In celebration of Frankie, the other guy from IU here, turning 22, we got a huge group together to go out into the city. We even had a Facebook event for it, which just shows you how excited we all were to celebrate a birthday together. Lesley, the other girl from IU here, was awesome and earlier in the week messaged the club we wanted to go asking if there were any birthday specials. It seemed too good to be true because this is what we were told was included: free entry for the birthday guest with two free drink cards and reduced entry cost and VIP entry for all their guests. The people at the club told Lesley all we had to do was walk up to the bouncer and tell them we were on Frankie’s list and we’d get in, no problem.
Oh, but too bad there was a problem – a really big problem. The problem was that the bouncer was a…not a nice person, and he just turned us down as soon as we got there. I debated being professional and not using the club’s name in this post, but I decided I was professional enough by not telling you all what I really thought about the bouncer. The club was Cloud Nine and I don’t think I can put into words just HOW MUCH I HATE CLOUD NINE. I WAS SO ANGRY. FEEL THE EMPHASIS WITH THE CAPS. We had like twenty of us all together, ready to go, buy drinks, and have a great time, and for no reason at all we weren’t let in. I had told Lesley to bring her phone just in case we ran into any issues at the door, and even though she was attempting to show the bouncer the messages on her phone, he still didn’t let us in. The bouncer we were dealing with was clearly enjoying his authority roll, because he told the other bouncers not to talk us. It was one of those situations where you are in shock because of how ridiculous it was. It was maybe 11:30 by the time we got there a.k.a not a long line, which means there wasn’t a capacity issue they had to worry about. We also had plenty of fine lookin’ women ready to mingle and they outnumbered the number of guys we had, so the girl to guy ratio wasn’t an issue either. I know that sounds ridiculous, but clubs won’t let guys in who are either by themselves, in a group with only guys, or if the girl to guy ratio is too small. None of us were being rude, none of us were hammered, and if anyone was, they were hiding it well. We were all convinced that we were just discriminated against for being foreign. And I know that also sounds stupid, but we even tried to just go in the regular line and the bouncer told us to leave. I honestly have never wanted to punch someone in the face so bad as I wanted to last night and it would have been a fair fight too, because the bouncer and I were the same height.
After all that drama though, the birthday boy got to celebrate his birthday at another establishment that welcomed foreigners, and that is all that matters. I also found out that the Salvation Army walks around at night distributing flip flops to girls whose feet can no longer bear the pain their heels have caused them. You all would have been proud of me though because I lasted all night in my heels, which is quite the accomplishment if I do say so myself. And no falling or twisting my ankles took place either. So for my feet, it was a good night.
Perhaps the only reason I want to remember last night is because of the fact I cut Devin’s hair for the first time. Granted it was with clippers that had a guard on them, but it was still insanely nerve-wracking. I've attempted to cut his hair before but here is the situation that usually unfolds:
I turn on the clippers.
I half way close my eyes as I near Devin's head with them.
Devin accuses me of running against the curve of his head too softly, which means I'm not cutting any hair at all.
I am overcome with anxiety and run out of the bathroom squealing.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy that has as much hair as Devin either. I had him stand in the shower while I was cutting it, and after all was said and done, the collected hair looked like a legitimate wig.
Oh, but too bad there was a problem – a really big problem. The problem was that the bouncer was a…not a nice person, and he just turned us down as soon as we got there. I debated being professional and not using the club’s name in this post, but I decided I was professional enough by not telling you all what I really thought about the bouncer. The club was Cloud Nine and I don’t think I can put into words just HOW MUCH I HATE CLOUD NINE. I WAS SO ANGRY. FEEL THE EMPHASIS WITH THE CAPS. We had like twenty of us all together, ready to go, buy drinks, and have a great time, and for no reason at all we weren’t let in. I had told Lesley to bring her phone just in case we ran into any issues at the door, and even though she was attempting to show the bouncer the messages on her phone, he still didn’t let us in. The bouncer we were dealing with was clearly enjoying his authority roll, because he told the other bouncers not to talk us. It was one of those situations where you are in shock because of how ridiculous it was. It was maybe 11:30 by the time we got there a.k.a not a long line, which means there wasn’t a capacity issue they had to worry about. We also had plenty of fine lookin’ women ready to mingle and they outnumbered the number of guys we had, so the girl to guy ratio wasn’t an issue either. I know that sounds ridiculous, but clubs won’t let guys in who are either by themselves, in a group with only guys, or if the girl to guy ratio is too small. None of us were being rude, none of us were hammered, and if anyone was, they were hiding it well. We were all convinced that we were just discriminated against for being foreign. And I know that also sounds stupid, but we even tried to just go in the regular line and the bouncer told us to leave. I honestly have never wanted to punch someone in the face so bad as I wanted to last night and it would have been a fair fight too, because the bouncer and I were the same height.
After all that drama though, the birthday boy got to celebrate his birthday at another establishment that welcomed foreigners, and that is all that matters. I also found out that the Salvation Army walks around at night distributing flip flops to girls whose feet can no longer bear the pain their heels have caused them. You all would have been proud of me though because I lasted all night in my heels, which is quite the accomplishment if I do say so myself. And no falling or twisting my ankles took place either. So for my feet, it was a good night.
Perhaps the only reason I want to remember last night is because of the fact I cut Devin’s hair for the first time. Granted it was with clippers that had a guard on them, but it was still insanely nerve-wracking. I've attempted to cut his hair before but here is the situation that usually unfolds:
I turn on the clippers.
I half way close my eyes as I near Devin's head with them.
Devin accuses me of running against the curve of his head too softly, which means I'm not cutting any hair at all.
I am overcome with anxiety and run out of the bathroom squealing.
I don’t think I’ve ever met a guy that has as much hair as Devin either. I had him stand in the shower while I was cutting it, and after all was said and done, the collected hair looked like a legitimate wig.
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