I'll have to say that last night's overall theme was the importance of the party shoe. Afterall, it was my choice of shoe which determined my outfit, my outing and my entire mood for the night. Let me explain.
Well no duh. It's Independence Day weekend. Atlanta is teeming with activities in which to partake just about every damn night. My absolute perfection of a significant other is out of town. Initially, this was a major bummer since I've grown quite accustomed to sharing my nightlife with him. However, I got over it. Not to sound cold but I had to think critically about this opportunity. I'm in a new city without a chaperon of any sort on a major holiday weekend with my Fuji Finepix camera and a need to expend some energy. Plus, this time next year I may be married and pregnant picking out cribs and curtains. Sit at home and mope or hit the streets? The decision was clear.
I consulted my closet. While in L.A. for a wedding last week, I scored these amazingly hot shoes (pictured above) and decided I needed to wear them. I even put them on while selecting my outfit. I had the choice of going to a party featuring no dress code and electronic music; an all night open mic featuring live musicians and spoken word; a party that would be well attended by strippers and armed gangsters; or a ladies' lounge affair at an upscale spot in Buckhead. The shoes were way too cute to not wear a dress. They were ultra comfortable so I could afford to dance as opposed to spectating. Finally, there was no need to be shot that night and only have the opportunity to wear the shoes once. I chose the ladies' lounge experience in Buckhead at Tongue and Groove and then would round out the night at a party being held by my favorite African party promoter at Fab. (Thanks for the hook-up, Emeka.) The shoes lead me to a cute little dress I hadn't donned in a while. Thankfully, my ass still fit in it. Why does happiness always equate to weight gain?
After taking a power nap and fighting the urge to ignore my alarm by staying in bed with Genesis the dog, I got up,prepped, did some stretching and rolled out. The theme song for the night was Shut Up and Let Me Go by The Ting Tings. I drove down the 85 feeling quite delicious indeed. I blame the shoes.
I arrived at Tongue and Groove at about 10:30pm. I was pleased right away. There was complimentary valet parking. Since I had wisely signed up for the guestlist, I scored a break from paying the normal $20 cover. Once inside, there was a promotion to build the club's email database which involved me earning a complimentary dirty martini. The dirty martini had been masterfully mixed by this nice bartender. Kudos, pretty Asian lady. You rock with olive juice. Although I was very happy with the experience thus far, I couldn't help but be a bit confused by the motivation for the club. There wasn't actually a dance floor and there wasn't enough seating to consider it a lounge. Additionally, there were very few seats around the bar which seemed to dominate the venue. Then there was this one random go-go dancer on her own little stage. Perhaps I should've gone upstairs but I was otherwise baffled by the venue's lack of a clear personality.
Oh well. I ended up helping a lady named Vonne (sp?) celebrate her 44th birthday by taking pictures of her and her friends before advising her on wearing inserts to keep her feet from slipping down in her shoes. Available at Payless Shoe Source for about $3.00. My own feet felt fabulous! No inserts necessary. Vonne looked wonderful! Definitely not 44. See picture left. She was pretty drunk. After spilling her second drink, her friends whisked her away. They were so pleasant. Before leaving at midnight, I spent a good 45 minutes talking marketing with this guy from Alabama who spoke Japanese despite his deep Southern accent. He was delightful. I found a random chick and introduced them to each other. She had a chin like Jay Leno but seemed very sweet and sexy otherwise.
It took me about ten minutes to get from Buckhead to Fab in downtown Atlanta. As per my agreement with God, I found a ridiculously wonderful and free parking space before sauntering to the club to stand in line. Behind me, three ladies were discussing their individual shoe time limits. They each had a few hours before their feet would begin to cripple them with relentless pain. However, their shoes were cute. As for me, my Marc Fisher 4.5 inch heels were all that and pain free! Happy me!
I got into Fab and appreciated how well-dressed the crowd was. There was a positive energy in the air and a real chill mood happening on all three levels of the club. The bar once again dominated the ground floor. The second floor featured the bathrooms and another bar but very little space otherwise. The top floor was an outdoor patio and lounge thus making the first floor the only site to dance. Is Atlanta nightlife all about drinking? Maybe it was because Fab was a restaurant during the day. I don't know. I found a space on the dance floor where I could move to the schizophrenic song selections of the dj while catching up on the outcome of the last Ghana match in the World Cup. Why do men no longer ask ladies to dance? They just come dancing up on you and then try to take liberties with their curious, conniving hands. I had to dismiss three guys for that foolishness before having a rather swinging time with a fourth guy on the dance floor. Again, my feet felt lovely! I left Fab in great spirits. The whole night cost me about $15, I wasn't sore and I had a great parking space. Good times!
