"It's just how we do it in NYC"

This was my first night out hitting the BIG clubs in NYC, and it won’t be forgotten for a very long time...

The night started out with Pre-Game (synonym = pre-drinks) at a friends’ apartment in East Village. Meet up time was 11.30pm, but when I arrived, her roomies were having a quick cat-nap. After waking them up, and getting ready, it was 12.45am before we left the apartment.

A long, 20 minute cab drive (for the 5 or so blocks we had to go) later, and we pulled up out front of Juliet in the Meatpacking District. I would like to say there’s a Sydney equivalent to this club, but really there isn’t. This would be more in line with...let's say 'the movies'.

After a two minute education lesson from the girls about ‘how things work’ in the NYC club scene, we were escorted in by a promoter, who was close friends with one of the girls. Basically, without befriending promoters, forget having a fun or cheap night out in the city.

With the promoter by our side, we were able to pass by the one hundred other girls lining up to get in. We were then escorted straight to the front of the line at the bar, and had shots (& chasers) bought for us. And then taken to a private table in the corner of the club, where buckets of ice, litres of spirits and jugs of juice were adorned across the table.

It took only fifteen minutes before I felt sorry for men in NYC. It was an expensive process for them to go out for the night. But, they had money, and we did not.

The music got our dance on, and we spent many long hours busting out the moves on the dance floor.

By the time we were ready to leave, we had mustered up a group of twelve people. The promoter decided it best to be driven by a limousine that was waiting to take in suckers like us to the next club (which was a five minute drive).



With limousines came VIP access into the next club, and no ID check. After all, if you hop out of a limo, you must be legal and you must be important; right?

This club was full of hookah’s (no, not hooker's) and once again, tables of ice buckets, litres of spirits and jugs of juice. I guess it’s just how it’s done in NYC. We had barely walked through the front door before a friend and my arms had been grabbed and pulled to a table.

“You want some hooka? A drink? I’m a promoter.”

No joke, this was all said in the one breath. My friend whispered in my ear, get his number, promoters are your ticket to fun in the NYC baby.

And so the night continued, hookah’s and all!

We rolled back to the promoters luxury apartment in Chelsea (who lives directly below Kanye West), and he ordered burgers, fries, chicken wings and spinach ravioli (odd combo, right), at 7am in the morning. Delicious.

At 8am we hopped in cab and were homeward bound. Having spent only $10 (my contribution to the cab) all night, I was one very happy lady.

I love NYC!