Mullets, faux mohawks, and fros oh my!

I was in an alternate hipster universe last night. Imagine that urban outfitters and misshapes spawned some children and let them lose on a Wednesday night to dance to surprisingly good music and drink and you'd have an idea of what we're talking about here. It was so impossibly wonderfully bizarre that I loved it. When I walked in I was like where did all these people come from? and where have they been hiding? There was a beautiful black man with a poodle like fro who danced sporadically like he was only capable of moving his legs and shaking his hair. A tragically blond white woman who could not dance to save her life, she failed her limbs about in her denim mini like this was the best most intense seizure known to man. My absolute favorite though was the beautiful tall thin gay white man who was wearing a red tank, stripped blue shirt, topped with a tiny little vest. He was adorable and I watched him the entire night, as he danced and danced to who knows what they were playing.

The club was also impossibly cool. So cool in fact that we wandered around for blocks trying to find it. Only to run into a bartender from the bar, who showed us where it was. Since there's no sign out front we had walked right past it and had no clue there was even a bar there. There was only a white door with three doormen standing outside. So obviously if you don't recognize it then you must not be cool enough to get in. Strangely enough though I didn't feel out of place there, not because I think I've magically become a hipster, but because the place was random enough that anyone could really go in and have a good time. The music was really good. It was impossibly good. Even I who would much rather sit and people watch couldn't help to dance just a little bit.

We were supposed to go to a gay club though, which is why I'd agreed to go out on a Wednesday night. I even bought a super cute tiny blue poka doted skirt my excitement for it was so high (my mom called it a culifalda which made me love it even more- my dad's face when my mom made me show it to him was also impossibly classic). It was very in the navy which I felt was fitting. Sadly though the club was booked up for a private party and we had to find another place to go to- so my poka doted skirt had to wait for another night to go out. All was fine though, I exchanged one tiny skirt for another and all was good in the world.

And now some links:

* Its very hard to tell baby toys from sex toys. Don't believe me? Take this test. via nerve scanner (of course)

* I don't think there is anyone more qualified to give sex advice than Heidi Fleiss. Apparently Maxim read my mind.

* More evidence of the horrible puffing screening machine I was placed in. Gentle puffs of air my ass.