Last Saturday
Nothing much new to report here. I’ve been pretty broke the last few weeks (don’t ask), so I haven’t been doing much. Last weekend, when I went out with the two guys I usually go out with, only one of us had any cash, so he financed the evening for the other two.
The evening did have a few surprised in store for us, though. At one club a guy walked in with his pants down around his thighs, underwear, too. He saw some friends in there and he went over to say hi. The girls in their group freaked out, took him over against a wall, and pulled his pants up. I, of course, was laughing my ass off.
At another bar I saw a girl dancing who looked exactly like Ugly Betty, without the braces.
Later in the night we saw a black girl in a bar with a Chinese friend. Black women are not really common in China. (Black men, in general, are either Marines from the US Embassy or drug dealers from Africa.) At any rate she was from Eritrea, a tiny little country near Sudan. One of my friends spent a lot of time talking to her and her friend, while I sat against the wall sucking down Jack & Coke, generally getting my drink on.
We ended up, as we so often do, at a Russian nightclub sometime around four in the morning, sitting and watching Russians dance. I swear to God, Russian men have no shame whatsoever. The culture that gave us ballet masters and the Bolshoi and classical Russian dancing, with the leg kicks and hands raised high, has degenerated to a bunch of drunks stumbling about on the dance floor, looking more like they are convulsing than dancing. Nobody gives a shit, though, they all encourage each other to do this. The women all urge them out, then join them on the dance floor. Russian women are all great dancers, and there’s something oddly appealing about Russian pop music.
There was one girl out dancing with her friends. She was a super-hot blonde, mid 20s, looked like a fashion model. Unless you happen to look like Brad Pitt she would be out of your league. Some drunk Russian guy kept trying to pick her up on the dance floor. For three consecutive songs he tried to get her to dance with him. She kept politely dismissing him, but he wasn’t taking no for an answer. He’d grab her hands to dance, twirl her around once or twice, then she’d walk away. He’d run after her and grab her again and the would continue. Over and over this happened. I thought it was hilarious. She kept looking out off the dance floor into the dark of the club with a plaintive look on her face, as if begging someone to come and save her from this beast. Not a chance. One, it was too damn amusing and I didn’t want to spoil it. Two, many of the Russians in China are maphiya (say it aloud) and the last thing you want to do is have a professional gangster pissed off at you. You might leave the club with your entrails hanging out.
From a sociological aspect it was fascinating to watch, like a male peacock splaying out his feathers, and the female peacock telling him to go fuck himself.
All in all it was a hell of a night.
