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The top 10 reasons why I am too old to go clubbing anymore

I turned 23 a few months ago, and, like I had done for the past few years, I set up a birthday list and went dancing at a local club I’d frequented over the years. I had fun, but I felt out of place and way too old to be there. I went back on Friday night for a friend’s birthday, and I remembered why I hadn’t wanted to go back.

So, I present to you “The top 10 reasons why I am too old to go clubbing anymore”

10. I don’t feel comfortable dressing like it’s summer.
I’d much rather be wearing sweats than wearing the club-requisite of next-to-no-clothing. I hate wearing sweats.

9. It takes longer to do my hair and makeup than the amount of time I stay at the club.
It’s true– I spend about 2 hours working on my hair and makeup (and showering/ shaving/etc), and I usually leave clubs after a few hours.
8. It’s cheaper to buy a bottle of rum.
When you factor in tipping the bartender and the over-priced cost of club drinks, even during “drink specials,” a mediocre bottle of rum costs ¬†less than my watered down Malibu Bay Breeze.
7. People are gross.
People don’t understand the concept of deodorant in clubs.

6. People are also disgusting.
People turn into–dare I say it– little skanks on the dance floor. Now, I usually go to gay clubs so this is applicable to the gay men, their token straight girl friends, and the occasional femme lesbian. Usually the butchier lesbians just turn into toolbags reminiscent of the stereotypical toolbag frat boy.

5. I’m expected to tip the awkward woman in the bathroom.
When you go to the bathroom, there’s an attendant in there who hands you a papertowel or says she likes your dress. Both of these things are not necessary. I can get my own paper towel, and if you liked my dress you’d be wearing a similar one, not a hoodie and jeans.

4. I can’t hear a damn thing other than crappy music.
This one is self-explanatory.

3. Smoking is not cool.
Thanks to the recent re-opening of my gay club of choice, there’s now a hookah lounge. When I went for my birthday in January, it was downstairs so it didn’t bother me. When I went on Friday, people were smoking all over. I couldn’t breathe and even my allergy meds weren’t helping.

2. I don’t even get carded anymore.
It used to be exciting to go to clubs, flash my ID, and get the “Superstar” and “Over 21” wristbands, as well as the “21” written in Sharpie on my hand. Now I’m automatically branded as old enough to drink, and it’s a pain in the ass to have to scrub the Sharpie off the next morning.

I arrive by 11 so I don’t have to pay cover. By 12:30, after being on my feet and fake-dancing with teeny-boppers and freaking out at the prospect of seeing anyone who remotely looks like my students, the only thing I want to do is go home, take off my pounds of makeup, shower the smoke out of my hair, and go to sleep. I should’ve spent my Friday night reading, writing, or drinking wine with my friends and watching movies on Netflix. I’m too old for this staying-out-late crap.


Bonus reason: This is the only thing I get excited about at the club.


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