Club Chronicles pt.8

Crazy 8! Let's go!

To the fellas who haven't quite figured out what is appropriate 'club attire' let me shine my ignorant ass blogging spotlight on you. Firstly, you have no excuse for showing up to a club you PLANNED to attend wearing something that violates dress code. You knew better and if you didn't, perhaps you should have taken a note from your homies when you saw them show up draped up and dripped out. Generally speaking you shouldn't have on a fitted or snap-back. Most clubs just don't do the hat thing, whether the dress code is relaxed or not. Don't whine and complain at the door because the bouncer told you to ditch your Toronto Blue Jays fitted. They don't care if it matches your Air Max sneakers perfectly. Stop ringing off your promoter friend's phone telling him to come to the door to cosign your outfit choice. It's a hassle that is NOT part of their job. Nine times out of ten they don't even care for you to be there, but you told them you were gonna buy bottles. Secondly, and on the opposite end of the spectrum are the dudes who overdress for the club. There's a guy I know who comes to the club looking like he might stop the music and grab the mic to preach a sermon at any moment. Unless specified as a formal event, leave the three piece suit and tie at home. You look silly, and guaranteed you will be leaving with your niggaz... sans bitches. Guess we know who ain't getting no pussy tonight. *kanye voice*

I have to specify before I say this that I have NO IDEA who the females involved are. So I'm breaking the seal in the bathroom last night, and two girls walk in talking loud as fuck complaining about the party. Mind you it was still pretty early, I had only pre-drank at this point. I'm used to hearing people complain at parties when it's early, since no one is drunk and awesome, the party hasn't turnt up yet. But while I'm taking my hand towel from the bathroom attendant the topic of their complaints switches up to something like this:

Thing 1: "I'm never coming here again."
Thing 2: "I know! There is all balls up there."
Thing 1: "Like *flips synthetic lace front over shoulder* where are all the girls?"
Thing 2: "Clubs in Atlanta and Miami are never like this! The guys are all so cheap here. In ATL I would have been drunk by now. Dudes line up to buy girls bottles in MIA and ATL..... blaaaaaaah blaaaaaaaah blaaaaaah"

Now, I've spoken about dudes not buying girls drinks before. Chivalry is dead in Toronto. Not because we have no manners here, the culture here is just different. We're called the screwface capital for a reason. Furthermore I have never seen these girls before, but you can't be unknown and swagless complaining about bottles that you claim to get in other cities. Who bought you a bottle in MIA? Did you go to Liv wearing that maxi dress you bought from Urban Planet (for my US readers, that's like Rainbow) and your EMPTY speedy? Don't come to the party to complain about shit not bein like it is in the states. If its so terrible not having these phantom bottle buyers in Toronto, MAYBE you should take you and your superiority complex back to ATL or MIA.

Sunday was a great party night for me. I stood on the mini stage with Trap and turnt up the whole night. But as we were doing the money dance trying not to spill Hennessy on the people in the booths below us, I look around and the crowded club and notice a shit load of people just standing. Which makes me wonder, why in the name of 2 Chainz anyone would take the effort to come to the club to be bored. What's your excuse? I hate hearing "I'm bored" when I'm drunk going ham to trap music. WHY are you bored? Is it because you came to the party with the wrong people? Nothing sours a night like party pooper friends. Or is it be because you're sober as fuck and last call just passed you by? Whatever the reason is, instead of pouting in a corner, declaring to anyone who will listen that "this is why I don't party", why don't you make the best out of the night and try to have fun? And if you can't just cut he malarkey fam. Take the sulking to your crib and leave us partying mother fuckers to our awesomeness.

The Articulate Bitch