Clubbing Shmlubbing

2 glasses of wine, 1 mojito and a dizzy night later, I remembered once again that I have to stop drinking altogether. I don’t like the during and I don’t like the after. So what’s the point. It’s like the one-night stand argument.

One thing that I find universal everywhere I go is that every club is just one big meat market. Clubbing falls under the same category as networking events for me.  You are there to see and be seen. There are people that matter ‘more’ and people that matter ‘less’. If you end up in the matter-less category, however, unlike in networking (at least for me),  you feel like you’re worthless and life is just a piece of crap. But why? Who are they to judge?  In the networking world, they would probably be the matter-less ones themselves. Probably.

The only mitigating factor for me in clubbing is music. I love dancing and I am willing to tolerate the straight dive into shallowness just for it. Last night did not have such mitigating factor, at the Zozô Bar, near the Sugar Loaf. An incredible location. Cariocas seem to love this place. The line was stretching almost all the way to the mountain. The cool-wannabes, myself and Co. , skipped the line thanks to our Brazilian friend that probably told the hostess that we are some kind of gringo VIPs. It felt good to be special for a moment. The place was very cool inside and even had a giant tree supporting the ceiling. Scores of women were popping out from every direction, armed with uber-high heels, tube dresses and beautiful hair. The remaining male population, rather short in general (or perhaps this was due to my 10cm heels), proudly strolled the grounds, armed with bulky arms and smug looks on their faces.  As I said before, MEAT MARKET.

The music was so so, and sometimes afterwards, myself and published writer got tired, and were ready to go home. I think I am going to abstain from clubbing. At least for a while.

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