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Club Review August 11, 2006
 
OPERA
By Hannah Katz Browse author
 
 

So I read about the opening party of OPERA, some new club that's supposed to be hanging with Moscow's elitny heavyweights like First and Dyagelev. I read about it because I didn't go. Not because I couldn't, but because I wouldn't. The men I can deal with, it's the thought of sharing a space with all those blyady and their makeup stink that I can't take. I shudder at the sheer thought of it. But the things that revolt us, interest us, as someone once said. So despite all sensory input logic, I had an urge to review the club. Hmmm: What to do, what to do? I was faced with dilemma.

"What do you do when you want to review a club, but don't want to go inside?" I asked myself.

"Well, what you do in that case is you review the club without going inside," I answered.

"What a genius idea! You can judge a place by the people that frequent it," I replied. Keep in mind that I'm still talking to myself. No I'm not crazy. It's just a trick I learned as a kid to make fun of the friends that couldn't keep up with my thoughts.

"You know what's even better?" I asked myself. "We shouldn't just rank the people, we should rank the girls that come in and maybe even award the biggest slut with The Biggest Slut of Opera Award."

"Brilliant idea, Hannah," I replied.

So next weekend, after having a couple of guys come over to Allie's house for a dinner booty call, she and I set out to judge the slut competition. We got there at 2AM and took up a position across the street, but at a slight angle to the entrance. What is it with all those fucking black jeeps? It's like some 4X4 off-roading convention set in a different dimension. The rows of jeep after jeep reminded me of the trips a hick ex-boyfriend of mine used to take me on. The same row of big cars with big tires that just try to cover up the inferiority complex they all have. How transparent. I'm sure I missed a many a good slut because of those fucking cars. I swear I run out of space before I even get started. Ok. A breath. Here goes:

The winner was a pair of girls. We spotted them coming from the about a block away where some Soviet car dropped them off. Allie and I had a blast watching them hobble towards the entrance on their four-inch platforms. I'm not even talking about their dignity, they were barely holding on to their stability. Two or three times, the shorter one with blond hair looked like she was going to snap her ankle. They looked identical. Both were wearing see- through white miniskirts and some sort of white tank-tops. The height and hair color were the only things setting them apart.

So they came up to entrance, but it was obvious that they weren't intending on trying to get past the five feis control guys themselves. They stood about 100 feet away, against the wall, far from about a dozen other girls that were crowding much closer to the entrance also waiting for their random prince to arrive. That was their edge, we figured. They'd catch some guys early before they had a chance a to pick from a bigger selection. And it worked. After forty-five minutes, two fat drunk Caucasian looking guys got out of their BMW and almost walked right passed them. But one of 'em noticed and hollered to his friend to come back. They came up to these girls, looked them up and down. Said something to each other, laughed, and nodded for the girls to follow.

It was impressive. Only two of the girls next to the door got it. They beat the competition not with their sluttiness, but with their brawn. Bravo!

Trekhgorny Val. 6, tel: 205-9822

M. Ulitsa 1905

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