This is what I witnessed last night at La Pomme in the Flatiron District.
It was my first night at a nightclub in a very long time. Now that I am in my 30’s, I much rather spend a weekend at home, sipping on wine and catching up on The Real Housewives (all of them except DC and Miami; I do have some class!). When I get the itch to shake my ass, I feel much more at home in local spots like Apt.78 and Altus Cafe. What’s the difference? The crowd, for once. I may still get a drink or two spilled on my fly dress, but at least the club and lounge patrons have rhythm and…color. Don’t get me wrong. Plenty of Latinas and Blacks still bump and grind and drop it likes it’s hot even if they’re jabbing you in the pepa™ or gut. But at least my vagina is being poked by someone who reminds me of home!
Realistically, I’m over the club scene. My face turns green with envy when my married and shacked up friends share their weekend plans, which include BBQ’s, short jaunts, and baby showers. Yes, I am jealous of a baby shower. I much rather play Guess The Poop than spend another Saturday night at La Pomme, where Caucasians and Guidos go to grind on stripper poles and jump off couches.
I was almost killed, for Christ sake!
Then there was the age difference. I should’ve brought my niece’s stroller, these kids were so damn young. I was tempted to card them myself. Or call the cops so La Pomme can be shut down forever for underage drinking!
And for booty pops. Stripper poles. Hiked up mini dresses. And exposed pepas™.
So if you’re ever in NYC and venture to La Pomme, make sure to bring a few diapers, a wet suit (you’ll be doused with alcohol the entire night), and a tangita roja. This way you’ll prepared for the crowd.
Stripper pole included.