This weekend was unusual for me. I went out THREE nights in a row, which is now only about 50 fewer times than the rest of the people on the trip. And I had a great time. I didn't drink too much, I met some nice people (and an equal amount of creepers), and we all enjoyed each other's company.
Thursday night we went to Chapeau Rouge, which I was hesitant about, since that is where The Great Club Robbery of 2013 occurred. But since I had nothing left worth stealing, I figured it would be worth a shot. That club is something...special. It's very druggy. Fret not Mom and Dad, I have not come back with any new addictions or diseases. We met some lovely Russians who tried to sell my friend to Bulgarian princes and ended the evening with some very kind English students from my Jewish History class. And then I slept hard.
I was a slug on Friday. I couldn't have done any less if I was sentenced to bed rest by a doctor. However, Friday night we had planned to go to a bar where there were supposedly piglets to play with, monkey bars to climb, and a unique atmosphere to enjoy. We knew it would be grungy. But when we got there, it was nothing less than a crack den. We walked in and it was too quiet. Everyone had obviously taken some sort of hallucinogenic drug before we got there and they were staring intently at a man playing the water glasses. I saw no piggies. I did see a murdery cult den. We immediately decided to go to Lucerna, a club that I always hear people talk about but never actually went to because I dance like Big Bird. They were playing all the throwbacks that I like to pretend I remember, but wasn't actually alive for. 70s, 80s and 90s music. All us Long Island kids had quite a bonding moment when Uptown Girl came on. It was magical.
And then finally, there was last night. We went to a five-story club. I don't remember the name of it; I think it's just called The Five-Story Club. As you can imagine, there were five stories. Each had a different type of music, and of course we chose the most crowded, sweaty, douchey dance floor. There were some guys who got in a fight, lots of blood, the usual. In fact, Haylee at one point fell on the floor, cut her wrist on broken glass, and ended the night stained in her own blood. As did I. Covered in Haylee's blood. Which she then proceeded to lick off my face. I love that girl.
So now it's Sunday. It's St. Patrick's Day. And I can honestly say that I have no energy left to be Irish today.
Unfortunately, I have no pictures to share today. With the loss of my iPhone came the loss of my ability carry around a compact camera at all times and take dozens of pictures like it's my job. But with the help of my generous parents, I now have access to a point and shoot. So pictures will be taken!
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