club scene

I'm sure I've mentioned the sheer and utter anxiety I get at the thought of going to "the club " (see definition 1). 

In fact, I had an anxiety attack at a almost-but-not-really club.  It was a high-end restaurant in LA that I went to with my brother and their friends.  First, I didn't have anything to wear.  I didn't think to bring anything fancy, so I ended up wearing a pair of my brother's khakis and one of his white, button-down shirts.  Yeah.  I don't like loose clothes.  I don't wear tight clothes, but even if I'm covered up, I need a tight-fitting tank top underneath, at the very least.  And I don't do khakis.  I don't do pants, really, unless they are jeans or they look super cute.  I'm a jeans or skirts person.  So, I was out of my element, in the clothing department that day.

We get there, and I'm standing with my brother in the lobby, waiting to be seated.  I'm looking around and there's a bar.  Up until recently, I didn't drink.  I mean, I'd have a few drinks here or there, but never thought of it as a recreational, fun thing I think of it as now.  So, being 16 (as I was at the time), I was unsure about people drinking in public (naive, much?).  It was just weird for me.  Acceptable, but weird. 

After peeping the bar, I notice that everyone is suuuper dressed up.  Not only that, but they look goooood.  Everyone.  Sharp, fancy, sexy, glossy, neat, kept up.  And then there was me.  Clinging to my brother's arm in my khakis and white, button-down shirt that weren't even mine.  I unclenched my talons from my brother's arms and excused myself from the group.  He followed me to witness my anxiety attack and he calmed me down and reassured me that the food would be good (he knows the way to my heart) and that we'd be out of there soon.  And then we were out of there, like he promised.

All this to say, my pseudocousin (read: Lorelai's dad's cousin) is turning 21 this month.  My pseudosister (read: Lorelai's dad's sister) is getting a party bus and we're going to a few different "spots" (as they're called in the club scene) and going to "get our drink on." 

And, I'm nervous.  I told my  pseudosister  not to even bring it up until the bus gets here and she can confirm a drink is in my hand to knock the edge off.  Why am I even going, you ask?  Because my realsister took me out to a bar the other night and we had a pretty good time.  Also, because I think it will be funny.  And I think I need to get over myself a bit.  And most of all: I want to dance.

I'm sure there will be debaucherous photos to come.

What am I going to wear?!