He feed me.

It comes to no surprise that it was yet another weekend of clubbing activities. My wallet always seems to be the consistent victim on these nights out, and can only be blamed upon the fact that I'm celebrating my bachelor life.

The adventures continue again this weekend to celebrate another mate's birthday and to take out some visitors from Greece! Its not every weekend that there are about the same number of women as there are to guys.

But alas, even with this fact, we can't help but make the "rounds" when hitting the dance floor.

The "rounds" you ask?

The "rounds" is simply the act of walking around the club, checking out the clientele. You basically nod your head to the beats of the dj, pretending you have rhythm, and simply try and check out every woman in the club, hoping, praying, wishing, you make eye contact. With a good amount of luck, that smile you flash could be returned and it could be your way "in."

"In" you ask?

In is when you have some kind of verification that this lady would like to dance with you. At least this is how I work. Sometimes you don't need an "in" indication and just can get behind some girl, sneaking in from behind, and hope for the best. But this isn't my style. I like some kind of verification before I dance with her and show her my justin timberlake moves.

So I go two "ins" this weekend.

First one was pretty hilarious. I started dancing with these ladies that looked like they had a lot of rhythm. I love dancing with women that can really dance. So I moved in with a mate and we started dancing with them. Good times I tell you. Until I turned around to shake what my momma gave me...

"Ouch!"

Before I knew it, they were slapping my behind like I was some kind of horse! It was so strange at first, but then I didn't mind. Good times! It was all in good fun and they had this ghetto London accent which was pretty cool.

Second one was unforgettable. My mate spotted a group of "orientals" and started dancing with one. All three were dressed pretty nice and smelled so good. I couldn't leave the other two alone so I started dancing with the other two! Oh it was so much fun! They were not afraid to dance close at all and it seemed to good to be true. They were so eager.. until my third mate found it quite odd that they were quite "eager." I didn't mind as I was having a great time.

He then whispered to me..

"I think they're prostitutes.."

How dare him accuse these beautiful women to be "professionals!" I didn't want to believe it... I was having such a good time...

As the dancing continued I noticed a guy that looked like the wrestler, Mark Henry. I mean, this guy was huge. So I start to do some detective work. As we are dancing I start to ask questions.

I was a bit worried at first because she didn't understand me. I think her English wasn't very good. It didn't help that the music was blaring loud either. We tried to exchange dialog, but it was too loud and I started to realise that there was a language barrier.

At the same time, I noticed that "Mark Henry" would butt in one a while between my mate and his dance partner every time he'd get too close. So then I just bluntly asked the woman I was dancing with:

"So who is that guy?"

She mumbled something. I asked her the same question again. She mumbled the same phrase. I didn't know what she was saying, but part of me did. She even consulted her friend to make sure she was saying it right too.

Sure enough, after a third and fourth time of her repeating it, all I could understand was:

"He feed me."

Sweet! He feeds her. What does that mean? Then I put two and two together. I was outta there.

Sure enough, my mate mistakenly gave his number to one of them and of course right after they left he was getting phone calls from her.

What kind of woman calls a bloke right after leaving a club? Make your own assumptions I guess.