Alcoholic Stories #12: Clubs, dancing and drinking

Welcome to this series of poorly written alcohol stories. Steemit exclusive.

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Women love dancing. Women love men who know how to dance. Creepy men like clubs. It's a wonderful cycle indeed.

Now, me personally, am not very picky with the places where I drink at. I like parking lots, bars, parks, home, streets, hell I would probably even drink at your grandmother's. But I'm not really a fan of clubs, in matter of fact I hate clubs. I'm the type of drinker, who enjoys social companionship and intellectual conversations, a class debate whether it's about the nuances of social dynamics or elementary level of economics. Much like my drink or my women, I'm not picky on the subjects as I enjoy improving myself in all aspects of life. Call me an enthusiast. Or a drunk.

But the club offers none of that, aside the overrated club cocktails that cost way too much, it also is limited in it's space and is filled with the 1% people. The 1% people of record breaking IQ scores. Record breakingly low, that is. I can not see any flattery in shaking one's sweaty, stinky flesh around. Is it supposed to be sexy? I don't see it. Is it supposed to be seductive? I don't see it.

I've never understood how clubs ever became successful, surely I never refuse a club invitation if I'm invited VIP and offered free drinks, but other than that I have absolutely zero interest in this atmosphere, and that's completely fine because the dance-enthusiasts would never be too intrigued by the types similar to myself either. Not to mention I would easily break into Guinness Records for the World's Worst Dancer title, no doubt.

She, highly educated woman who's just looking to let herself free for one night, might think of me as a complete loser and I might think of her as a trashy moron so the feelings are mutual.

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The benefits on being a young drunk is the connections aspect, I know men of all fields and getting personal VIP invites from DJs was a regular feat for me, so this one night I get invited to a club. But I never enter the club sober, me and couple of friends are drinking for a warm up... for 9 hours, I believe. I might've set someone's hair on fire, too. Haha. I believe we totaled up about 4 rums, 2 vodkas, 1 tequila and numerous dozens of beer. One can only imagine our condition once we started heading to the club, before we headed to the club where I kindly invited every soul I met that day. I was kind like that. Or delusional from the amount of alcohol I've had absorbed that night. Or that lifetime.

Within the 9 hour time-span I also managed to invite one girl to join us and much to my surprise she really liked the idea and kindly agreed. She had the looks, the wits, the charm. She was nothing short of amazing. The only problem was that I've had never met her before. Can you just imagine the first impression of me after 9 hours of drinking? She wasn't impressed. Not one bit. But that's alright, we head to the club... but that's the part where things get dizzy, the line is miles long and I lose my friends for a moment, the bouncer wants to kick me out for being so wasted, but then throw out my VIP-creds + contacts of the club DJs and organizers, so I get a VIP entrance, ahead of even the regular VIPs and I put my clothes away, enter the club, look for a bar... oh wait, I forgot something. That woman. My friends. Fuck, I must've forgotten 15 people behind the line, but I couldn't find my way out of the club any more, the rum really struck me hard. I found the VIP bar where I had quick 4 shots, till the bartenders refused to serve me. Can't blame them. From that moment it's all black out. Notihng. Blank

Morning, wake up. Girl of my dreams is angry as fuck. Friends angry as fuck. Wallet is as thick as my thought of reason - non existent. Feeling like shit, what I do? I head to the store to continue my adventure.

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