It could have started out as a guide, with the first advice being:

1. Don’t.

As an introvert, that’s both helpful and not helpful.

If someone told me not to go clubbing, I’d be like, “Wow, see, that’s a sign for me not to go. Sucks, that I can’t go.”

Yet, if I wanted a guide to how to clubbing, I would literally need a step by step guide.

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I should probably preface this by saying that it’s my first time clubbing and I hated it. I’m going to just write a sort of guide and diary entry because I need to vent.

FIRST, I like to research where I’m going for anything and everything—the location, parking, the inside of the place, how much the cover is, and of course, the bathrooms. I like to know everything. From how long of a drive it is (if I’m not ubering, even though I have to know how long of an uber ride it will be) to what’s around to the atmosphere of a place.

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SECOND, what to wear… I’m in Miami, but this is universal ( I think—like I said, I’m an introvert, I rarely go out), it gets hot. And I’m not saying because you’re grinding and getting low and dirty, but because it is jam-packed with bodies, that in turn gets jam-packed with sweaty bodies.

At the end of the night—which ended kind of early for me because let me tell you I can handle like… an hour of that...but I toughed it and stayed for 3 hours—when it was time to say goodbye to the group, and I had to touch their back because I was being pushed...well, let’s just say my hand was suddenly drenched and not with water or a drink.

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Without the sweater lol

If I could go back, I’d forget trying to look pretty and just tie my hair in a ponytail. Wear a spaghetti or sleeveless type of shirt and some fashionable pants. Instead, I wore this cropped shirt, that although fashionable and a favorite, I kept muttering to myself, “it has a polo-esque vibe to it!” And….I wore converses...white converse (I got skid mark, guys).

THIRD, I really underestimated how much I would hate it. Listen, I get that some people love clubbing and dancing, and some could be introverted. I think I hate clubbing as a concept. It could have nothing to do with being an introvert and everything to do with me feeling awkward and out of place. Above all other, I just really hate it. I find it boring. And awkward and sigh.

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I wish I could find the words to describe it—to encompass all the emotions that when through me for 3 hours straight.

That fluctuated between wanting to run out screaming and wanting to sneakily run away and text my friends when I was safe and sound in bed with a favorite book in hand and snuggled deep into the covers.

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Do you want to know the funniest thing?

The next day, when the rush had died down, and my first time of going out of my comfort zone was done and over with I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could do it again. I could brave it for an hour or two. It was fun for moments, after all.

Well, I get into my car today. Off on my way to a long day of classes and assignments, when my mother points out a yellow envelope tucked into my windshield, so small you can barely even see it.

I open it and tucked inside mocking me is a $75 parking ticket.

You can say that that night really cost me quite a lot.

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