This last weekend I did the unthinkable, something I swore I'd never do again. But just like Pampered Chef party's and helping someone move, I took one for the team and it resulted in my tired old ass shuffling into the goddamn club. What club? Donno, don't care they're all the same.
Hundreds of twenty somethings with too much make-up and too little clothing trying so desperately to look hot. It's dance floors packed with stumbling gyrating bimbo's getting dry humped by frat boys in town from Oklahoma. It's multiple bars with giant clusterfucks of people 5 deep waiting 20 minutes to pay $17 for a cocktail from the only 2 bartenders working. Too many numbers? Yeah I thought so too. Let me do the math for you. Multiply 5 + 20 - 15 divided by 2 = get me the FUCK out of here before I start punching shit.
Don't get me wrong, I've done the club thing and it was fun for a while. But I've been over it now for quite a few years and I really couldn't be happier with my decision. (As are the guys that for whatever reason aren't into dirty old ladies ogling their young sexy asses, but I digress) That's why I was slightly shocked when my girlfriend who was turning 29 decided to go clubbing the entire weekend she was in town. I suppose 29 is still 20's but really I think anything over 25 is pushing it. Whatever, I stayed the obligatory 25 minutes and then did what any little old lady would do, drove home (blinker on the whole way) cracked open a nice can of Ensure and slipped in season 2 of my Matlock DVDs. That Andy Griffith sure is a dreamboat.... 
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