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Mary Kay Mind Control
Apr. 18th, 2004 08:04 amSo after working an obscene number of hours between Thursday and last night, incidentally missing almost all of the beautiful sunshiney weather, I treated myself to an evening of unabashed girlyness all around. My coworkers came over to my house for a Mary Kay party (something I never thought I would host, but life changes), and let ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
tpau doll them all up pretty with makeup. Of course, once we all no longer looked like shlubs in scrubs, we needed to take advantage of this - one woman suggested going out dancing, and we all allowed ourselves to be persuaded to go along.
I'm used to dancing in very limited environments, namely SF conventions where socialization is just abnormal to begin with, and goth clubs where I either know half the population or am just not cool enough to be socialized with. Much to my embarassment, I had never actually been to a mainstream club before. Even so, I'm outwardly aware enough to know that people flirt sometimes, and to always take a decoy out onto the dance floor just in case someone becomes a little too aggressive at entering my dance space.
The club (I forget it's name, alas) was marvelous - an amazing mix of music, a dance floor that was full enough to be fun but not so crowded I couldn't move, and a fascinating blend of people. We had been there for perhaps half an hour when I noticed the guy with the crewcut watching me. Sure 'nuff, a few minutes later he started inching imperceptibly across the floor until, by the end of the next song, he was dancing with me. No problem; I smiled and tried to dance as un-leading-on-ly as possible. He pressed, I moved away, he pressed again, and my coworker-decoy wrapped her arm around my waist, snuzzled my hair, and grinned at him like a wolf. He left, and I congratulated myself on getting this over with at the beginning of the night. Safe for the rest of the evening, I figured.
About ten minutes later the next one started maneuvering his way over. And the next. My coworkers began to think this was the funniest thing they had seen in a long time, especially when one sweet-faced young thing started following me around the floor at a distance, looking rather like a lost puppy. After the fifth and sixth, they stopped laughing and started making a barricade. When two men pushed past them to corner me against the stage, I fled the floor, only to have my backside grabbed on the way off, and to be cornered by Pining Boy (who was actually quite polite, once I spoke to hime).
So. Good music, good company, great dancing, ultimately rather spoiled by the overwhelmingly predatory nature of the crowd. Are all mainstream clubs like this, full of hawks just waiting to pounce on the nearest piece of meat? Or was my cream-and-sugar lip gloss emitting some kind of mind control pheromone? And how do I get it to stop?
tpau doll them all up pretty with makeup. Of course, once we all no longer looked like shlubs in scrubs, we needed to take advantage of this - one woman suggested going out dancing, and we all allowed ourselves to be persuaded to go along.I'm used to dancing in very limited environments, namely SF conventions where socialization is just abnormal to begin with, and goth clubs where I either know half the population or am just not cool enough to be socialized with. Much to my embarassment, I had never actually been to a mainstream club before. Even so, I'm outwardly aware enough to know that people flirt sometimes, and to always take a decoy out onto the dance floor just in case someone becomes a little too aggressive at entering my dance space.
The club (I forget it's name, alas) was marvelous - an amazing mix of music, a dance floor that was full enough to be fun but not so crowded I couldn't move, and a fascinating blend of people. We had been there for perhaps half an hour when I noticed the guy with the crewcut watching me. Sure 'nuff, a few minutes later he started inching imperceptibly across the floor until, by the end of the next song, he was dancing with me. No problem; I smiled and tried to dance as un-leading-on-ly as possible. He pressed, I moved away, he pressed again, and my coworker-decoy wrapped her arm around my waist, snuzzled my hair, and grinned at him like a wolf. He left, and I congratulated myself on getting this over with at the beginning of the night. Safe for the rest of the evening, I figured.
About ten minutes later the next one started maneuvering his way over. And the next. My coworkers began to think this was the funniest thing they had seen in a long time, especially when one sweet-faced young thing started following me around the floor at a distance, looking rather like a lost puppy. After the fifth and sixth, they stopped laughing and started making a barricade. When two men pushed past them to corner me against the stage, I fled the floor, only to have my backside grabbed on the way off, and to be cornered by Pining Boy (who was actually quite polite, once I spoke to hime).
So. Good music, good company, great dancing, ultimately rather spoiled by the overwhelmingly predatory nature of the crowd. Are all mainstream clubs like this, full of hawks just waiting to pounce on the nearest piece of meat? Or was my cream-and-sugar lip gloss emitting some kind of mind control pheromone? And how do I get it to stop?
