I went on a long run in the morning. It was very crisp and cool. I was slow at first, but it turned out to be a calm long and relaxing run.
Anyway, that's not the oxymoronic part. That happened during the night.
So, the Saturday night turned out to be a combo of two events that are almost direct opposites from other, which is why I called it oxymoronic.
I started out the night watching a production of the Vagina Monologues. It was a fundraiser to raise money for a domestic violence prevention transitional housing program that my non-profit has connections with. I was given VIP tickets to it, so I took my friend, and together, we reclaimed our vaginas. It was great, and funny, and empowering. Janet from the Real World Seattle (who was my favorite Real World cast member) performed a monologue, and it was great. Her bio didn't say anything about MTV, so I'm guessing that's not what she wants to be known as.
Then, I met up with a group of girls that I'm slowly getting to know at a club in Koreatown. There, I was introduced to a practice that only happens at this Korean club called booking. What is booking, you ask? Let me tell you:
You enter the club, and you see a huge space. Dance floor on your right, and rows of tables on your left. Then you notice a circle of booths surrounding the row of tables. You might notice that the tables are exclusively occupied by women, and the booths by men. This serves a purpose to this practice called booking. You see, the guys have the view of the girls in the club, and once they choose a girl they like, they have a waiter physically bring the girl over to their booth. The waiter physically takes the girl's arm and lead her to the booth, has her sit down and have her converse with the men. This happens throughout the night, and the waiters are on a hustle because the girls that they bring to the booths directly effect the amount of tip they receive that night.
In all honesty, an hour after sitting in that club, you kind of get desensitized and find the booking process less and less ludicrous. I also was wearing my combat boots and man trousers, so I didn't have the pleasure of being booked as much as some of my companions. I just didn't feel like heels and frilly things, and I'm pretty glad I went with the butch direction.
So you see, I reclaimed and empowered my vagina, and then I handed it to a waiter and figuratively had him serve my vagina to a pack of Grey Goose- drinking frat boys. What an oxymoronic night.