I had to take myself back to a real uncomfortable place last night. I channeled some old energy and was forced to come face to face with a former self to decide if that old piece of me still fit. In this process of getting grown, supported by the “Return of Saturn,” I’m figuring out what/who will stay in my life and what I no longer need. You have to make room for the new by cleaning up the old, stank, festering garbage. It’s a painful and exhilarating process, one in which I’m starting to see that if we live our lives by self-imposed rules that we may be missing out on opportunities for growth and healing. Is this cryptic enough?
Anyway, last night, I went to the Aura Lounge to celebrate my homegirl’s birthday…a time for us to get our dance on, let loose, have some fun, and temporarily forget about the troubles of the world around us. And that’s what we did for most of the night. We were a group of about 6-8 classy but hot chicks in dresses, slacks, jeans…looking sexy but classy, still leaving something to the imagination. The promoter hooked up my girl with a table in the middle of club; so we were dancing on the benches minding our business and getting it in as one does when the music is hot and you have a likkle liquor in the system.
Note: I am the type of chick that generally likes to dance by myself. I know that I’m not alone in saying that sometimes we (as women) don’t necessarily want a dude jammin’ his penis into our ass. Can I get an amen? It’s not a hard and fast rule, because if you’re cute and you can dance then you’ll get some play; but I have a problem with my first introduction to you being your hard dick in my tailbone, ya heard?
My friends also know that I love to dance on a stage, table, chair, name your elevated platform of choice. Maybe because I’m a performer, but consciously it’s because I feel like it’s a safe place for me to dance and be in my own zone without having to worry about being accosted and having to talk to anyone. I’m there to dance, maybe with some folks maybe not, but mainly to release and feel the music and the energy. I love to dance freaky with a dude in the right time and place, believe it, but you have to intrigue me in some way to break me out of my zone. Can you really dance? Are you sexy? Am I really drunk? What are you bringing to the table?! I digress…
With that said, from being on these elevated platforms, I often get a bird’s eye view of the crowd. I watch the way dudes approach women at the club. It generally disgusts me. I don’t expect the club to be a chivalrous place but damn, grabbing a woman or grinding up behind her as an initial interaction is generally unacceptable. I especially notice how dudes act with my friends, I’ve always been a bit of the watchdog and I look out to make sure they are comfortable and having fun.
Shit was pretty much cool until our section got overrun by dudes. It was definitely on some macho dick shit; they had to make their presence felt.
In one instance, I was dancing with one of my girls, and a dude comes up behind her (keep in mind we are dancing on couches) grinding and then tries to pull my waist towards him so that me and my girl were close up on each other and he could have the satisfaction of dancing with 2 smokin’ babes (lol). I moved his hand from my waist. It was kinda funny to me because I got the impression that besides that it obviously turned him on, that he wanted to look like “the man” dancing with 2 chicks. Then his dumbass friend said, “man, you’re supposed to be in the middle.” Actually, no…it was never about him, or anyone else; we were just fine dancing amongst ourselves. Obviously he missed the point because how could we possibly be satisfied without some dick in the middle. The same dude, accompanied his shouts of “heyyyyyyyy” and “hoooooooo,” later tried to corner me by putting his arms up against the wall on each side of my legs so I would be boxed in between him and the wall. I stopped dancing and looked down at him; he moved his arms. This same cornball, begging for strike 3, jumped up all fast on the couch behind me to get all in my space, to which I jumped to the next couch. I just wanted to dance on my terms. I swear I’m not trying to be a bitch but damn can I have some personal space?
There were also a lot of West Indian folk in there. I have Haitian blood, went to middle and high school with many West Indians (primarily Jamaicans) so I generally understand certain aspects of the culture. Most West Indians are very homophobic. I believe that many of the dudes in there assumed that I was a lesbian because this combination: a) I was dancing with my girl-friend; b) I didn’t want to dance with any of them; c) I have short hair and didn’t really have anything tight or revealing on. But of course! I had the feeling that some of these dudes weren’t feeling my independent energy, especially as one dude kept eyeing me and not in a “hey baby, I’m feeling you” way but in a “bitch, who the fuck do you think you are” antagonistic way. My intuition knows such things.
The breaking point for me was when my girl and I came back from the bathroom to find our whole section full of dudes dancing on the couches. Now, 9 out of 10 clubs I’ve been to generally don’t allow men to dance on the chairs, tables, etc.; it’s generally reserved for women. (What a consolation prize for years of subjugation.) It’s cool because wouldn’t most people (male and female) would rather see women up dancing there dancing; that’s what it is. But in this case, this fat 300 pound dude is all up in the mix, leaving me and my girl to be squished up on each other with very little space to move. To add insult to injury, since this was my girl’s table, he kept nudging and elbowing me. I proceeded to return the favors. I’m not the type of chick to back down especially when I feel you’re antagonizing me because you perceive me to be a weak and powerless woman. I was getting loudly and visibly irritated especially because I could feel the power struggle in the air. His fat drunk ass then knocked over a jug of water all over the couch, thus literally soaking my legs, feet and shoes. I took off my shoe and turned it upside down to drain out the water. I was done and knew I needed fresh air. I went to grab my things which this dude’s fat ass was blocking. I tried to weasel around him to which he continued to bump me. Last straw. I blacked.
I ended up shoving him with all 135 pounds (maybe more these days?) of me so that I could reach my shit and roll. He turned around and yelled at me. I innocently said that I was trying to get my stuff and that he kept nudging me. More drama ensued. I remember him yelling in my face, meanwhile I’m looking at the bottle of GreyGoose convincing myself of the multitude of reasons why I should not pick it up and smash it over his head. I’ve got too much going for me to go to jail but the bottle was taunting me. Since he was all close up in my face, I told him not to fuckin’ touch me ever and to get the fuck out of my face. I’m pretty sure I called him a fat fuck too, I had to (that was for you, Mom). It was ugly; and embarrassing.
I didn’t want to ruin my girl’s party. I fortunately didn’t because we were ready to leave and when we all talked outside, the ladies had been feeling uncomfortable by the presence of those guys. The energy there was imbalanced; I was reacting to it.
This situation took me back to some dark places in my past. The last time I’ve had an encounter with a dude like that was back in the 11th grade at Key Club. Key Club was a place where us high school students set up recreational activities for elementary school students on Friday evenings. It was more like a social hour most of the time to be honest. I’ll never forget the night a friend of mine approached me and my girl, beefing with us because we were talking about his girlfriend. Why were we talking about his girl? Well because she was cheating on him with my boyfriend at the time (which he knew about), so fuck that, I was justified and told him so. And I was a fairly bold shit-talker back then so I didn’t care. It ended up being a shouting match in front of everyone (sans the elementary kids) in which he was screaming at me about an inch from my face. I dared him to hit me and cussed him the fuck out accompanied by my infamous pointer finger which only comes out when I’m really heated. My boyfriend at the time watched from a distance. Nothing happened, I guess someone separated us and I remember shaking from being so angry.
I remember that incident vividly and sometimes regret how hot-headed I used to be but have since chalked it up to be a rowdy teenager. In the subsequent years especially after college, I’ve successfully toned it down and even at times have taken too much bullshit from people as to not go back to that raucous place. There were times in college where I harbored so much anger and resentment that I used to want to fight chicks. This was generally in response to another boyfriend at the time who would dance with chicks extra freak nasty intentionally to get my goat. I let him ruin damn near every party of my senior year, including the step show party after my chapter and I won the step show! I talked a lot of shit often exacerbated by the cheap vodka in my system; my roommate had to give me “time-outs” on the regular. After me and that dude broke up for the last time, I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone take me there again. I swore I wouldn’t be subject to drunken madness, acting up and being belligerent.
These are really painful memories; I came face-to-face with an old self that I thought had been long gone. I think I’ve secretly been wishing for it to re-emerge, needing it as a reminder that I’m still a badass and that I can stick up for myself. I actually take pride in being a peacemaker and diplomat; a uniter not a divider. I am incredibly sweet and caring but in recent years, it’s been to a fault where I’ve let people take advantage. Maybe this old self was tired of allowing the abuse. I’ve identified this piece of me as a 500 hundred pound sleeping giant trapped in a 5’3, 135 pound body. That mafucka gets rowdy if awakened but for safety's sake, I think I need to slip her some Ambien sometimes and keep myself out of these places and situations. What really pisses me off is that we legitimately have to fear for our safety because there's crazy folks out here. And the type of dudes that cross the line in the club probably don't have a problem fucking up a mouthy woman. Another reason why women need to know some martial arts so we can protect ourselves in some fashion. I digress again...
I think about how foolish I looked, sounded and acted back then; and maybe even last night but I know I was right. I realized too that I wasn’t being drunk and belligerent last night but my personal space and safety was being violated. (Shit, I only had 2 drinks anyway). I didn’t and don’t want to fight with people, I like to have fun but I also command basic respect. I had to break my own rules last night because I can’t idly sit back while insecure men try to intimidate women with their size and perceived power through gender. I was the bitch they wanted to put in her place and I wasn’t having it. I couldn't go out like that.
I think the root of my irritation boils down to ownership. Certain men feel like they have the right to touch you, grab you, infringe on your personal space because there is loud music, dancing, strobe lights and overpriced drinks. Because I’m dancing doesn’t mean it’s for your enjoyment. If that’s what you are looking for, go to Sue’s (Rendezvous…shout out to
I told a dude last night that I didn’t want to dance with him because I like to dance by myself, that’s it’s my preference and it wasn’t personal. He said “cool,” and kept it moving. No drama, no stress. I can appreciate that. I know from the outside I look bitchy and unapproachable but I’m okay with that because it’s about MY comfort zone and MY body. Maybe I’m overanalyzing but I know a lot of sistren feel me and don’t always feel okay with voicing their truth. I’ll proudly be the champion for women in clubs everywhere!
Moral of the story: I’m good on the club; I should be home cuddling.
And Happy Birthday Wonder Woman, I LOVE YOU!
signing off...jaz
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