Express Yourself: Tutus in a Sea of Cocktail Dresses

On January 20th I celebrated my dream birthday: seeing one of my favorite DJs (Diplo) in a freakin’ crazy city (Atlantic City) with two of my best friends from college.

After listening to middle school tunes such as Misery Business and LG FUAD during the car ride, passing out for a nap immediately upon arrival in a huge party city, my vegetarian friend accidentally ordering a burger for dinner, and losing $5 in the slot machines, we were ready to rave.

On goes the tutus, LED accessories, and kandi (handmade bracelets traded in order to represent a specific event, moment, connection, person, etc)

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(^my collection)

Little did I know, and despite the other rave-esque shows I have attended in AC, “rave gear” is not usually permitted in the Borgata

Awkward

And so we roll up covered in neon and beads, are some how let into the Mixx night club, and instantly realize how out of place we look (even though we were some of the first people there…that’s a sign….)

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Hey, at least we matched the staff in their fluffies & booty shorts.

The crowd continued to arrive in their cute cocktail dresses and heels as we danced about with the sway of our tutus. We met a few awesome girls in the bathroom (there ya go boys, that’s what we really do in there- meet new friends) and a group of people who were so excited it was my birthday that they screamed “HAPPY BIRTHDAYYY!” to me any time we crossed paths throughout the entire night…which was a lot… I didn’t hate it.

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It was one of the most unique raving experiences I’ve ever had, and I’m so glad I was able to have such an experience. There were no light gloves or crazy outfits (aside from ours, I suppose) that I am so used to seeing, but every one was still all there for the same reason: the music.

I received numerous hugs from strangers wishing me a happy birthday,  gave away an entire arm’s-worth of kandi to those who were interested, explaining the meaning if they didn’t know, and was able to join in screaming my lungs out and dancing my worries away with a group full of diverse people united by music.

One of the girls that I met, after I traded her a special piece of kandi that I made, had no kandi to trade back, so she literally took one of her regular bracelets off of her arm and insisted that I take it. It was such an amazing gesture-I almost cried.

I had some interesting conversations such as the guy who claimed raves are only fun if on Molly and when I told him I disagreed-I’ve gone sober, he apologized and said he would take away the stereotype (thanks for further imbedding that negative stigma into the culture, sir) , or the guy who said “I’m surprised they let you in like that” and when I wasn’t sure if I should be offended or not, he continued “but I’m glad they did. Your outfits are awesome!”.

I also had some interesting encounters such as the older man who kept trying to dance with each of my friends by casually showing up behind us even after we consistently said “No thank you”. If you are not my boyfriend, and you’re not because I’m single, then I do NOT want to grind with you at a rave. Sorry sirs.

But the absolute best moment of the entire night: Diplo played a BIRTHDAY mix, and despite the fact that I met others who were celebrating their birthdays that night, and birthdays are pretty common things- I took his mix very, very personally (after all, I have been tweeting to him about January 20th for weeks now…) And when it came on, the awesome people who were near me all surrounded me, pointed to me, and serenaded me.

Like. What. What an AMAZING present! I had half a rave sing a birthday mix at a DIPLO show to me!

So, I have to admit that it was unique dancing in a tutu among a sea of business-attire and cocktail dresses, but it was an amazing experience because, and i reiterate, we were still all there and united for the same reason: the music. (Oh, and my birthday)

And that’s what it’s all about.

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**Also, if I could only still do a handstand I would have Expressed Myself all over that floor.

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Drunk, Sobbing, & Leg hair= The Way to a Man’s heart

I’ll never understand boys. And no, this isn’t going to be some melo-dramatic-woe-is-me tale about some lost, confused, insecure girl just trying to find love. Psh, give me at least 10 years until I bring the “L” word into play.

This is about how I, a borderline-cynical 21 year old girl who will end up living alone with 5 dogs and be completely happy about it, will never understand boys. Unless of course, that boy has fur, a tail, and wants nothing but a pet on the head and a bone  (no pun intended).

I came to this conclusion not too long ago after getting asked out by a few different guys for seemingly obscure (to me at least) reasons.

Scenario 1:

I am a college student. Therefore I, being a college student, am as broke as Topanga’s heart was when Cory kissed another girl in the Mountain Lodge. When I found out that my lovely, trustworthy bank was taking out $10 a month simply because I am a poor college student, I was livid. I was ready to march right over to said bank and give them my two cents. (Not literally, I need those pennies…)

I had this whole angry speech prepared about how they shouldn’t be taking money away from me, I was going to switch banks, this is unfair, etc and so on. I stepped right on into the bank where I was asked:

“Can I help you?” by a nice young gentleman.

Yes, yes you can sir! This is a disgrace! I am leaving this bank! I am disgusted that you are charging me a $10 monthly fee! I am a STUDENT! I am the future of America! How is this just? How is this fair?

…is what I should have said.

And instead, I blurted out in between sobs “I have no money and you guys keep taking money from me and I just, I don’t have any more to give. And it’s not fair.”

*Tears rolling down my face*

To make a long story short, the nice guy consoled me, fixed my account, and then e-mailed me further information. We continued e-mailing professionally about how sucky the bank is and my poorness and my new account that won’t charge me the steep fee of $10/month….

and then the e-mails turned into “Where do you go to school? What’s your major? Do you like to travel? Would you like to go out to dinner one night?”

…WHAT? How did that even happen? I came to you SOBBING about being broke, complained about your place of employment via e-mail, and you….you ask me out!?

Did my wet tear-soaked cheeks turn you on? Or was it my shaky voice resembling that of a two year old’s that did you in?

Naturally I said yes, exchanged phone numbers, and neglected to tell him when I was back in town…

Scenario 2:

I can’t remember if this was during my fall break or my Thanksgiving break, but it was over a break, and that’s what matters. I was home from school and decided to head out to a local bar with some of my friends from home.

On this particular night, my, should I say, more-affluent (or hardworking…whatever) friend Drouche* (name has been changed) decided to treat me and our friends to drinks all night.

All…Night… Free drinks…all night… If I was paying for myself, Lord knows I wouldn’t have imbibed nearly as much alcohol.

And so, by the end of the night I was feeling quite alright. As we were exiting the bar, we realize we have to wait outside for our taxi, and for Drouche to finish his cig.

And that is where I met the bouncer. (Or bartender? Or just a worker at the bar? Hell if I remember). The bouncer and I chat for a bit…apparently… not quite sure about what.

I do slightly recall mentioning rugby, which is the sport I play in college. And with the mention of rugby, my friends chime in “She’s a lesbian! She likes girls!”

While there is nothing wrong with that, for the record, I am in fact not a lesbian. And I do like boys.

And as we were leaving, the bouncer/bartender/worker-man asks for my number. As I am giving it to him, Drouche takes it upon himself to tell my potential-mate that I have a leg-hair fetish…

Drouche elaborated that I am so obsessed with men leg hair, that I go around shaving their thighs and knit sweaters out of the collected hair.

And then the taxi came, so I had no time to deny my leg-hair fetish, nor the fallacy that I like girls, and so I waved goodbye to bouncer/bartender/worker-man and expected never to receive a text from him…

Next day, “Hey, want to go out some time?”

WHAT!? What. HOW? You were told a) I wasn’t into your gender b) I like leg-hair c) I shave men’s thighs and then knit sweaters out of it….

Even as unbelievable as B & C may be, clearly my friends are some strange ones, why on earth would you want to get involved with that?!

Conclusion: 

These aren’t the only strange circumstances in which I’ve been asked out. For example, there was that guy on Christmas Eve who asked me out while I was helping him pick a Vera Bradley bag out for his mother because I was a sassy salesperson and clearly made fun of him while at work, but these two instances really stand out.

What is it about my neediness and sobbing that attracted the guy in scenario #1 ? Or what was it about my inebriation mixed with strange accusations made about my hobbies and sexual preferences that attracted the guy in scenario #2?

Or, even more, what was it about the fact that I was sassy and picked on the guy on Christmas Eve that made him interested?

I am in no way trying to generalize guys into being attracted to the same thing here, since obviously these are three very different scenarios (the many attributes of myself shining through), but they don’t seem to be the usual reason a guy asks out a girl, do they?

In fact, seeing as my generation is one of a hook-up culture as opposed to “dating”, I have only ever been asked out on a “date” a handful of times, and these are 3 of those few…

Does a girl have to show something unique, crazy, strange, or sassy in order to attract a man these days? In order to be seen as worthy of a “date” ?

Should I start bursting into parties drunk and sobbing wearing sweaters made of leg-hair throwing out sassy remarks about how I’m a lesbian in order to attract a mate?

Is everyone so freakin’ average these days that something obscure and random is what’s needed to gain attention of others?

Or are we all too afraid to let our inner weirdness & emotions show, and so once we have those momentary slips in character, finally we are noticed again?