The first time I ever went to Circus Disco, it was giant. I was so excited, I didn't even mind the four-hour wait in a line that snaked back and forth through the parking lot, around the corner, up the alley, and down the street.
Four hours is not a long time, a very very long time ago.
But I don't have that kind of patience anymore. I can hardly wait for four minutes in line at the grocery store. I'm old. I'm bitter. And though I dress far more appropriately now for waiting outdoors in line than I did shivering back then in a shiny, skinny minnie halter-mini and strappy stiletto sandals (but it's not really winter in LA!), I've been a wee bit spoiled when it comes to the party line. I'm a club NIP (Not Important Person), but I am lucky to have friends who are friends of friends of friends of friends...or something like that.
Because of that, we *shrugged* with a "Why not?" as we hopped into the car after dinner at The Bowery. We'll be able to get in because someone has to know someone, right? That was the external reasoning that would make us feel VIP when we slipped right in, but in the back of my head, I knew that Spundae's clipboard wouldn't turn anyone away when its giant rival up the street was sucking up the entire universe of LA clubbers with a Sasha-powered vacuum.
We weren't even dressed for "clubbin'." I was in boots with stiletto heels. You see, as much as I joke about skimpy club clothing and high heels, truth be told, my real club outfit usually comprises a simple, breathable, yet trendy! tank top, comfortable pants, running shoes, and ear plugs. *eeesh* That reads like I dress like I'm going for a step-aerobics class for the hearing-impaired, doesn't it? Let's just say that I will never lose my hearing later in life due to a hyper-decibelled youth, and I may as well admit right now that if the music is right, I sweat. No, I drip. There is nothing feminine or "glowing" about it. My cheeks are bright red, my makeup has completely melted off my face, what does remain has become two charcoal gray "smudge-proof" smudges under my eyes, and my sweat-soaked hair is plastered in dark, shiny streaks across my forehead. It's not pretty.
We didn't plan to stay long though, so being sans sneakers would suffice for a couple of hours before we turned into pumpkins. The opening DJ in the main room was immemorable, so we took the opportunity to lubricate ourselves with Miller Lite in omgIdidn'tknowtheyhad plastic bottles. With the standard lead-with-your-shoulder, in a ¾ turn and raise of the arm that's holding the drink, we explored Circus' renovations. It was wider and more spacious, and that was about it. And it felt like they had finally hosed the place down after a good decade or two of building layers of sticky, stinky sweat, smell, and who-knows-what-else on the walls, floors, and ceiling.
The main attraction that night was DJ Rap. I knew DJ Rap was spinning before we decided to go to Spundae, and I think that's why I was slightly more aggressive about going there than not. DJ Rap spins drum and bass. For the uninitiated, that's drum and bass. :) I'm a club geek, not an electronic music nerd, so I can't really explain what makes dnb what it is, but it's faster, and dancing to it is more "dancing" than "hopping and skipping." Hopefully, that's not too musically technical.
I love drum and bass. I also love DJ Rap. Now, I'm not "into" girls (not that there's anything wrong with that), but I think have a wee bit of a crazy girl-crush on DJ Rap. It's not like one of those sneaky female stunts in which a girl who feels competitive or intimidated by another smarter/prettier/better girl says that she loves her and befriends her in some twisted gyno-psychological manipulation. I truly am in awe of her Spinneress in a kingdom dominated by dudes. The fact that she's also very pretty makes her all the more impressive to me - beauty and beats. It's kind of like coming across a Victoria's Secret model who is also weirdly into playing MMORPGs.
We danced. I worked up a glow (not quite a sweat since i was in heels). We drank. We danced some more, despite my aching soles. We might have even stayed a bit longer than midnight. The music wasn't phenomenol, but it was drum. It was bass. It was DJ Rap. For one night, that was good enough.
What? Why are you looking at me like that? I only had one slice.
** a year ago today, all india cafe helped me figure out when i developed indian fever **