Imagine playing your favorite song with the loudness of level 10. Then try imagine layering your second favorite song with the same amplitude at the same time. Now mix that with 3 of the most disgusting songs from your playlist, and blast them all up to level 20. Try to picture yourself sleeping with it. Even if you couldn’t, say you did. How do you think would you rate your good night’s sleep?

A nightmare.

That is how i was tormented by the after-effect of my Halloween party 2012. i doubt if i could call it a party. It was the first time i’ve ever been to all 5 clubs at Zouk in 1 night, hence the 5 ‘music rojak‘ theory. i went with 2 guys ‘young enough to be my brothers’ (or so it felt), who abandoned me in the end (why am i not surprised; yay for teamwork boys) to meet my German friend, Charles* and his girlfriend, Lily* inside.

There were: hot superheroes, sexy villains, delicious zombies, cute weird animals . . .  Despite their roles they happen to be all friends; at least that’s a fresh scene for a change. Apparently alcohol brings peace when role players share one similarity – everything, drunk! The real ‘Gladiator battle’ happened between 2 groups of men (shameless) breaking glasses etcetera, also because they share one similarity – everyone, drunk. Completely sober, sweet heavens, i grabbed Lily’s hand and we ran for our lives leaving Charles, who went as a turtle, behind.

i walked into the next club with judging eyes; trying to register the dancing lights moving faster than my envious hips. It suddenly worries me to no end that i’ve become one of those girls that my girl friends and i used to judge – the kind who just stand there like a mannequin at the edge of the so-called ‘VIP platform’ bought for the night by some kinda ‘dato‘; too afraid to look stupid – Come on plastic, move that daymn ass! i tried to blend in with the atmosphere but it was IMPOSSIBLE – Sleazy men. Skinny men. Sick looking men. i was slapping them all around in my head like a mad fuck. 2 girls continued to molest me with their breasts as a physical prologue before pushing me into their group of single and starving short male . . .  You know what. i can’t do this anymore.

There i stood smack right in the middle of the dance floor; probably 6 feet tall with my heels on, looking down at these shorties compacting my flesh against their sweaty fabric in a somewhat mechanical manner from all directions. The DJ is still telling us to put our hands in the air. When can he tell me to do something different? i looked like an idiot who is betraying her 400 dollar dress. i’d really rather be somewhere with someone more worthy of our time, having real conversations over a glass of tomato juice. Even if not for me, for the sake of my dress. Sad, i left with my conscious; leaving the memory trail of dance steps a|x and i co-created for Danza Kuduro behind.

Back in June when i was partying happily at Krabi i met this friendly Malaysian girl (who apparently also loves rubbing her breasts on me). i swear i thought she was the friendliest kind. Going all ‘beach mode’, i wore a sexc bare back batik slip. A couple of hours later, this ‘friendly’ Old Klang Road girl pulled my bikini knot behind my back with a smirk so evil that even lasted long enough for my sight to steal it despite my horror. Bitch! Do you see where i’m going with this? i’m really too old for that kinda shit.

For the record (i have to do a disclaimer thing at the end of my wordy blog posts or somehow somebody will feel offended or assume that i think of myself as a saint), i am not judging everyone who goes to clubs. Guilty as charged, i am a party animal myself. Probably, just a different kind now. Maybe it’s the crowd. Maybe it’s the company. Maybe it’s me. But just when i thought i’m done being wild, i imagine myself at my favorite bar with my best friends with a glass of Cosmopoliton in hand . . . all hell breaks loose. What have i not learned about (the right) parties, crowds, and company?


Bring it on, bitch Old Klang Road!

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