Marim-blah.

Okay, (un)fortunately(?), I'm back from my blogging hiatus.

And yes, I shall offer the lame excuse of the internet cord having snapped into two last week. Don't even get me started on that. :/

Last night, the seniors organised a fresher's party for us BBA babies. At a club. A certain club/lounge/dark room filled with sweaty drunken people named Marimba.

Now, before I elaborate on that, keep this in mind. I'm 17. By all conventions, I should be going through some sort of teenage rebellion phase. This is the age I should be dying to try out funky tattoos, black nail-polish, hair streaked electric blue, navel piercings, partying till 4 a.m.,cigarettes, alcohol, drugs etcetera etcetera before rejecting it in 4 years thinking, "Man, those years were wild. But I am a sensible adult now, time to get my act together."

Reality check. I'm experiencing nothing of the sort. I am not even kidding you. Not even a little bit. I think it's stupid. And right as I might be, I feel a little out of place with others my age who are reveling in their new-found freedom, however drug or alcohol induced it might be.

Take last night for example. 

Of course, I was really super-duper excited about the Freshers. Point no. 1 (and probably the only point),it was in a club. I had never been to one. And everyone I know seems to love it, so I figured of course, I'll like it too.
Well, that didn't happen.

Here are my not-so-nice observations on clubs.

1. Clubs are like concerts without that awesome stage act you've been waiting for. So it's dark, crowded, immensely sweaty and reeking of booze. For what? The heck of it.

Soooo cool.

2.You don't talk. Not because you don't want to, but for the simple reason that you can't. it's so abnormally and irritatingly loud. Just dance, drink, drink,  dance. But it gets so crowded, all you can do is rock back and forth before some girl digs her stiletto into your innocent foot. The whole point of the freshers party is to interact with people you've barely known for a week, not watch them puke on the dance floor.

3.If you're wondering whether non-verbal communication is possible, long story short, it's not. Clubs are dark. They're laden with fog machines. Jarring disco lights are sporadically swerving on and off your face. IRRITATING. :/

4.Almost everyone is fake in there. Fake nice. Fake I'm-so-cool-I-have-my-shirt-collar-turned-up. Fake Woah-I'm-having-such-a-fabulous-time. 

Yes, I'm sure that's a pretty lopsided view of the whole affair considering it's based on just a one-time experience. 

So let me now think of clubs as the silver-lining girl I'm purported to be. :P

You get to see people all dressed up and do something more glitzy than they do in real life.

I guess it may be a great way to blow off steam for some. No one's obligated to do something meaningful and productive and profound 100% of their time. Clubs provide mindless fun to a whole bunch of people. 

And I'm sure people don't go to clubs with any expectation of having a half-decent conversation anyway.

But one thing is for sure.

It's not my cup of tea/coffee/ fresh lime soda.

I got out of there in a little over 40 minutes. Yeah, really. :P

P.S. I take this opportunity to thank Kshitij, my best friend, who made the entire club experience something to laugh about and not a crying over- experience.
Also, 4 days too late on this forum, but here's your very public birthday greeting- Happpppppppy Birthday! :)