Clubbing + Chris = Natural Disaster

As many of you know, I’m not particularly fond of clubbing. I don’t see the point of being in a dimly lit room, surrounded by half drunken chicks gyrating in front of me…hmm, let me rephrase that, I don’t like drunken chicks that are not pretty gyrating in front me. Ah, Much better. Where was I? Oh yes, I’m more of a person who values my hearing and my kidneys so being in a club is akin to putting a quiet golfer in a room filled with screaming football mad fans. I hate golf by the way (though I kind of like Michelle Wie’s legs. They go on for ever…). Where was I again? Oh my, my sincerest apologies. It’s just that I feel there’s so much more to life than being subjected to things that clashes with your morals, ethics, and sanity or whatever. This is a lifestyle. I’m not taking anything away from how one chooses to have fun but I do have the right to say that I’d rather be in a jazz bar and hopefully see a jazz band play some really good music. Sounds rather boring to you but it is oh so delightful to me.

So what made me to be this way? Is it my inherent dorkiness? Why am I blasé to the craze? Maybe I have to thank my dad, who essentially incarcerated me from going to these kinds of places during my teens. Of course when you have a tyrant for a ruler there’s nothing much a plebeian can do, right? But I think I have to really thank my innate parsimonious nature. Or as we say it here in Malaysia, Kedekut sial!

Let us do some math shall we:

Petrol for going to such a place = RM10, I tend to take wrong turns;
Parking fees = RM10;
Cover charge = RM35;
A pint of beer = RM20, I don’t want to spend a night with Timmy and Tommy.

All in all, the total is almost RM75! And that’s only a conservative account. There’s also the matter of supper or rather food to eat after someone pukes their dinner. So, you see, it’s a painful ordeal for me to whip out my wallet and fork that amount of money when I could be enjoying a classic rock album with a cup of coffee which would set me back only half of that amount.

I’m more of a homebody. I prefer to listen to music, read a good book and then get my 8-hour beauty sleep. If there’s a good show on the telly or a nice DVD then I’ll watch it. Why is it so hard for people to understand that this is who I really am? I know for a fact that I’m more of an outside person looking inside. Most importantly, I know me. And I prefer my hedonism with a bit more sophistication, thank you very much. A club with near-inebriated girls just strikes me as the perfect place to NOT have intelligent conversations.

Maybe a few years down the road I may end up eating my very own words. I could be seen clubbing with a couple of babes on each side of me till the wee hours every week. Who knows, right?

Now, where did I put my exclusive and extremely hard to get into, book club membership card?

This is Chris, signing off.

PS: Girls who go clubbing yet have the intelligence to blow my socks away are hot. Girls who club and display the intelligence of solid wood are NOT hot.