Next time I'll just dance around my apartment

I have never needed a shower so bad after a night of clubbing as I do right this minute.

My Friend and I decided to go dancing tonight. First we tried Orchid, this awesome little new place in Koreatown, but for some odd reason there were only about four Koreans there even though I hear really good things about the place.

Even though they had those seat warmer toilets with the bidet function, we left to go to Hollywood. Around midnight we put down 20 bones a piece to head into Vanguard, this overly guarded trendy place in Hollywood where everybody thinks they're more important than they are.

First we had to get in line to get tickets. There was a rope between us and the tickets and no guy guarding it, so I moved the rope and Friend and I stepped to the other side.

A dude came rushing up. "There's a rope there for a reason, girls," he said.

I did not stop walking toward the ticket booth.

"Nobody was here," I said.

"True, but still..." he said as we walked on by and ignored him completely.

I really hate trendy places. HATE THEM. I hate the idea that some asshole stands at the door and looks at people and judges them based solely on appearance, especially when your club holds like eight billion people and is across the street from a Toyota dealership.

But we were looking for a dance floor and we'd already parked and it was past midnight, so we paid and went in past the snooty bouncers.

The club is enormous. There's this one big techno room where you can't really see anybody except these two bored looking half-naked chicks up by the stage who were forced to rock back and forth and look slutty for about 5 hours.

At first we thought, this is good. There are so many people here and so many girls who look like that Hollywood stereotype we should be able to sneak by.

No. Not remotely.

Within seconds we were both accosted. My guy wasn't so bad but he was like 12 years old and not so great at leading. He kept trying to spin me around but didn't really know how. And I could tell he's spent too much time in the tanning booth just by the glimpses the seizure-inducing light gave me every few seconds.

I thanked the boy and went to find Friend who had disappeared. Then we went to the second room in the club, a place with better music and visuals.

A guy in there was promoting his clothing line all over the club. He danced with me and tried to get his shy friend to dance with me, but Shy Guy chickened out, which is a real shame because both of our nights might have been vastly different if he hadn't.

Instead I got groped by Spikey Hair Guy while friend got molested by 4'5" 8000% Whiter Than Normal Teeth Guy. Then while she was grabbed by Some Dude, this Nice Looking Man hopped up and said, "You're friend left you alone. Want to dance?"

And since Nice Looking Man looked nice, I nodded. Then he grabbed me and yanked me onto his penis-filled jeans.

God dammit.

I grabbed my friend and asked if she needed to go to the bathroom.

The bathroom of that place was 80% filled with girls who didn't actually need to use the bathroom, including one lesbian couple. One other girl seemed mystified by the lesbian thing and wanted to know all about it, so Less Butch Lesbian grabbed her by the hand and said, "Come over to our side."

I thought that was interesting.

Friend and I went back to the techno room. Two dudes danced with us immediately. Both were gross.

I kept pretending to be really drugged out so mine wouldn't touch me. I imagined I was on X and I kept waving my hands in front of my face and staring at the floor like a shirtless gay man with a laser pointer.

It worked. Both dudes scrammed when Friend and I made it obvious we weren't interested.

At this point Friend and I are learning what the signal for "Hey please grab me and pull me away from this jackass" is.

The thing is, almost every single one of these dudes came up to us from behind. When will men learn, unless a girl is drunk as hell or really slutty, she does not enjoy the surprise grab bag of a handsy dude with a penis shoved in her back without her awareness.

Anyway, a couple of gay dudes danced with us after that. I liked those dudes. I wish they'd stayed.

But they ran off to be more gay and left us at the mercy of the three lunatics. One ran up to Friend and waved his hands in her face. The other slid his leg under my leg and almost knocked me over. I'm not sure what that was supposed to accomplish. The third friend came over and did a funky dance for a while and I tolerated him since by that point my will was worn down. Okay I admit I thought he was funny. He was also like 12 years old.

We finally escaped the Lunatic Bin to return to the well-lighted room, except we stopped on the way to talk about the event so far. We had half an hour left to attempt grope-free dancing.

Alas, it was not to be. Right in the middle of a conversation about what had just taken place, some big 25-year-old Iraq War veteran decided we were responsible for all the ills committed by women folk since the Boston Fucking Tea Party.

He was pissed about being 25. I told him to shut up and get over it. He was pissed about going to Iraq. I told him I'd never experienced that but I suspect he can either learn to live with it or curl up and die. He whined about his last girlfriend. Friend reminded him that neither of us was that girl and he really needed to calm down.

Then his buddy came along. At first he seemed cool and funny. When his friend kept getting more and more uptight and we kept telling him to chill, the friend - in an obvious wing man situation - asked where we were from.

Now my friend is from Pennsylvania originally but her family is from Pakistan and she moved to LA when she was 15. I'm from North Carolina. None of this is crap I feel like explaining to some random dude at 2:3o in the morning at Vanguard. So I just said, "Los Angeles."

He wanted to know where in Los Angeles. We don't live in the same damn part of town and I don't really want to get into a geographical discussion with this dude so I just said, "Los Angeles."

He got really pissed off at that. "You keep telling my friend to chill the fuck out but it sounds like you need to chill the fuck out," he said.

"Okay," I said.

"You have problems. Why are you so pissed off? I'm just trying to conversate-" yes he said conversate - "I'm not asking for your number. I don't want your fucking number."

"Okay," I said. I find it infuriates crazy people when you're zen.

It was at this point that the Vanguard bouncer committee swept the club to drive out the remaining patrons, and we waved goodbye to the weird dudes. The angry Marine kept trying to force me to smile.

Why do people do that? Do you really think you ordering me to smile at 2:30 in the morning after you've interrupted my conversation with Friend to talk about how much women suck and should fuck off and die is going to make me all cheery and happy-faced?

I'm not frowning. I'm not smiling. I simply am. And I don't make facial expressions on command, tight-ass.

Anyway, even on our way out some dude walked up right behind us and interjected a comment into our conversation. It's like that place is a haven for dudes who figure every girl is there to have sex with the next skinny, spikey-haired 12-year-old boy she can get her hands on. I feel icky. And I'm never going there again.