Goodbye, youth

Rosie’s take on… Getting too old for clubbing 
It’s finally happened guys. I’m finally too old for clubbing. 

I know, it’s shocking.

At a young 20 years, 8 months and 8 days, I am too old to go out partying. 

The realisation hit this Saturday night, but I think I’ve known for a while. I used to go out very regularly, at least once a weekend but often twice. It has become less and less frequent in recent times, becoming instead something that I do once every few weeks. 

This Saturday night started out as any other. I had pizza for dinner. I squeezed in a power nap before my friends came over. We pre-drank to music such as Eminem and Fergie. We chatted, we drank, we laughed, I did some push-ups. We called a taxi and had to wait ages for it to find our street. And we headed into town. 

The first sign that my clubbing time is up should have been the lack of familiar faces. That used to be one of the things that would always draw us back to the same place, we knew everyone. But not this time. There were the same bouncers and security guards as I know from my countless trips into town. But the faces of the fellow party-goers? Not only were they not familiar, but they were juvenile. “Have they suddenly lowered the drinking age and forgotten to tell me?” I thought as I pushed my way through the crowds of eager teenagers. I swear initially I didn’t see a single person over the age of like fifteen at our first stop, one of our usual bars. But then I looked closer, and realised I had been mistaken; not everyone was fifteen, there was an undeniable amount of old people. More specifically, old men. So here we are, in one of our favourite bars and most popular watering holes, surrounded almost exclusively by a) fresh faced youths who’ve just graduated high school, wearing crop tops, leather short shorts and sky-high heels, just been dropped off by their mums, and b) seedy faced old men looking for an aforementioned eager youth to take home with them. And then there was us, a group of four women who are of age, didn’t rely on our parents for a lift, wanting to have an enjoyable night out on the town to celebrate my completion of uni. It is a strange experience that is becoming more and more common, a night out when we don’t see someone we know or used to party with. This weekend it occurred to me that we don’t see them anymore because they’ve grown up. They don’t go clubbing anymore. 

Dancing in the club has always been one of my favourite parts of a night out, and I’ll admit I enjoyed tearing up the D floor on Saturday night. However, the once carefree, reckless dancer that encouraged large crowds that I once was, has turned into an angry, bitter people-hater who wants her own personal space and for everyone to stop bumping into her, pouring drinks on her and standing on her fucking feet. More than once I considered putting my new combat moves to the test, I’ll admit it. But I’ve always been told it’s wrong to hit a child, so I resisted.

Somehow our relatively casual-dress club that we used to rock up to in flats, and on one occasion even managed to get through in thongs, has become a place for stilettos and high-heeled boots that, should you happen to receive a stomp on your foot, causes a lot of physical and emotional damage no matter how deep your state of inebriation. 

Once upon a time I would be flattered if a guy was hitting on me, trying to dance with me, or even the occasional ‘accidental’ swipe of a hand on my backside. But not anymore. You’re gonna try to dance up close to me? No thanks mate, jog on. Any girl who has been clubbing ever is surely more than familiar with being unexpectedly groped by strangers. On Saturday night I was walking along harmlessly, minding my own business when someone took a real good squeeze of my right ass cheek. Once upon a time, I would have ignored it, or possibly turned around and given them a smile and continued on my way. But, being the old woman that I suddenly am, my violent and generally aggressive nature clicked into place, and I swung around ready to give whoever it was a real good right hook to the side of the face. But alas, I couldn’t tell who the groper was, and so he was saved. 

I have two days off a week. Today, on my second day off in a row, I got to spend time with my sisters before they went to school, had a cuddle in the sun with my puppy, tackled Jacob’s Ladder, went to the beach for a few hours, read about half of The Notebook, did my grocery shopping, did my washing, went to combat, and ate many meals. Just a standard productive day off. But yesterday. Sunday. The day after clubbing. Also the day of clubbing depending on how you think of it; I didn’t get home until the early hours of Sunday. Anyway, yesterday. You know what I did yesterday? Absolutely nothing. It took me ages to wake up and get out of bed, then it took me ages to eat, then I had a nap. All I did all day was nap, watch The Lion King (I will never get too old for Disney), and I managed to drive myself to my parents house for dinner. Except I was so dead tired that I couldn’t drive myself home again so I had to stay the night. It got to like 8 o’clock and my little sister was speaking to me and I literally couldn’t understand what she was saying because I was so tired. So half of my time off for the entire week I wasted because I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t even clear out the empty wine bottles from the counter. What a waste of a day. Gone are the days of quick recovery after a night out, when I could go out all night and rock up to work for a 10 hour shift the next day and be fine. I barely even had anything to drink this weekend, I had less than one bottle of wine for pre’s; gone are the days of multiple bottles. And I definitely can’t do back to back nights out anymore; last night I was asleep by 9, and I’m still trying to recover today. These days I have too much other stuff I’d rather be doing on my day off than silently dying on the couch, wishing I could sleep for a week and a half. 

The best part of the night on Saturday was getting a kebab and chips, gravy and cheese at the end of the night. But I can do that during the day. So I’ve officially come to the conclusion that there is no reason for me to go out anymore. I used to have a fear of missing out; if I didn’t go, all my friends would have a great night and I’d miss out. Not anymore. Now hardly any of those friends go out anymore anyway, and all I’d be missing out on is some sweaty, old man trying to fondle my bum, a boy who may as well be fifteen trying to grind on me and everyone else he sees, and some over-enthusiastic, over-intoxicated, under-dressed, high-heeled clad eighteen year old girls, mouths stained pink from their vodka cruisers, talking about how excited they are for leavers. Then I’d wake up late on the Sunday, and miss most of the day while I’m focusing on not dying, and not achieve a single thing on one of the two days I get off out of every seven. No thanks, I choose life. 

It’s time to pass the baton onto the next generation of party people. Enjoy it, little eighteen year olds. It’s your turn now. I’m retired. 

the shirt says it all
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5 thoughts on “Goodbye, youth

  1. Hi,
    I read your blog and found it quite offensive and degrading towards woman especially those of the younger generation who have recently turned 18. Not only did you comment on what they were wearing but assumed because the age difference that they were juvenile and that “juveniles” get dropped off by their parents. Just because these girls are younger than you doesn’t mean you have to be bitter and conservative or assume they are “juveniles”.
    I think you have forgotten what it was like to turn 18 and experience clubbing for the first time. Maybe you should venture out at other clubs and bars away from Mandurah you might have a different opinion. Although I respect your choice of how you would like to spend your weekends i do not believe you should put down others on their fashion/ weekend choices or categorise people into stereotypes. It almost seems as if you’re portraying yourself superior to others just because they have a different measure of productivity and leisure.
    I think your writing style is too causal and needs to be more punctual.

    Thank you and good luck!

    Like

    1. Hi Maddy,
      No offence intended, as I said at the end it’s just me passing the baton onto the next generation. Now it is their time to enjoy the clubbing experience. As you pointed out, I was 18 once, and I did wear whatever I wanted and I did have parents drop me off. I used these examples to exemplify the differences between me and the rest of the people who now go clubbing. I simply meant it as a statement that I am too old to still be acting how I was when I was 18. I have no judgement for people who spend their weekends clubbing; as I mentioned, this was me until very recently.
      I have frequented clubs and bars outside of Mandurah, and it is very much a different experience. But not one that I ever came to particularly enjoy, personally.
      My writing style is intentionally casual, it is a blog and I intend to keep the current casual tone. As I have mentioned in previous posts, I tend to be very sarcastic, dry and over-exaggerative. It seems in this instance you didn’t pick up on this, but since you are the only person who seems to have interpreted it how you did, I am sure you just misunderstood.
      I do not aim to degrade women; I am a woman. I definitely encourage women to wear whatever they want; I utilised these observations more as a reflection on myself and how different I know am from the scene that I used to be a big part of.
      I am not sure what you mean by my writing needing to be more ‘punctual’, perhaps you mean ‘factual’ or ‘precise’. As it is my blog, there is no timeframe, and therefore no set need for punctuality.
      Thank you for your feedback and taking the time to read my blog.

      Like

  2. Hey Rosie!

    I agree, our clubbing days appear to be behind us.
    So long getting felt up on the dance floor and super alcoholic vodka redbulls!
    My question is: what next?
    We have to have something to replace those boozy Saturday nights, and I’m not quite ready for dinner parties. Pubs? Back to house parties? Just casual chills?

    Also, my bruise from that night is still tender. Thanks a lot, stairs!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Kaitlyn, it definitely seems like we’re on a downward spiral toward dinner parties, but I agree; I’m not ready yet!
      I’m still recovering from last weekend, so this evening I will be spending my Saturday night watching movies with copious amounts of junk food. I suggest you do something similar while you continue to nurse that nasty clubbing injury!
      I think the next step for us has to be something low key, with some alcohol, some chill music, and some likeminded people. Once I am fully recovered from last weekend I will be prepared to give house chills/parties another try!

      Liked by 1 person

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