Phat Tuesday

I’ve never participated in anything relating to the Mardi Gras celebration. Before and after I’ve always been to the clubs and listened to other people’s stories. The closest we came was two years ago my best friend was asked to design a New Orleans style balcony for the club that became our “Cheers”. She was leaving for a vacation and didn’t have the time with work with the general manager on the design. A couple years prior to that, there was a terrible riot in the downtown clubbing area. The cops were totally unprepared for the number of people that streamed into the streets and caused serious drunken mayhem through out the city. Since then the downtown area that was the heart of the spree, is now like walking into a police station. There are more cops in that area than people trying to get into the clubs. Driving into the area you are met with the five huge buses, which I call “paddy wagons”, meant to accommodate mass arrests.
The ultimate goal is to project a sense of safety to the area as well as immediately eliminate the possibility of another riot even starting. DUI’s are pretty much caught in a block or two. Fights within establishments have immediate support. The rest of the city can sleep more easily knowing that those twenty-something hoodlums will be dealt with.
The opposite side of all this safety is that city cops have never been the nicest. The regular patrols for this area, at times, seem to pick fights with people at the end of the night. Now you have two billion cops walking around with nothing else to do but feel big and important. The other annoying thing is that all this extreme cop presence takes up all the street parking, several sections of paid parking, and the “paddy wagon round up” uses the whole upper level of the one parking garage that is the closest and cheapest.
Now don’t get me wrong, I am not down on the cops at all. They deal with so much shit, and as a female that clubs alone, that would indeed make me feel extremely better about going out. It’s the overwhelming feeling of two billion cops waiting for you to do anything, ANYTHING, so they can body slam you into handcuffs. Most people I talked to this year, and past years, specifically avoid the area because of the cop presence.
Even I planned on sleeping through another Mardi Gras. I specially told friends that, as much as I had wanted to go out dancing this last weekend, it just wasn’t a safe time for a girl to be going out alone. The whole “earning” of beads gets drunk men treating women all alike with an extremely lowered sense of respect. I’m not against it; I just don’t want to put myself in a place where I could get into trouble when I’m out alone.
If it wasn’t for my awesome friend Jimmy I would never have gone out. He gave me a call the minute I got off work and said that I needed to get my ass home, change, and get back up to his “crib”. We were going out! A part of me was so completely happy because he hadn’t spoken me to in over a month and it had been a while since I had gone out. On the other hand a part of me was hesitant to tackle the over policed scene that would be downtown.
After some dinner and several choices for outfits I ended up taking the fashion advice from another awesome guy. My friend Jon, who took me out for my birthday, suggested that the corset top to the formal dress I wore then, would look great with just a pair of jeans. Turned out to be totally true, I ended up getting a lot of compliments later. Set to go, with my favorite hat in place, I headed out the door and out to Jimmy’s “crib”.
Only a little late getting there (dang slow people on the freeway) we had a couple drinks to get things started and then Jimmy dug out his stash. Apparently last year he stocked up with the intention of going out and ended up staying in due to the amount of alcohol he’d managed to consume in the safety of his own home. So after loading up on beads, to which I grabbed a couple just so I didn’t look out of place, we headed out with Jimmy behind the wheel.
Downtown we went and after a couple swings through the heart of the police district we promptly gave up on free street parking and headed to the closest parking garage to call it a night. I paid for parking since I was making Jimmy run the risk of getting pulled over by making him drive. Hustling into the club it seemed so dead. It was also about nine O’clock, a little bit early, but it was Marti Gras people!
Inside it was actually pretty busy. All the shaded windows with a view to the downtown area were open and the lights were still up on the main floor. The screens that normally show psychedelic imagines that move in time with the music, were showing the basketball game. There wasn’t a DJ yet either, just popular hip hop songs playing in the background. Upon entering and hitting the bar, we both received the first beads for the night. The buffet was all finger-foods but you can’t really beat free cover and free food. Something about free just makes it better.
Now before I can continue I need to explain the amazing person that Jimmy is. Only a couple inches shorter than I, he is a Mr. Clean style bald Korean with his own bit of Asian hip-hop flavor. He loves to dance. He can get out on an empty floor and do his thing without a care in the world except for the feel of music. He’s also the sort of guy that if you put him in a room with twenty people for a half hour, he’ll come out friends with nineteen of them. All of these are qualities that I love about him. While I meet people by situation, Jimmy throws himself into your world and makes everyone have a great time.
After a trip to the bar we both turned to look for a place to stash coats and start our evening. Seeing a guy standing by himself, decked out with plenty of beads but looking both alone and unhappy. Jimmy immediately headed for him and the table. I found it ironic that I was both prepared that he would head for this person first and that I’d naturally taken up the role of sidekick. Laying down our coats Jimmy immediately introduces himself and starts to find out about the guy; where he’s from, what he does, what’s going on that night for him. People are always inclined to just tell Jimmy anything, because he truly does want to know about you and that’s the most awesome vibe to get from someone in the clubbing world. So much of the “meet and greet” is totally superficial. As is turned out it was this guy’s birthday and he just wanted to get out and have some fun. All his friends and family were out of town. From there on, it was Jimmy’s mission to help this guy have a good birthday.
As if on cue then comes my introduction. Now Jimmy also has this amazing ability to both promote and embarrass the hell out of me. It starts out simple with the statement of, “This is my home-girl B.” His nickname for me has always been either B, the first letter of my name, or Cat. So I start out as a letter and then turn into a whole feline fatal personality of Catwoman. But then it just sorts of spirals from there depending on his goofy mood or the amount of alcohol he’s had. The focus then changes to a total advertisement on my ability to dance. Even that can go two ways. Either I’m an amazing talented dancer or I’m this naughty girl that is a sight to behold on the dance floor. With all that promotion I sort of have to produce. Everyone he’s introduced me to, now wants me to prove it. Talk about pressure! But truth be told, I sort of look forward to this moment of “throwing down”. I am as confident in my talent as Jimmy is in telling other people about it. I’m just WAY more humble about it than he is.
From there I was left with Birthday Boy to chat as Jimmy made his rounds within the room. Several sets of beads were earned in that first sweep of the room. I on the other hand was itching to both get dancing and to get more drink. Mr. Birthday was a really interesting person, not my type, but great to talk to and joke with as we both watched Jimmy proposition girls left and right.
It wasn’t too long after we got settled and Jimmy had told several people, now gathered at our table, about the birthday we were celebrating and my amazing talents on the floor. It was ironically at that moment a great song came on and away I went. Depending on the feel of the crowd or the people I’m with it really takes that great song to start me going. It was only about ten o’clock by this time, which is extremely early by every clubbing standard. Now I must state that I did not start this dance floor, even with how early it was when I did finally get started doing what I love. Several girls had tried their hand at being alone on the floor but were either strangely encouraged or frightened by our tables jeering. Classy things such as “Take it off!” or “Shake that big ole booty” doesn’t always inspire a girl to stick around. This was just another moment in my life when I found it utterly hilarious that I was at a table filled with all guys and I was shouting the same derogatory things at the silly, dancing girls right along with everyone else. Always one of the guys and I honestly hope that never changes. Hell of a lot more fun hanging with the guys than with a bunch of girls at the club.
Anyway, back to the point, though several girls had come and gone none of them had stuck around for longer than a song, if that. I started moving out to the floor and of course Jimmy was right behind me saying, “Uh Oh! Here she goes boys!” It was about that moment that Jimmy and I started laughing at each other as we noticed it wasn’t quite the same to dance with tons of beads swinging around your neck. I was also wearing stiletto style heeled boots, which are pretty comfortable, and a tightly laced corset. Dancing in all that was an entirely different experience. With all that accounted for, we still always manage to put on a good show. He and I have been dancing together for quite some time. I think it’s awesome that we both have different styles that look good on their own, but we can work it all together.
At last the DJ started up a pretty impressive House set and I was totally loving life dancing as I love to do, giving in to the beat completely. As the night wore on the table was diligent in both making sure I had a drink, that Birthday Boy had a drink, and that everyone knew there was a birthday to celebrate. Girls were showing their goods left and right and I started giving Jimmy my beads a few at a time so that he wouldn’t run out. I kept to the dance floor and Jimmy was doing what he does best.
The bottom floor opened up early and Jimmy and I took a quick jaunt down there to check it out. My favorite bartender was yawning when I hit the bar down there. I’ve known him for almost two years, making the connection when a DJ friend of mine started spinning in a club down south. Back then he was the resident hottie bartender. Amazing physical appearance aside, he has a heart of gold and is a truly awesome bartender. Grabbing a drink and dancing to a couple hip hop songs, Jimmy and I decided we still liked it better upstairs.
In the end I really wasn’t propositioned to show anything to get beads. The more people I met through Jimmy, the more people that just gave me beads without asking for anything in return. I started giving out beads myself along with a kiss on the cheek to those men that were brave enough to come out on the dance floor and give it their best. Like I’ve mentioned before, that is my soapbox. Men need more encouragement on the dance floor than women and anything that I can do to get another guy out there will benefit everyone.
At some point during the evening Jimmy gave me a red feather boa. At first I was confused as to where and how he got it. But then again I was pretty sure I didn’t want to know. The story he gave me later was that he’d gotten a girl to give him a little bit of a naughty dance and he’d ended up with the boa. Not knowing what else to do with it, he’d immediately walked away and given it to me. In hindsight that explained the nasty looks I was getting from the other girls with similar feathers, and one girl sans boa. Yet by then I was beyond caring and made the most of my new toy.
While swinging my boa around like something akin to a twenties flapper, I happened to look over at the people coming up from the basement. A group of guys were standing together watching the floor and talking. I caught the eye of one guy who looked strangely familiar. Either way the guy was incredibly hot, which made me really want to remember how I knew him. Who’s boyfriend was he? As I kept dancing I kept an eye on him, desperate to figure out why he looked so familiar. He was so hot that it made me doubtful that it was someone I had spoken to before. Maybe he was just a guy I had seen at the club another time and wished I had talked to. Every time I looked over, he was looking at me, or what I was hoping was me and not some incredibly gorgeous girl behind me. The group was moving around and we kept making eye contact. If I had never met him, he at least knew I was interested. At last he came over and we danced. After a couple dances he leaned forward and said, “I think I’ve danced with you before.”
Now the evening definitely starts to get fuzzy, the alcohol was starting to kick in by this time. I said that I remembered him as well and we started to talk. He introduced himself again and I realized that I had indeed met this guy before. I was pleased to figure out who he was, yet not happy with the story that was behind the whole thing. Three or more months ago, my good friend Nicole and I had gone out and this was the man I had targeted as the hottest guy in the club. We had danced, and talked, had incredible chemistry. Before he took off with his friends we had exchanged numbers and I was on cloud nine. This was the hottest guy I had ever had the pleasure of hooking up with. As the story always goes, he never called me. Less than a week ago I had finally erased his number from my phone. Remembering all this I gave him both barrels with the usual “Yeah I called you and you never called me back.” That turned into a small saga but we talked longer and he took my number again. I left the ball completely in his court. Without his number I couldn’t agonize over being the first one to call like last time. If he did call then I would love to get to know him, if he didn’t then at least I had gotten my two cents in. I've just always believe that things happen for a reason and it was too random, for my way of thinking, to run into him and almost replay the whole situation over again. Seemed too much like a second chance.
By about midnight we connected back up with Birthday Boy and agreed to meet up with him at different club on the other side of town. Heading out I remember being obnoxiously loud about the fact that we were both rather intoxicated and that there was no question that Jimmy would get pulled over. Alcohol is sort of a volume enhancing truth drug at times. Now there are things that you could never get me to talk about, and actions you could never get me to do no matter the amount of alcohol I’ve had. I’ve never publicly embarrassed myself due to alcohol and I plan to keep it that way. On the other hand I’m sure that I have brought myself more attention than was necessary on more than one occasion. Needless to say we made it to the other club without any sort of trouble from Cop Town.
This club was packed beyond belief. There was no way we could find Mr. Birthday and in the end gave up. There was no room to dance, no way to get to the bar, and no way to really do anything. Both happy enough with our Fat Tuesday experiences, we decided to call it a night. We had survived Marti Gras without incident and still managed to have a hell of a time.