Sometimes I think my life is funny.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

That Time I Went to an Old People Club & Remembered Why I Hate People

Hello there! It's been a while, and while I thought I might never revive this blog, due to the popular demand (and by "popular" I mean 3 people), I thought I'd try to bring this back to life. Let’s get a few things out of the way up front: this blog is not about a date and does not include any cheeseburgers. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but moreover, I’m sorry I didn’t get a cheeseburger.

Last week my amazing best friend, Katie, was stressed from work, and frankly, so was I. Then I went to D.C. for a protest in the middle of the week to fight against the American Health Care Act, and on that Friday the bill was pulled. So between the stress and the urgent need to celebrate a big win, my bestie and I decided we needed to go dancing.

Now, as a woman in a wheelchair, I need some space on the dance floor to bring out my good moves. For this reason, we automatically nixed all the clubs that allowed 18 year olds, because there’s nothing sexy about being smashed against other humans on a packed dance floor and feeling their sweat drip on you. Instead, we decided to go to what Katie described to me as “the old people club” called Taylors.

I figured we’d have plenty of space on the dance floor and no one would bother us because I assumed all the old guys there would be going for the old ladies. Awesome.

So I throw on my sparkle tights (yep, I have sparkle tights. More than one pair, actually!), and hit the club with my supermodel looking best friend. And I gotta be honest, it takes a lot of self confidence to dance next to Katie because she’s tall, gorgeous, and a great dancer. I’m short, slightly pudgy, and most of my dance moves come from the 80s and my Zumba class. So I break out my self-confidence and dance next to her. 

I wasn't kidding.
Here we are just casually chilling with parrots
and she looks like a supermodel
while I look like... well, not a supermodel. 

However, I had to take pause when we entered the club because I thought we had gone to a dance club, but it looked like we were in a strip club or an aerobics studio from all the mirrors on the walls. Even in my Zumba class I refuse to watch myself dance in the mirror because I’m painfully awkward and offbeat, so why the fuck would I want to watch myself pretend to be sexy while dancing to Pitbull at a club? I don’t.

This is the actual club. However, we did not get light up hula hoops.
That may have changed my opinions about the mirrors. 


But here’s where it gets weird: NO ONE ELSE THOUGHT THE MIRRORS WERE AWKWARD.

No, these girls were literally dancing with themselves in the mirror. A group of five women walked in the club together and instead of dancing in a circle with each other, THEY LINED UP AND DANCED WITH THEMSELVES IN THE MIRROR. Is this normal? Am I the only one that thinks it’s weird to dance with myself?

Whatever. I kept dancing because I wasn’t about to let these weirdos ruin my night of fun. I’m dancing and no one is going to stop me.

But then, people actually started stopping me.

One guy stopped me to tell me he likes my tights. Great bro, but I’m trying to dance here. Admire the sparkle tights from afar, k?

Then the next guy stops me to tell me he loves my red lips. Super, want to borrow my lip crayon? No? Then don’t interrupt me while I’m breaking out my sweet moves.

The next guy asks my friend if he can dance with me. She tells him to ask me. I tell him to fuck off because how dare he ask someone else if he can dance with me instead of asking me. He ignores my “fuck no” and grabs my hands and starts spinning me around like he knows what he’s doing, but every time I twirl, this winner forgets that he needs to move his damn feet and I roll over his toes. 

After 20 seconds, I cut the dance off. He leans over and gets really close to my ear just to yell “You’re a great dancer!!!” Thanks for yelling in my ear, good sir. “You could improve” I respond as I rolled to the dance floor in the next room to get away from him.

People, I’m just here to dance. I’m not here to dance with you, I’m here to dance. I’m certainly not here to TALK to you. I’m not giving these guys any “come hither” looks, in fact, I’m not looking at anyone! My eye level is basically at everyone’s crotch, so half the time I’m closing my eyes and dancing in my own world. If I look at anyone, it’s by accident when I get super excited about a good song and start swinging my head violently.

I cannot be more clear: I came here to dance! I am not here to get a man. If I wanted that, I would go on Tinder where I can quickly swipe left until I see a guy with a cat in his picture, and then finally swipe right.

100% right swipe. 

Despite the fact that I make no invitation for anyone to speak to me, a charming man comes up to me, puts his hands on my legs, and leans over to say “I wonder what you would look like if you weren’t hobbled.”

Now mind you, I've started yoga to get my Zen on, so instead of my natural response of flipping the fuck out, I simply said “That’s incredibly rude, get away from me." 

“It’s not rude! I just meant I thought this was a temporary thing and I want to know what you look like when you’re not like that” the charmer replied.

How many people with temporary disabilities have sparkling, hot pink wheelchairs? Seriously, I want to know. Also, do people really look much different when they’re standing v. sitting? Want to know what I would look like if I wasn’t in a chair? A short, semi pudgy girl with awkward dance moves and sparkle tights.

“Bye” I told him as I went back to dancing to what sounded like all the songs from the NOW! CD from 2000.

I thought that guy would be the winner of Douche of the Night, but no. I clearly underestimated the crowd.

Next a guy with a gold grill approaches me. My first thought was “Are grillz still a thing?” In his world they are. He asked to dance. I said no. He asks Katie to dance, shockingly, she says no. We continue to dance.

Does anyone in the world actually think this is attractive? 

Later, as Katie is off calling us a taxi, Grill Guy comes up to me and tries to hug me. I push him away. His friend comes up to me and says “He’s a good guy, I know him. And I want you to know that even though you’re in a wheelchair, I still think you’re human.”

Wait, even though I use a wheelchair, you still THINK I’m a human?

I didn't realize my status as a human was in jeopardy because I use a wheelchair. 

I have absolutely no patience for this shit, so I say “That’s so fucking rude, get away from me.”

Friend of Grillz pulls me back and says “I’M A GOOD GUY!” and then tries to enlist the people around him to vouch for his good-guyness. The people around him say “I don’t know you.”

So Friend of Grillz decides to grab me and pull me really close as I try to pry him off of me so he can shout in my war “ALL I’M SAYING IS IF YOU COULD GET OUT OF THAT CHAIR I WOULD FUCK YOU SO HARD!” Thankfully, that is when a group of women I don’t know pull this guy off of me and push him away.

Thankfully, that’s also the same time Katie finished calling us a cab and we left.

Abbreviated version:

Went to a club where I thought I would be able to dance uninterrupted. Ended up at a stripclub/aerobics studio where the DJ played his hottest NOW! CD’s from the early 2000’s most of the night. Even though I gave no indication to ANYONE that I wanted to be interrupted to dance or talk with another human, men kept interrupting me to tell me things that I didn’t want or need to hear, including confirming that even though I’m in a chair I’m still a human (thanks for that affirmation) and that IF I could get out of my chair, a completely creepy stranger would fuck me so hard. Awesome.

Lessons Learned:

1. No matter how much yoga I do, I still hate humans.
2. I don’t think it’s my fault I hate humans. Its humans' fault. 
3. Awkward dance moves and refusal to make eye contact will not prevent men from approaching me at stripclubs/aerobic studios. 

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