Starting the partying early this week I hit the nightlife on Thursday. Going to Starbucks at 11PM and sitting around with a couple of friends making arrangement for the night got my blood boiling. I fidgeted throughout most of their conversation, going home at half past midnight I decided to change from Cinderella into my hero suit and pulled out the party animal in me.
Considering the havoc of having to discuss my outings with the boyfriend though was the issue, being spontaneous always made Turkish men cranky. So I called him and played charming, surprised by how good at it I was myself, and then by his response he told me to enjoy myself and come home in one piece. The inner goddess in me had her ‘I’m cool’ glasses on and was doing the chick-run at the same time.
With simple pumps and a white-shirt I went to the venue, bopping in the back seat of a taxi. I was pretty proud of myself for finally dragging myself out, even the rocky roads of Istanbul was not enough to ruin my charisma. A bit left behind in the singleton party town I knew I was going to be on my toes for the whole night. Especially after only going out together with the other half for a long time, I left a bit empty on my left hand side.
The thing I love about Turkish nightlife is the interaction, the hate among girls, the dynamics between couples, the beady searching eyes of single guys, it’s all judgement. The judging eyes dominate the night. These are stuff I have mentioned before but honestly with alcohol loosening the body and mind of so many people in one place, you see the general thought pattern of the people. The silence thoughts shine on people’s faces.
Anyway after entering the venue we were taken to a stool on the edge of the stage where a known Turkish pop artist was to appear, may I add that unlike a concert these venue’s add a more clubby, homey, more tangible gist to the whole see-a-famous-person-on-stage experience. My two male friends and I got to the stool and observed. The guys liked the look of the girls and I liked the look of the crowd, we all momentously looked at each other and with a slight nod approved our choice of venue.
The best bit about going out with your guy friends is that you really don’t have dress up too much, comfortable is more than enough, guys barely put up with girlfriends moaning about their feet let alone girl mates. They tend to take out all built frustrations about heels on the girl mates, so as per usual I was in flats and they were happy I was quick on my feet. No hold my hands up and down stairs, no having to explain that their overly dressed girl mate is just a mate or listen to moans and groans that my poor guy has to listen too. I’m a freer girl in flats.
Having said that I must add there is a certain, who-is-she look people give you for being the only female in a boy heavy crowd, the crowd on Thursday was only the two boys but I must say that does not change whether 2 of them or 15 of them. The lean-over-to-your buddies to comment about the size, features and comfortable breeze you have in flats start.
Drinks served, the tequila’s arrived the boys were hunting, I myself crowd watching the mood was just right. The pop-star on stage was mediocre, but no-one could complain we were bouncing and jiving. Eventually my top-heavy-with-muscles friend has caught the eyes of a tall and stunning girl and is playing the eying up game. We bring our heads together to discuss whether she’s enough for our boy (we’re judging now) and as we stare she casually waves him over. I go-girl-here with a smile and nod but my boy refuses! His coyness was eye watering. I still wonder how men can get away with it more, even though it is a quality associated with being so feminine. Then she shakes her head, more staring and glaring continues and they are indulged in the silent conversation that I can’t even ask him to pass me the lighter. With the desire to have a cigarette I turn to her and wave her over myself, she shrugs sheepishly, I then lean over to hold my hand out to her. Both finding it hilarious we laugh, so she takes my hand steps on to stage to pass the little corner and to step down at the feet of our table. They got on like a house on fire.
Bringing the night to day we all went back to mine to sleep the good time off us.
Friday however I must say I was a moody wreck, I was cranky, I cried, I moaned, I couldn’t eat and I was certainly not up for another night, till I got to the other halves house. Having perfectly slept well the night before him and his friends Mr-I-now-live-in-a-village and Kermit were on the booze. Fumed about something my other half had done I was still moody and not so happy. Eventually Mr-I-now-live-in-a-village broke me, the questions and warm attention from both of his friends eventually got me drinking and swinging back into the mood of pre-drinks. I must say these guys have years of experience with girls and know how to work together.
Must I add to that in MY many years of experience as a lady I had mastered throwing the ideal mood-swings too, just about the right amount. And true to form, and to avoid being the party poop-er I got into shape for the night.
Come Saturday feeling overdosed on alcohol and tipsy far too long, I stayed in drank tea and coffee and peeled apples for the loved one.