OMFG - The Every Girl's Guide to Clubbing

We all know partying is awesome. But those of us who know just how awesome it is are the ones who do it a lot. And girls, I can say without a doubt that I fall into that category. From sneaky underage teen, to student partying, to going out as a naive model, to hard-partying model and now a promoter, I share with you all the clubby wisdom I've learned during my slightly inebriated (okay, heavily) years out. 

- Get in good with the promoters.

This is as basic as it gets. If you want to be taken care of in the future, get in good it the promoters. Don't know what promoters are? You probably should leave King West in favor of your local pub instead. This is easier than it sounds. I'm a relatively rare female promoter and am as social as they come. Walk up to me, be nice, make sure I remember your name and get your number and you're golden. It's even easier with dude promoters. Ladies, wearing something with a little T and a little A and introducing yourself will suffice. Sound fake and sleazy? Again, if this borders on morally wrong for you, I hear there are plenty of nice, local Irish pubs midtown.

- Tip the bathroom lady. 
If you tend to frequent the same clubs on the same nights, chances are you're being offered paper towel by the same bathroom attendant each visit. Tip this woman, and tip her well. And, if you're coherent enough to string together sentences, engage in small talk. Why? The bathroom is where most, if not all, illicit club behavior goes down and goodness knows you don't want to be disturbed when partaking in illicit behavior. I am sure to get a hug every time I see the bathroom lady at the club I promote at on Friday nights. I am also sure I could get away with murder in there. And hey, if you're not quite as illicitly inclined as yours truly, at least it's guaranteed access to hairspray and gum.

- Don't be a bottle fiend.
So you've gotten in good with the promoters and there's usually a booth and bottles waiting for you upon arrival. Usually. There is nothing, and I mean nothing more annoying than a bottle fiend -- you know, those chicks who ask every 5 minutes when the bottle is arriving. There are ways to get drinks before the bottle comes. It involves asking the bartender for one, and giving them little rectangle pieces of paper in return. Yes, ladies, you can buy your own drinks on occasion! I get many a "as if I have to purchase my own drink" huffy face from girls all the time, but darling, if you can't afford to drop $20 (or less!) on a drink then I feel bad. Mainly because you'd be better off not by the bar, but working the room as a hooker instead. Gotta get that cab fare home somehow, right?! If the logic still stumps you, think of it this way; by the time you finish your one purchased drink, the bottle will have arrived and you can guzzle that like a baby until the nights over, or until you pass out. Which ever comes first.

-The early bird gets the worm.
And by worm, I mean hassle free entry to the club. There's no need to arrive at 10 (unless you'd like to help set up the booths with staff) but rolling up at 1a.m. with a crew and expecting to waltz in is risky. Unless you know the promoters well (and as one I must say it's a headache to get friends in when its packed and late.) Or are sleeping with the owners (that's the AMEX black card of clubbing...but less exclusive.) Chances are you're going to be waiting. And this is Canada, so half the time that's waiting in the cold. Do the smart thing and breeze in at a timely 11:30. You'll be part of the action...no sleeping with the owners necessary. 

- Don't BYOD.

As in don't Bring Your Own Drugs. I'm not saying everyone does them and no one talks about it...wait no, that's exactly what I'm saying! Either do them before you get there, or purchase on location. Worried about there not being any dealers around? Of course there will be! That old-ish, ugly, leather-jacket clad dude inexplicably in the VIP section? He's one. The really short guy in a way-too-low v-neck and a perma-grin on his face with bulging eyes? He's one too. And if not, subtly ask a few people and they'll direct you to the right source. Getting caught with anything at the door means slight embarrassment and worse, you just wasted your stash. It's all about location, location, location. 


And there you have it...a girl's guide to clubbing as easily as possible. Slightly scandalous perhaps, but nothing more than what happens on a usual night at any given club. See you out and about ladies...x

The Afterparty....OMFG

There's a little ritual that happens every week when I'm out with friends at a club. The bass gets softer, the bottles are face down in the ice buckets and everyone starts to get a little restless. My friends and I exchange sheepish glances and it's clear to everyone that even though the venue is closing down, our night is far from over. And thus begins the search for the after party. Oh, the after party! In a city where last call is a relatively early 2 a.m. (In Montreal, we'd all be less motivated after a good extra hour of drinking, and in NYC, being up until the sunrise is usually a given..) the search for the after party is a regularly occurring ritual for nights out. Over my years out and about on the scene I've seen them all...from sketchy iron-barred hole-in-the-walls on Spadina, to three story penthouses overlooking the water, and everything in between.

It begins with texting. You message your friends who are out and about across the city and see who is willing to volunteer their desirable digs to have people over. If it's not a friend, then it's a friend of a friend. Or, more likely, a dude who knows the neighbor of a friend of a friend of a friend, but is totally loaded and just wants to have a good time. And in the hours after 2 a.m., that's really the common goal here: having a good time. That pursuit of (temporary) happiness as it may be is what brings together the most random assortment of people. I've walked into after parties only to notice after a few minutes that aside from the people I've shown up with, I recognize absolutely no one there. I've also walked into after parties and right back out because there have been more than a few people I would rather not spend time with. Unless I know the owner of the house personally or am the instigator of the shady shindig, it's a lotto game when it comes to the crowd: everyone from my good friends, to industry, to drug dealers, to loose gold-diggers and hipsters. (I'll let you decide just how many of those categories overlap. Clue? Too many.)

Those that are in couples, have office jobs in the early morning or scheduled end-times in their heads to their night need not apply to the after party process. Sure, there are exceptions to every rule (and as half of a couple who used to party hard with her ex, I'll share this: it's fun at first to have a boyfriend/partner in crime, but when you're serious with some one, you just want to hang out alone at 4a.m.) The after party is for those who went out looking for something and aren't satisfied by the time the club dies down -- whether it be a bootycall, riding out the rest of a high, or simply a desire to connect with some one new, we're all looking for something, or some one, when we make our way into the next dimly lit premise.

Sketchiness aside, I've had some amazing times at after parties, which probably happen more than I'd like to admit. What makes the difference for me between sketchiness and sketchy good times is the company; and fortunately I'm always armed with a pretty awesome crew of friends and solid people. That's another goal one can have when it comes to after hours: it doesn't have to be about sex or drugs, but simply just extending a good night out with friends. Fun, friends, and just a little bit of scandal....the perfect mix for after parties in our lovely city. Happy hunting fellow nightcrawlers!
x

Shiny, Happy, People -- OMFG

I always meet these girls when I'm out and about who are very pretty. They're perfectly toned and fit, cheery and happy, have shiny hair and teeth, and talk about vitamins and yoga. Their ensembles are always color-coordinated (little pink dress with pink shoes and pink nails, etc.) and they're always very nice. For some reason,  I can just never relate to these girls, nice and pretty as they are. Perhaps they're a tad vanilla and I just get a little bored...or perhaps I just wish I was as put together as they were.

Truth be told, that while I have things together for the most part, some times I'm a spastic, emotionally snowballing, indecisive yet forward-throttling momentum who functions on a wavelength only I can hear. Ummm, yup, that pretty much sums it up. Ask any of my close friends and they can vouch for my overall ridiculousness. Perhaps that's why I feel so at home in the nightlife and modeling scene....it's a pace I'm comfortable in -- ample downtime dotted with unpredictable amounts of intensely busy periods. Go fast, burn out, recuperate, then do it all again. Sure, we can attribute this to a hedonistic youth, but let's recap here: I am in my hedonistic youth! Through promoting and modeling, at least I'm profiting from some of it.

Call me cray cray, but this up and down and at times super messiness totally works for me. I call it a constant state of transformation....realizing, maturing, that whole bit. As long as there's progress, which there is, than it's all good in my books! Okay okay, so maybe it's a little bit of me making excuses for my ridiculous situations some times, but really, how are we twenty-somethings supposed to know not to drink all night and perhaps do some drugs (Perhaps. We're being hypothetical here.) and then try and go to work on no sleep unless you do it once? Or twice, or ten times? Live and learn ladies and gents, and goodness knows I wouldn't know half the things I do if it weren't for my total disregard for responsibility which surfaces from time to time (usually between the hours of midnight and six in the morning...) Of course partying is the most obvious of situations here, but my last-minuteness in all areas of my life also seems to be serving me well, especially in recent years. Jumping, catching and chasing opportunities all over this city, and other cities, is something of a thrill for me and I wouldn't have it any other way...being unpredictable is a lovely quality in a person. Never one to be attracted to people who give it all away at once, I prefer not only to be a puzzle but to befriend them. Give me layers of complication and I'll stay interested forever.

I suppose my tolerance for the unstable also stems from my tolerance for emotions. Never one to shy away from them (as any long-time readers of this blog should know by now), I'm a big believer in feeling things out no matter how painful the process. A dying breed we feelers are I'm finding as many, especially go-getters in this cut-throat world, would rather push them aside and focus on work or whatnot. Anything to not have to suffer internally.  I think all these people are destined for some sort of catastrophic meltdown, or living life as shells of who they truly are. How are we supposed to know who we are if we don't let ourselves feel what we should be? Of course, all the perpetually happy people might tell me otherwise, but you know what darlings, some times you just need to cry/yell it out. Catharsis...not just for tortured artists. Shit happens. Freak out. Then keep calm and carry on.

Living fast, teetering on emotional messes, slowing down just enough to get it all together and not learning lessons until you've lived through them is probably not the healthiest of lifestyles, but it's the only one I know how to live. Vitamins and yoga? I think I'll pass for now. Those pretty girls are all very nice and shiny, but I choose mysterious, reckless, scandalous (all the while still being exquisite...that's how we roll kids) over vanilla any day. Maybe when I'm forty and looking and feeling worse for the wear I'll regret it, but until then it's full speed ahead on my fiery little wavelength.
x

OMFG -- Ohhh Charlie.

Oh Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, Charlie. That drunken, high, prostitute-banging mess known as Charlie Sheen sat down for his first post-mess interview and it -- oh jeez, where do I even begin. I give credit where credit is due and the man is honest if nothing else. Aside from his stark honesty however is, in my opinion, a pathetic little man with some serious ego delusions.

If you haven't seen the interview yet, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h5aSa4tmVNM

Some poetically beautiful gems (note the extreme sarcasm) spoken from his mouth include the lines: "I'm not bi-polar...I'm bi-winning!", "I probably took more than anyone could survive...because I'm me. I'm different, I have a different constitution, a different heart, a different brain....dying is for fools.", and the real kicker: "I've just answered to a higher calling. I blinked and I cured my brain."
The general reaction I've heard from my friends and online is that Charlie Sheen has gone from epic mess to just epic. Apparently comparing yourself to a higher power who, and I quote, has "exposed people to magic that people otherwise wouldn't see in their boring, normal lives." makes you really fucking cool. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for being cool...in fact anyone who knows me well can vouch for my attraction to all dudes with swagger and situations ripe with exclusivity. And I'm also all for partying...again anyone who knows me, or has partied with me on more than one occasion can safely say I subscribe to the notion of going hard..I mean if you're going to have fun, you might as well go 100%. So yes, I understand the fascination with a celebrity who has shamelessly promoted a lifestyle we all secretly aspire to at one point or another...but to call him simply amazing and a legend? Yeah...no.
Just listening to Sheen go on about his otherworldliness made me laugh. It's amusing to see that he believes his "tiger blood" will keep him alive even when snorting more snow than we see fall in a winter and to wax on about how he's God's gift to partying. Like, come on now dude, are you kidding me? The second he relapses (which he will, despite his "on/off" brain capabilities he so delicately explained) and ends up in a coffin is the second all his slack-jawed admirers will realize that all people, no matter how delusional, are human.
But I get it, I really do. It's admirable to see some one normalize such a taboo but insanely fun lifestyle, and not only normalize it but preach it like they mean it. And if you're anyone remotely attached to the scene, of any city really, I'm sure you can relate. (No judgement here guys...heavens knows I've been there, and back, and then some.) Sheen was born to a famous father and family and is used to his privileged lifestyle and consequence-less (relatively speaking anyways) life and it seems to have inflated his ego, just ever so slightly.
At the end of the day, he's just a three-times divorced washed-up actor with five children who did a bunch of drugs and banged a lot of hookers. Cool or not cool.....it's just really fucking gross.
x