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Too Loud, Crappy Music and Me

April 19, 2009

We hardly ever go out. Talking Lynn into leaving the house is like pulling teeth and let's face it; it's expensive. Last Saturday (this was actually a few months ago) we went out to the club with Vivian and Jo. We should have just left when we got there because the cover was $5.00 instead of the usual $3.00 and why? Because they had exotic dancers... male. Now here's a fact, lesbians… not really all that interested in scantily clad male dancers. Of course Vivian's not a lesbian... I'll address that later.

We walk in the club and there are these two little guys—but they were in good shape—dancing in striped briefs and combat boots with white socks. What the F--k! They were pasty white, damn near as white as I am where my farmer's tan ends. And the white doesn't end with their skin color, NO! These boys could NOT dance! They had no rhythm at all. Now I know some of you have seen me dance and you're thinking, "She's one to talk." As Sherri's fond of saying, "She flails like a straight white guy."

Well that might be true but you know what? I ain't getting paid to do it.

And here's the best part—the bar is full of Dykes. There is one gay guy in the whole place, and when one of the dancers gets on the bar to dance in front of him he's on his cell phone and looking across the room and obviously working at ignoring the dancer.

They couldn't dance, so they were mostly posing. Here's where we get to Vivian being straight because she quickly points out that neither of these guys have much to brag about if you know what I mean. At one point one of these guys gets excited—no doubt because they kept touching their junk, obviously they thought they were being sexy—and he gets wood. Yep, he gets wood and his dick looks like one of those chubby crayons we got in kindergarten—only shorter. Sad, really. It's just sort of flopping around in the front of his shorts and no one's the least bit worried or excited thinking he might fall out.

I suggested that they weren't really men at all but women with really small tits and large clits.

And again... they couldn't dance.

Of course it didn't help that the DJ was playing that F--king technopop crap. No one is dancing except the “I'm Doubting Nuts” twins, and apparently the DJ sees no correlation between the dead dance floor and the crap he's playing. I will dance to damn near anything because I just like to dance—don't give a damn what I look like it's not a contest—I like to dance and for me not to be dancing the music has to really suck.

It really F--king sucked! Just that technopop crap with the occasional song that you like mixed to the point that it's damn near unrecognizable and you couldn't dance to it unless you were doing as much crank as the male dancers obviously were, but they still couldn't dance.

To make matters worse the crap was so loud you couldn't talk to the people at your table. I don't think I really heard a word Jo said all night. And you’re shouting and drinking beer and well here's the thing I want to go out to visit with my friends meet new people and dance. If the crap is so loud I can't talk or hear anyone then that's blown for me and if the music sucks so bad you can't dance... Well I can sit around at home and drink beer and it's cheaper and I don't have to deal with cigarette smoke and I can listen to the music I want to listen to.

And the owners are there. It's not like they can't see what's going on in their club, not like they can't see that no one is watching the dancers or dancing and that the music is too loud. Now I know all you ass holes are saying if it's too loud I'm too old, but I have never gotten the whole hanging out doing nothing blasting the music so loud your ears hurt and you heart gets thrown against your breast bone. If I'm not talking to friends or dancing there is no reason for me to leave the house.

The people who run the club are nice, I like them. I think they need to actually run their club. Get a DJ who gets it. Someone who leaves the booth walks around and makes sure he's not playing the music so loud people can't talk when they are sitting together. A DJ who will watch the crowd and if people aren't dancing will give up his play list and ask for requests. Preferably a DJ who knows how to use a mike so that you can actually hear the words he says and it doesn't just sound like—as Jo so aptly put it—the parents in a Charlie Brown cartoon. A DJ who takes note of what gets people up and dancing and plays to the crowd instead of their own tastes.

And the club owners need to actually audition the acts they bring in. Those boys sucked, and I'm not just saying it because of that fact I told you about earlier. If those boys rocked the house out, I wouldn't have minded the extra cover charge or having them in the club. If someone can really move I don't care what sex they are I will enjoy watching them dance. Hell even if someone has no rhythm if they actually seem to be enjoying themselves I think it's great. These boys looked like the male models in a Sears ad—stern—and if they the smiled at all it never reached their eyes.

Here's a clue... if you're going to play crap music that no one wants to dance or listen to then turn the crap down so people can talk or they're going to get up and go home. That's what we did. As we were leaving he actually played a real song and the gay boys started to filter into the club... maybe we just got there too early.

Selina

If you enjoy these bitches, please contact Selina directly at selinarosen@cox.net. Thanks!

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