You dash to the bathroom to get yourself into "going to the club" condition. You jump in the shower and begin the age old routine of primping, plucking and applying. You grab a fresh razor and take on the monsterous job of shaving every square inch, finishing it in record time, with only a few droplets of blood to dampen your enthusiasm. You scramble to the bedroom and scavenge the closet for something to wear. You grab your sexiest pair of dark wash jeans and a low cut black shirt that perfectly accentuates your Victoria Secret clad chest. You throw on your sexiest black strappy heels and head out the door, throwing yourself a pouty glance in the mirror. There is a heaviness in the air, its not quite raining but wet nonetheless. The street lamps cast an eerie glow on the street and the mist in the air give the street a spooky kind of aura. Creepy. You shrug off the daunting scene and shoot Jen a text to find out where to meet them.
The club is definatley the place to be tonight. There is a line of people waiting to get in, which of course in never an issue when you are partying with Jen because she knows everyone It's a bit crazier than places you would frequent but you are feeling primed to cut loose tonight and get a little crazy. You step out the of the car and head towards the mass of linear positioned partygoers. You can hear the muted bass already, pounding through the brick walls. Just before reaching the crowd, you spot Jen out of the corner of your eye, waving like some crazed groupie. You stride over to her, reveling in several of the 20 somethings admiring your perfectly pushed-up bosoms. Jen whispers something into the bouncer's ear and with a blush, he unlatches the rope and lets you in, much to the dismay and frustration of the throngs of other ravers in line.