Last night, I had a Night on the Town. Yes, it is an event that deserves a capitalized title. Me and some lady friends decided we hadn't seen each other in too long, and we instituted a Plan. A Plan that we followed, to the T.
Step #1: Attend a Girlie Movie that I Would Be Embarrassed to Admit to Seeing But Will Now Talk About on the Internets and Eat Lots of Popcorn Instead of Dinner
We saw The Back Up Plan. It was terrible. I mean, hilarious and awesome, just not in the way they intended. I know what you're thinking, you're thinking did you really need to actually see the movie to find that out? It's about J-Lo getting pregnant and then dating a guy who didn't get her pregnant! How else could this turn out? You are correct in saying this, but the fact of the matter is that a Night on the Town with lady friends is like Fight Club. You don't ask questions. (Is that even a rule of Fight Club? I don't know, I saw that movie 10 years ago, which makes me feel really old now because suddenly things I did 10 years ago weren't that long ago in the grande scheme of things.)
There were many many problems with this movie that I would like to itemize because I think it would be hilarious, but I feel I should move on for now because I am using way too many words already on this post. Needless to say, I left the movie being so glad to be alive and with awesome people (read: I was incredibly relieved that the movie did not kill me and that I did not have to spend any more time with the movie people, but was still glad I had gone through such a bonding experience with the real people I was passing the evening alongside.)
Step #2: Go to Restaurant Where Lady Friend Who Could Not Join Us Because She Was Working Works and Have a Drink
This was, need I say it, awesome. I seriously considered suggesting we abort Step #3 of the plan because it was so awesome. Why? Because my Lady Friends are amazing and we got to talk about all sorts of Lady Friend-like things (note, they were not all "lady like" things.)
Step #3: Go to Nineties Night and Dance and Pretend We're Still in High School and Maybe Look at Cute Boys But Mostly Dance
This was where the night went somewhat awry, but managed to maintain good levels of awesomeness. If you have never been to a Nineties night and were a teenager in the nineties, go find one and go to it now. I don't care if the club is closed right now, just go. Go because normally at a Nineties night, the club will be filled with awesome people just like you (I say you assuming you are just like me): people who are in their mid-twenties, like dancing, enjoy theme nights and nostalgia. The proportion of gross people, girls who wear skirts that show their vajayjays, and lecherous dudes is much lower, and the proportion of really really cool people dancing and singing their faces off without caring if they look ridiculous is much much higher. Also, somehow there is a much higher proportion of dudes who actually know how to dance, which pretty much makes me the happiest lady in the world.
Unfortunately, this night proved my previous paragraph entirely false. Everyone was 20. Everyone was trying to hook up and spending more time looking at other people than dancing their faces off. Finally, EVERYONE was on the dance floor, which is normally an awesome thing, but this dance floor was particularly small so that meant there was no room to dance like it was 1999, and there was only room to wiggle around looking suspiciously like someone who is trying to be seductive whilst looking around for a spot with a little more room to move, looking suspiciously like someone looking for a cute boy to dance with.
This is the relative timeline of the night from arrival at the dancing location:
-Got into the club without paying cover because one Awesome Lady Friend is friends with one of the DJs. Still had to wait in line though, after bragging to the dudes in front of us in line that Awesome Lady Friend would totally get us in ahead of them. Then had to stand in line behind them.
-Chose to save $3 and not pay for coat check, because these small expenditures always seem really important even though I had already dropped $12 on a movie, $9 on movie snacks, and $5 on a drink, and would later spend another $17 buying drinks for friends. Logic is awesome!
-Saved said $3 by stashing my coat on a windowsill instead of in a corner or on a chair where it would actually be inconspicuous. Reasoned that it was a light spring coat with used kleenexes in the pockets, so no one would steal it. More logic!
-Tried to dance, ran into problem of full dance floor. Awesome Lady Friend offered to buy us all a round, mostly I suspect, as a means of escaping the claustrophobic wiggling.
-At bar stepped on what I thought was a piece of ice that got stuck to the bottom of my shoe. Tried to scrape the ice off the bottom of my left shoe using the top of my right foot (logic?). Felt painful scraping. Felt wetness on my foot. Realized it was one of the kazillions of shards of glass on the floor and I had just cut myself.
-Chose not to say anything about the growing pool of blood in my shoe, because the night was still young and I did NOT want to be responsible for turning a night of dancing to nineties music into a night of searching for disinfectant and band-aids. Reasoned that the floor was probably soaked in alcohol and that would prevent my foot from becoming gangrenous. (Note: I was not even drunk when I made this awesome decision, I am just that awesome.)
-Danced in the non-dance floor areas with Lady Friends because there was actually space there. Was awesome.
-Met some friends of Other Awesome Lady Friend who joined us, chatted, danced, and chatted some more.
-Danced with a 20 year old. Felt really old. Did The Robot. Felt better. Kept dancing with the 20 year old because he was hilarious and despite his age seemed to embody the spirit of nineties night. Had a Robot competition with someone else. Met people who are rich. Thought it was hilarious to meet people who are rich (because are people ever actually rich or does that just happen on TV?) but didn't say it.
-Felt good about all the awesomeness I was taking part in.
-Finally decided it was time to leave the club.
-Went to spot where I stashed coat. Saw it wasn't there.
-Saw piles of coats nearby, reasoned someone may have thrown mine into that mix. Searched through coat piles. Did not find my coat.
-Asked coat check girl (who was watching my fruitless hunt) if there was any chance someone had given her my coat. She said no. I asked if it was probably stolen. She said yes. Felt less awesome.
-Had to tell my friends my coat was stolen because I was too cheap to pay $3 to check it. Tried to reassure them that I didn't care because I was overheated from dancing and also I had gotten the coat for free, even though really the fact that it was free actually makes me more sad about losing it. Felt less awesome.
-Decided to feel awesome even though I was coatless.
-Went back to restaurant from Step #2. It was closed/closing, but friends who work there were still hanging out. Sat around and talked to people who talked about doing drugs and pretended like I knew what they were talking about. Realized that this is a regular thing to do for people who work in restaurants (hang out after hours in restaurant, probably having drinks from the bar) and felt like an anthropologist discovering a new world as I have never worked in a restaurant for more than one day.
-Remembered that my foot was bleeding. Checked out the damage. Foot looks okay, not gangrene, shoe is not so good, lots of dried blood on the inside. Everyone exclaims things like "oh no!" and "look at your foot!" and "how did that happen?!?" Tried to decide if this makes me trashy or super cool. (I still haven't decided.)
-Realized it was painfully late and I am an old lady and don't stay out late like this anymore and I needed to get up early the next morning. Made sure friends would get home safe and drove home (it's cool, I only had 3 drinks in the whole night and this was like 3am! I was being responsible! Except for the fact that it was 3am and I was not in bed.)
-Went to bed without washing foot, mentally composing threatening letter I could write to club owner if my foot did wind up getting amputated as a result of this glass-shard cut.
-Woke up and disinfected it. Still no gangrene, declared victory over shard of glass. Halted mental composition of threatening letter.
So now the only thing to do is ask if anyone knows how I should get the dried blood out of the inside of my shoe? It's really cute, I will be way too sad if I can't wear it anymore, and I will feel unfortunate if I wear it with the blood and go over to someone's house and take off my shoes and then everyone can see my bloody shoe and will wonder what on earth I actually do with myself ever and how I can think I'm taking care of myself when clearly I'm not.