Stories From the Scene (1)

Stories from the Scene

I always wanted to write about this. Now I am not really in it, I think I can.

Last night it was my friend Tommy’s birthday, so  I went out for the first time in four months. It was in LKF which I never go, and we went to the Hong Kong Brew House which I have never been. I generally as a rule don’t set foot into any place where the men wear rugby jerseys at anytime that isn’t going-to-watch-a-game. I know it’s my prejudgement that sports men are aggressive because most of them are just normal guys and the truth be known, I like watching sevens rugby, but somehow my outfits always clash with the decor, so it’s just better not to stick out that much as a rule of thumb. They played a lot of top 10 80s hits, which I loved singing along to. There were peanut shells on the floor. I worried I might slip in my four inch heels.

At once point I tried to squeeze pass two women. They both had long hair, and tight clothes, probably of some south east asian origin. When I reached a point I couldn’t get pass I said nicely, "Excuse me, do you think you can let me pass?" and she shot me a look and went, "Why don’t you ask him?" refering to the man who was on a chair behind. "Because I am facing YOU?" I said. She moved. I gave her an evil eye, and her friend gave one back. Sadly, I don’t care.

I ordererd my drinks I went back to my table and told my story. I pointed out at them, and the girls all looked over. We giggled. The women fumed. I smiled and turned my back to them. I hate girls like that. They really bug me.

At some point, I was introduced to a Cathy Stewardess, and when Tommy said that, I went, "Ahhhh." and nodded. She obviously thought I had some preconcieved idea about her, which I do, but that wasn’t the reason. Mainly, I wanted gossip on a Pilot I know, but then realized there is no way I could get that kind of information from her unless I spent a decent and reasonable amount of time talking to her like a real person. I didn’t have the energy. Moreover, the truth was I knew everything I needed to know about the situation, and I had made my mind up about it.

My friend Mick turned up with a hang along model fresh off the airplane, and we hung out for a while.  At some point we decided to head off to the Kee Club. Mick got into the place with shorts, and a surf grey t-shirt coz he does work for them. Otherwise I think he might have been pushed back into the elevator before he could step out. You can’t wear anything but brand names into that place.  From being totally over dressed and slightly ridiculous, by stepping into another bar, I look fabulous. I know coz I kept bumping into boys I went to high school with and they complimented me. On the other hand they might just be saying, "Boy, Yan, you’ve kept pretty well because I actually know exactly how old you are."

I am still unsure if Key club is members only or not. And whether you can get in or not. I haven’t been there myself for years now, not since it’s openned so I am not sure if they actually stop anyone at all. But there seems to be an idea that you have to know someone to get in. I tried to get my friend to meet me and she asked, "Is it hard to get in?" and I asked, "So what are you wearing?" The truth was no matter what she had said, I probably would have said, "That’s fine." And would have tried our luck.

Someone bought me a bailey’s on the rocks which is now the only thing I drink if I am out, as it’s always a really nice buzz, and not harsh at all. The Hong Kong Brew House puts a cherry in, which I think is so pretty and cute. I sat looking about as intelligent as the model next to me, except that she is 12 years younger, stick thin, with great bangs, and actually really sweet. I generally like hanging out with models, they are easy and fun to be with, like to dance a lot. I never actually know if they can hear me or understand me as no matter what they nod. Which means i don’t have to think about what I am saying, as I know I am not saying anything anyway or I can just sit in silence and not be bothered. I surely see the appeal they have for men. I know a lot of other women who just-hates-models and would automatically dismiss them and put on that unimpressed look, while standing at a 45 degrees with their back to them at all times even if we’re in the same group but I am not one of them. Mostly I think it’s a fun and glamourous job, where you can play dress up all day and night plus they get free champagne whereever they go. Free booze and automatic entrance to clubs is nothing to look down at.

the two pluses of having a model friend is 1) If a guy wants to buy her a drink, he has to buy me a drink as well as not to come of like a cheap skate. 2) She is the one that has to take all the cheesy chat up lines, idiotic bravado, bad dancing, or whatever unpleasent chat ups every girl has to take in a clubbing situation. It’s a bit like pin-the-donkey-on-your-girlfriend palour game. It’s really not that bad of a trade not to be the most beautiful woman in the small confined space you happen to be squashed onto.

Otherwise, as Mick talked to his friends I sat watching all these women in very expensive clothes and handbags, trying to work out who bought it with their own money, who bought it with daddy’s and who bought it with husband/boyfriend’s.

I came to the conclusion the most well dressed and beautiful women in the place, probably bought their outfit with all three. They got a fabulous business their father backed that’s doing really well and a rich husband to boot. I meet a lot of women who marry up and they tend to either be snobby or somewhat insecure. Even though I think it’s really lucky to be in that situation, I do know and have seen how much having to ask someone for things all the time wears down a person’s confidence. So often that person ends up making a big deal about how great your husband/boyfriend is for buying them something all the time, but it gets really uninteresting because everyone knows, everything they are and owns is given to them some way or other.

We stayed in one of the rooms and danced. I never used to like that housey garage dance stuff with a bit of funk thrown in prefering straight hard house and trance. Now I find it’s great to dance to. I even enjoyed the extra long remix of Molester Jackson’s Billie Jean, the kind of things that would send me reeling into a static position a few years ago. i think it has something to do with age, sobriety, and just need to chill instead of being intense on a weekend out. Mick and I used to be part of a crowd that would go to these medium size parties all the time, and we would all just hit the dance floor hardcore. I had forgotten how much fun it was, and dispite my wobbly high heels I discovered that I could jump, spin and do crazy old school dnb moves in them because for the most part I dance on my toes anyway. Must be the ballet training. While I was drunk, i thought it would be great to call everyone out for one night of mad partying, where we could all just rip it again, as they were the best dance buddies I ever had. Except I realized, I no longer have any of their phone numbers. The last time I saw "da crew" in its entirity was exactly a year ago at the leaving do of bebe and I haven’t really thought about them since. This year went so fast. I was busy.

We know the DJ and he bought us all drinks on the house. I ordered a lime soda. I heard an earful about I should get booze if it was free. They also bought me a cosmopolitain. Not to be ungrateful, but very honestly, the cosmopolitian is a stupid drink. It’s an awful tasting drink only second to the Sea Breeze. Which is also some yuckie syrup fruit cocktail favored by people who have non working taste buds. There is no merits in drinking drinks you learned off a TV show, I have always somewhat disrespected Carrie Bradshaw for being a Cosmopolitain drinker. She should be classier than that, she should favor something like Rose Martinis.

Everytime I hear a woman order the "Cosmo,"  I shudder. Except in all honestly, my god
sister (once removed) from NY, who hangs out in the upper east
side drinks them. I don’t think she drinks them because she likes the show. I think she did it first.

She’s kinda scary. I am frightenned of her. I only met her once since I was a kid. In New York.

but the decidedly Hong Kong version of yesterday evening was hot pink and they gave it to me in a martini glass crusted with salt. I liked the look of it. So I held it for a while, sipping from it just because I thought that is was a cute accessory, a bit like a nice handbag.

Talking about handbags I spent some time worried if someone would steal my handbag. Not because there was anything in it of value. But it was a fake Fendi, and I was concerned that some stupid girl would take it thinking it was real. My friend said, "Don’t worry the women here all have real ones." I replied, "Yeah, but there is always that one girl who doesn’t and really want one. So she might take it."  Now I think about it, I am SO sure that was an episode from Sex and the City, when Samantha had a fake bag and it got stolen at the playboy mansion. It’s probably where I got my  paranoia from subconciously. I never buy any fake stuff but my aunties like to go to China to shop and one of the things they bring back for me are these handbags, so I wear them. Then I tell everyone how they are fake. I can’t decide if I am more embarressed by the fact I am wearing a brand name, or that people think I am the kind of chick that would save up for a brand name, or that I am wearing a fake brandname and they might think I am trying to pass it off for real. Mainly, I spend my money on other things and always forget to buy good handbags, so I just have to find one that fits the outfit no matter what it is. Mick complains I think too much. he is completely correct.

After far far far too long in the kee club, we went to Vola and drank even more.

Not true.

They all drank more.

I begged for a glass of water.

Mick’s friend’s Kevin has a strange habit which is he will buy rounds of drinks without asking anyone. he doesn’t ask you if you want it. he doesn’t ask you what you want. he just hands you vokda tonics or vodka limes. None of which I want or will drink. I wish he bought me drinks I wanted to drink. That would be really generous. As it stands, I just seem ungrateful when I turn it down. Note to myself: if I ever meet him again, I should just say, "Thank you," take a sip and then leave it on the bar without touching it or maybe feed it to one of the other guys.

Vola is a strange phenomenon. While Drop is Dark and sweaty, owned by a group of ultra cool people. Mirrored their bathroom for purposes known only to those who use it. Kee Club  luxurious and dragon i beautiful. Vola is a concrete dungeon that isn’t very attractive at all. It reminds me of a rave in some industrial warehouse, where the sounds bounce of walls, and there is no where to sit. et, as far as I can tell, it’s the hip place to be. I think it must be because when i looked around, I knew for 100% sure that there was not a single unattractive human being in there, and that the guy standing next to me was decked out in a Chanel Suit worn by the likes of the lead singer of the Libertines and had on a crazy one inch by one inch diamond studed ring, which for reasons unknown looked terrible masculine. You want to know why all the brand names are making their clothes smaller and smaller for thiner and thiner frames? It’s because they know the Asian Market.

I don’t know why I was at Vola.

I am not sure why they let me in.

Usually I only get into these places because either I am with a group of people whom one or two of which is the kind of people they allow in and I end up being ushered in with the herd of "friends who are cool" I usually don’t even know that one or two people who got me in. This time, I think it’s either the blond Australia guy who is wearing a cowboy hat which for reasons unknown, also looks good on him, or a woman with a scarf around her head, who I assumed to be French but probably isn’t. Neither of them are in the usual snobby club fair, they look more like people who would be drinking in Whiskey a go go rather than the Standard Sky Bar.

I walked in, even if I didn’t want to. Then i was faced with the second red rope which they also openned for us. And I thought about the people who said, "How do you get into this place?" outside as there are no lines, just a mass of chaos surrounding the roped off entrance, and people shouting to the door bitch (which the also call themselves) and the bouncers. And through a series of hand signals that include, "These are my friends." and "You come over here." and them dropping the rope, you somehow find yourself in there. And as I reach the bottom of the stairs I think, the more salient question is "Why do people want to get in here so badly?"

It doesn’t matter to me ever. I find the park between Yumla and Baby Buddah probably my favorite place in the whole scene.

I think I don’t want to be seen enough because I don’t know enough people who need to see me.

I spent my whole time there staring into the six plasma tv screen watching the digital images that was strewn at us thinking, "I can do that. I want to do that. I really should be doing that because I know that stuff sells for $20 per second on Getty Video."

I was really impressed by the work, I wondered if these were made by old school rave kids who have grown up and they made a living out of the stuff they used to do at the parties. I hope so.