Roseville was also a bust. There was the awkward roommate situation, and more importantly that group of people - including THB - tend to like dive bars with pool (karaoke optional) over dance clubs with beats. You know who loathes pool? This Girl.
Nadia and I have hit a few clubs in Sacramento and encountered homo hipsterus en masse. We should have anticipated this, as the door charge is usually a cool twenty bucks (!!). Added to the plethora of handsy Haitians (why are they always Haitian? It's a mystery), the small dance floor and the weird Latin hip-hop with an MJ backbeat - one of these things is not like the other - we bailed on the dancing. You know whose ass is not public property? Yea.
It turns out that what we were looking for all along was a gay bar. In the case of Sacramento, that's Faces. Four (4!) dance floors, at least 4 bars that I saw including one in the coat check (!!), and the sense that you can dance until your heart bursts because no one is creeping up to ask for your number or if you'd like a ride on his disco stick. Also, just enough hip-hop to keep Nadia happy but not enough to exhaust me. The cover was cheap, the well drinks even cheaper; I think I spent a total of $10, including coat check. We went with a few of my fellow Derby Mutineers last night, and even though I could hardly walk for being sore yesterday, a few ibuprofen and a drink or two made it totally worth it. For the first time since moving out of Oregon, the Tiny Dancer in my soul feels satisfied and at rest.
|Me, Bobbye Jo, Nadia, and Jenni.|