July 18th - Professional Relaxation: Dangerous Liaisons @ Trois

Last Saturday, Sweets and I got all dolled up in sexy, sophisticated finery to attend Professional Relaxation: Dangerous Liaison at Trois. This party is held every third Saturday of the month at a different location. Let me just tell you that there was hardly any "professional" jumping off. I was not relaxed. Many of the attendees did indeed look dangerous so there was no real interest in forming any liaisons with them. I know that sounds kind of harsh because I'm typically very positive about my nightlife experiences but I really could have had a coke.

The party was happening between 10pm and 3:00am. Following our long day at the High Museum of Art and a friend's family barbecue, we decided to arrive fashionably late. We got there about 1:30am. We noticed our fellow party goers. A vast majority of the ladies were decked out in cute little dresses with high heels. Butts were being hugged. Cleavage was being revealed. Fine. The men, however, left much to be desired and I believe that was the fault of the invitation. The dress code was rather ambiguous. Could someone tell me what the term "cosmopolitan" means to a man? In the mind of a few of these men, it meant a suit... which is what my sweetheart looked so devastatingly delicious wearing. But for many others...too many others, it meant jeans and a button-down hanging out of the pants or jeans and a polo shirt that could have doubled as a tent, or jeans and a t-shirt, or jeans and a wife-beater which we later found ripped and laying on the floor.

This party was supposed to attract the professional, childless late twenty-somethings and the early to mid thirty-somethings with professional careers and disposable income. I expected to hear some 90's hip-hop and upbeat neo-soul blasting. I expected to see three levels of people dancing with the appropriate amount of space between themselves and the next couple on the floor. I expected the cocktails to be scrumptious and the crowd to be accommodating. What I got instead was 21 and up, general public who pronounced "trois" like "troyce." What I heard was Them Rich Kids' My Partna Dem and Young Dro's Take Off, which is something to which my 20 year old nephew listens. What I saw was people shouldering their way through a chaotic dance floor full of folks chatting (see video below). What I received was a sad excuse for a vodka martini served in a champagne glass. Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.

The promoters decided to turn on the lights on the third floor at 2:15am to coerce people to go down to the lower floors. After the initial pushing and shoving down the stairs, we followed and decided to just go ahead and leave. Luckily, we'd only paid $10 a piece to get in instead of $20. In lieu of moving out of the way of those who were trying to join the second and first floors, a crowd of drunken fools intent on securing their allotted amount of ass for the night decided to congregate at the bottom of the stairs and block traffic. I tapped on this one guy's shoulder and said excuse me three times before I had to push his ass out of the way. Then he had the audacity to get mad. I looked at him like I was going to cut him. I don't like having to do that because I am not beyond cutting anybody and I will cut somebody.

I had hoped that this party would be something I could recommend to other professionals with discriminating taste. Alas, no. That party was wik, wik wak and that's a shame because I was looking really good and feeling pretty swell.