The party that my secondary school friends have been talking about for months has finally came and left. It was really fun to karaoke with Julie's mom and aunts because the songs they sang were my favorite kind to sing: oldies.
And they had moves, too! I bet they went to the discotheque a lot when they were younger.
Afterwards I kind of just wanted to chill out at the hotel room, pig out on ice cream and talk about boys, but Julie was the birthday girl and she wanted to club. So we walked to Clarke Quay and the best thing happened: this dude outside Attica told us it was free entry.
My empty wallet cried in ecstasy and relief.
So we went in, and the music for once was legitimately good. After a while we went upstairs and the music was even better. Nothing gets me higher than good beats.
The night ended with the requisite McDonald's breakfast at 5:30am and the rest ot the morning was spent regaling stories of what had happened in the club to Sophia and Anzhu, who'd stayed in the hotel room to do homework, the poor things.
What cracks me up is that out of all the different races of guys in the club, the one that I ended up dancing with was Malay. HOW APT, UNIVERSE.
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