I HAD A DREAM, ABOUT A NIGHT CLUB I ACTUALLY WANT TO GO TO.
The other night I stayed in because I’m 30 and I was tired, but I went clubbing in my dreams.
Middle of REM. I was at the club. Clubbin’ it up. Clubby, club, clubbin. This place had all the nightclub stuff. Loud noises. Laser beams. Kryogenifex cannons. Confetti rain. DJ wearing a papier-mâché pineapple helmet. Employed women wearing dominatrix costumes. It was all there.
But something was very different… bartenders were making smoothies. A bachelorette party gaggle lined up for a shot of tumeric and lime shots. Not a single person was getting drunk, nobody was on drugs.
This was the thing to do. Hotties were out. Bros were head bopping. This was the scene. Rumor has it this place just reopened with a 88 million dollar renovation. And here was my waitress, bringing me my coconut water and beet juice with a splash of ginger. I was sipping the good stuff, living the good life.
What else would we drink, beer? That’s the shit angry industrial workers pound after a shitty day at work. Rum? Isn’t that the stuff pirates pummeled down their pipes before they raped and pillaged island communities. Whiskey? Are we going into battle in the American revolutionary war? And Gin? I’d rather gag on a bulldog’s ballsack than sip Beefeater. Who drinks that shit? “I just want my fucking juice,” I heard some hot bitch say in a yellow cocktail dress, she was expressing her dissent about the wait time at the bar.
Now I’m getting bottle service and I’m part of a bachelor party with a whole crew of people I barely know. Because that’s how weird ass dreams work. Bottles are coming in our way. Dominatrix ladies are parading our direction with fireworks and platters of fresh exotic fruits. Dragon fruits, mangos, they had some big ass papayas too. One set up a Vitamix right at the table. They just started making smoothies right up in the club. And I was like hell yeah, I’m about this life. Girl, spin that Vitamix.
Cold pressed juice, fresh fruit detoxifying boosters, smoothies blending, all night till the break of dawn. Smoothie club got it going on. Was that girl dressed like the Chiquita Banana bitch? Yes she was. So we did shots of ginger and kale juice together and I got her number. Her name was Penelope and I said I'll remember that, because there's a "P" in potassium.
I danced. Fueled with only the liquid courage of carrot and kale, I had the courage to approach women, and I didn’t stumble on my way over. The ceiling rained with confetti made of fresh mint leaves.
There were no fights. Nobody vomited on the floor. Apparently it’s not so common to punch people in the face, when you’ve had a little too much grapefruit juice to drink. I didn’t see anyone have to get dragged out for carrot juice poisoning either. And as it turns out, sexual harassment is pretty low when people are just ripping shots of wheatgrass.
I didn’t get lucky. Not even a cuddle session with my new Chiquita Banana friend. But I did feel great in the morning.
Back to reality, awake and piecing my dream together, I stared deeply at the fruit in my kitchen. Admiring the brightly colored and funky shapes I awed happily in nature's artistic and delicious gifts. But then I wondered, why can’t this place exist? Why isn’t there a healthy party scene? Why is it so exciting to get shitfaced? Why are drugs and alcohol a thing we enjoy doing? Say whatever you say, but I’m not sure I understand it anymore.
Nobody goes out and makes terrible life mistakes while sipping on cucumber juice. You don’t call an ex girlfriend and embarrass yourself after being over served coconut waters. You wouldn’t do that because it doesn’t make sense to someone with a functioning brain. Nobody drinks too many cold press juices and passes the fuck out. I want a see a future where men and women make smarter decisions while they’re out whooping it up. One where young girls are partying with organic fruit juice and aren’t passing out cold and waking up full of regret at frat houses. Wake me up in a future where talented musicians and friends aren’t dying out at 28.
The older I get the more I feel like an alien at a bar. Like I'm at landfill, pushing through crowds of garbage souls. What made me spend so many years believing drinking alcohol is fun? Why did I just pay $14 for a Heineken?
Maybe this dream isn't so far fetched. There's a movement in plant-based foods on the horizon. Healthier conscious people are rethinking what they eat, why are we not rethinking how we party? We’re not depressed sailors and village raping pirates.
In my youth, I've been to some incredible places to party, bars that were set in the bay cliffs of Sicily, big clubs in Vegas, or Liv in Miami, the atmosphere is intoxicating of itself and they're something I'll never forget. And music festivals, these are amazing events, full of positive and beautiful people. The production, theatrics, the special effects, the people watching — it’s dazzling and invigorating. I want all that but I want to get something rewarding for my body in return.
So I'm gonna raise my smoothie to this idea.... Cheers? Anyone?