I'm not much into the whole club scene. That, and my lack of volleyball skills, are the ones I apparently didn't get in the rainbow gene pool.
Marco dragged me to O Bar in Ortigas last week. That'll make my fourth trip to such a thumpa thumpa place in my lifetime--my second in this particular establishment (I'm not counting the one in Sydney, because frankly, that was just a gin joint at 9PM). I didn't want to go at first. Good thing our previous engagement ended at 12:30AM, so the timing's just right for us to walk towards the venue. And even then the bar didn't fill up with people until I decided to go home at past two.
I love dancing. I love it even if I don't necessarily have the rhythm or grace to be particularly good at it. So I kinda find it weird that I don't like clubbing that much. Maybe it's the cigarette smoke, and that such a crowded place rings my internal FIRE HAZARD! bells. I have no complaints about the music (they played Adele remixes!) and the go-go boys though. :-) Well, the go-go boys could use a little less clothing.
Is it because of the expectations and pre-conceived notions I've set in such an environment? I have been told, after all, that bars are a good place for hook-ups. And it's true... for some people. Me, not so much. I've had more luck in bathhouses without me really trying. :-P LOL. And therein lies the problem.
Sure, on the one hand, I should begin with the end in mind. On the other hand, though, I should be ready to play the "game". The meaningful three-second eye contacts. The subtle shimmy-shimmy and close dance grinding. The wingman technique (to Marco's credit, he offered to be my pimp that night). And I'm not good at those. Is it because of the subtleties? After all, darkrooms are more conducive for relentless ass-/crotch-grabbing than in a dance bar where almost everyone is fully clothed, the lights are brighter, and the possibilty of being gutted with a broken beer bottle is much higher. One has to be... discreet. Goodness knows I'm anything but.
So yeah, the problem lies in me setting conflicting and confusing expectations. Bathhouses pretty much sets the goal for you. Dance bars, not so much. And if I'm not comfortable to set the goal of sexing everyone up to the tune of the latest Rihanna song then I guess I just have to set a new one--the one I should have set a long time ago: to just frakking dance and have fun.
Hey, they say good things come when you least expect it. *fingers crossed*
(Side note: according to Marco, there were some guys shooting looks at my direction. And of course, the naive me missed said stares. Ugh. Ah well, next time.)
I do need to find some club buddies if ever I'm gonna embrace this clubbing thing (and honestly, I'm still wishy-washy about it; the idea of curfew was instilled to me so deeply I still get nervous of doing anything outside past midnight). Evidently, dancing alone makes one look like a sad loser.