Last night after Udon with AJB and the twins, a quick stop at the Apple Store, and several internal arguments with myself, I decided to go out. I’d been planning on going to a 60′s dance club called “The Blackeyed Soul Club“. No one was available to go with me. At my age, not everyone is footloose and fancy free anymore. We all have our responsibilities. Seriously. Once you hit your 30′s, things just aren’t as easy as they used to be. Suddenly, your friends have kids, important jobs, or are too tired. Those of us that are still able to get up the nerve to go out, end up going, but realizing why we don’t go out anymore.

I arrived at about 10:45pm. In my day, that was late. Apparently, that’s really early in this scene. People didn’t really start showing up until after 11:30pm and more and more after that. I went in, grabbed a Newcastle and stood in a corner people watching. About half an hour into it, I was wondering if I should just leave. A stout man decked in pretty great Mod garb waved at me, lead me around introducing me to people I’d probably never see again; and who’s names I wouldn’t remember 5 minutes after hearing them. I thought the Mod guy’s name was Jack, but then found out it was Zach. Not as good. How come nobody is named Jack anymore? He was nice enough, but after a few too many was a little too flirty and huggy. He kept trying to get me over to his house for an after party. Would this be an after party of two? LOL. No thanks.

I escaped for a smoke and got cornered into a conversation with an African soccer player by way of London via Pasadena. I felt bad, it was the kind of conversation you can’t get out of unless you’re a total douche-bag. He asked me to dance and I felt bad saying no, so I danced one song and escaped to the bathroom. We girls have it easy. The powder-room continues to be an excellent escape plan; as if guys think we must have bladders the size of a pea; or that powdering our noses is of the utmost importance. I guess it is, except the bathroom didn’t have a mirror. I lost him. He was a nice guy, but I’m off the market and even I wasn’t, he wasn’t my type. At all.

I left shortly after that. I wasn’t feeling the music and even though the crowd was generally nice and cool, I didn’t feel like staying. I stopped off at the 7-11, bought a water and super vitamin pack. Yes, this is how you avoid a hangover in the morning. Seeing as I’m a lightweight, I’ll end up with a hangover after just one drink. Or at least a nagging headache. I drove home to the tunes of Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. Damn, I was hoping this club would have played more mainstream 60′s like The Hollies, The Kinks, The Troggs, anything from the Manchester 60′s, or soul. Nothing like that. It was mostly psychedelic garage rock and French Ye-Ye music; which is fine, but I just wasn’t into it last night. And frankly, you have to be on something to dance to those beats. It’s a little fast. Good, but fast. I would have more fun if AJB had been there or I’d had some friend with me.

Generally, I can go out and feel better just for going out and getting hit on…even if it’s by mutants or trolls. You know, it’s a pick me up. It’s nice to get complimented, you know what I mean? A little ego booster? But last night, all I could think was that AJB wasn’t there and I was bummed out.

The strange thing is, now that I’m in a stable relationship, I realize how easy dating is. It’s all about contact, communication, and paying attention to body language. It’s ironic that I figure it all out when I’m off the market. Now yes, that’s irony. As they say, if I knew then what I know now…well, perhaps I wouldn’t have taken it all so seriously and I would have enjoyed being single instead of being depressed all the time. Funny how things change and you really do get wiser with age.

And speaking of age, the great thing about Mod clubs is that the crowd is generally older, so I wasn’t the oldest person there. That’s nice. Zach filled me on some L.A. Mod club history and how back in the day, greasy rocker dudes would have gotten their asses kicked by the Mods just for showing up. He also told me about how Mods would keep razor blades under their lapels in case a brawl broke out. It’s the Mod equivalent to Cholas keeping razor blades in their huge hair. How things have changed. Yeah, nothing’s as good as it used to be. It’s the same sad story everyone over 30 talks about. The times? They are a’changin’.

BTW, I got lots of compliments on my black and white, 50′s, daisy dress. Thank you Enid and Edgar!