A few weeks ago I went clubbing. Not cruise ship clubbing, not high school clubbing, but actual, legit DC clubbing. I passed on Madam Organ's, passed on Ultrabar, and instead settled on Josephine. (If you follow that link and witness debauchery, I apologize.) Now, allow me to explain. I have some nice Mormon friends who don't necessarily participate in the type of activities that go on in nightclubs, but they have nice non-Mormon friends who do. And one of these friends was celebrating a Golden Birthday with her Mormon friends, and requested that they all join her at Josephine for the after party. Said Mormon friends were a little nervous about the whole event, and invited me along for a few reasons (that I can think of). First, they needed a ride. Second, they needed a protective male who had Mormon standards. Third, they told me my blog material has been boring lately, as reflective of my life, and that I needed some excitement. And fourth, they needed someone to tally up the cover charges and keep track of who owed who what. It's rare that my math knowledge comes in handy outside of a school, but at Josephine it did just that. I think that was the reason they went with me instead of the Elder's Quorum president, Fabio, who drives a Chevy suburban.
We arrived at the club about 11:30pm, where we waited in line for a few minutes hoping we were good looking enough to avoid the ridicule of the ridiculously large bouncer with a clipboard and earpiece. I don't know what was on the clipboard, but I'll assume it was hand drawn pictures of Care Bears and Leprechauns. The couple in front of us had an awkward first date moment when the male was denied and the female wasn't. That type of hard evidence that you're dating out of your league is rare, and I don't agree with it. But I am not Josephine.
Luckily no one in our party was rejected by the clipboard wielding behemoth of a man, and in fact some of us (who did our research) got passes to avoid the steep $20 cover charge. That's how you know you're entering a nice club- when you have to show Mr. Andrew Jackson just to enter. (Actually I have no idea, this was my first DC club experience. Maybe $20 was a bargain.)
Once inside the club (and here's where you can start cringing, Mom) it was a sight to behold. So many beautiful women wearing enough clothes to completely swaddle a large tic tac, all dressed to the nines. There were some extremely creative outfits, including a leopard uni-suit (she was on the hunt), and a skirt that made a bikini look like a Burka. The club had two main rooms, and then a raving 'pit.' In the pit there were some professional go-go dancers (if you don't know what those are, please see the Wikipedia article and know that they were not as bad as you may imagine they could be; this was a swanky club, mind you). My group mostly stayed in the other room where the patrons were more tame, the lights less assaulting, and the music slightly less throbbing. My Mormon girl friend taught me how to handle women who come up and start dancing with you in ways that might lead to a lawsuit in any other venue; her strategy was surprisingly clever and it made me wonder if she'd been clubbing a few more times than she had led me on to believe...
In addition to the go-go dancers, the club had hired very attractive girls to stand against the wall in outfits that were apparently very wedgie-proned. I can't blame them.
In the end I made it home. And I still feel I can hold a temple recommend. And I probably won't do it again. Well, maybe... if someone needs a ride.
PS- I was going to post some pictures, but none seemed entirely right for this kid friendly blog about night clubbing.