Newspaper article The Florida Times Union

Honestly, Club Paris: It's Not You. It's Me

Newspaper article The Florida Times Union

Honestly, Club Paris: It's Not You. It's Me

Article excerpt

Byline: Mark Woods

The dance floor was hopping. The women were beautiful. The beer was free.

And I kept thinking of all the other places in town I'd rather be than Club Paris and its "VIP Grand Opening."

A good beach bar. A comfortable coffee shop. A spot in the Electro Lounge, which isn't really a lounge but a WJCT-FM radio show I might have been listening to at home.

This isn't meant as a slam at the club, which opened at The Jacksonville Landing this weekend. Honest. If this were a first date, I'd be telling Club Paris, "It's not you. It's me."

Of course, if this were a date, I'm sure Club Paris probably would have come up with some good excuse not to go out with me in the first place. Like she had to wash her hair, or be in France to promote her new album.

Insecure? Me?

I suppose that's part of why I don't like going to places like this. It's an instant flashback to all kinds of awkward moments, from junior high dances to college nights out to wedding receptions.

My wife used to complain that I didn't want to dance at weddings. Then one time I got a little tipsy and danced at a wedding. She no longer makes that request.

I would say that I'm past my days of clubbing. But I never really was in them. In my single days, I'd agree to go out with my buddies, knowing I wouldn't really like the atmosphere, but hoping the place would be full of beautiful women. And then if it was, that actually would be more of a nightmare than a dream. It was as if someone had contacted all the girls from high school who wouldn't give me the time of the day and gathered them in one room. And then invited their rich, handsome boyfriends.

My co-workers, of course, helped me to get over all of these insecurities when they A) laughed about the idea of me going to Club Paris; and B) critiqued the clothing I wore to the office Friday.

"You're going to wear THAT?" one said, glancing at my khaki pants and short-sleeve black shirt.

As she tried to explain how she didn't mean that how it sounded, another co-worker rushed to my defense, saying, "If you were to hit on me dressed like that, I wouldn't be completely creeped out. …

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