But it was a "no ride-up" guarantee, so I felt justified.
And sure, I think the "make it rain" guys were only throwing single bills, but still. Something about it doesn't seem right.

Meh, whatever. 

1. Dirty, dirty dancing

Most of us are familiar with the kind of "dance moves" that go on these days. And I use that term loosely. No doubt Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly are spinning in their graves, but the ol' bump and grind, drop it like it's hot, and variations thereof are here to stay.
Sorry Mr. Kelly.
Maybe your high school had a "face to face with a little bit of space" rule at dances. You know, to stem the fear that students would otherwise take things to extremes and just start having sex on the dance floor. If you were like me, you laughed at the absurdity of such a notion.
Pffft! Haha! Yeah right. People in real life wouldn't do that!
But in retrospect, I suppose it's not such a large step to go from "freaking" to, well... you know.
Especially since I have seen it.


Four people. Two couples. Having sex, in public, on the dance floor.

Take a moment to let that sink in.

Liz and I were getting our groove on when I saw her glance over my shoulder. Her expression quickly changed from "party girl having fun" to "completely horrified". She motioned for me to turn and look, I did, and found myself doing a Scooby-Doo double take.
OMG.   WTF?!   IKR!
Two girls appeared to be dancing face to face with each other, with a guy immediately behind each of them. But their skirts were hiked up abnormally high, and apparently my timing really sucks because as I turned to look I also got an eyeful of...
A whole flock of 'em.
And then the two dudes just walked off.


To this day I wonder if a kid resulted from that public sex scene. They would be almost four by now.

So. There's that.

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