My friends and I enjoy clubbing. Not so much the gelled hair, glow-stick spinning, techno-bass type of club, but the kind that lures you in from outside the door with grindy hip-hop beats and good energy. We are the sober, white-bread girls dancing on any dance floor that meets our qualification. After hearing about DeKalb County's proposed rollback of bar hours and the surrounding controversy, we decide it's time to see what the buzz is about. After a 30-minute cab drive to Lawrenceville Highway, we find ourselves standing in line outside Jermaine Dupri's Studio 72 on a "Krush Groove" Friday night.
Each of us takes a turn to be searched and patted down while three sharply dressed men politely greet us and wish us a nice evening. It's a foreign ritual to us Midtown party girls, but somehow pleasantly to the point.
Resembling a luxury-car showroom, the front lobby boasts a rotating chrome 72, which contrasts with the dark interior beyond two sets of doors leading to the action. Crossing the threshold takes you to a multilevel oasis of VIP booths, bars and the dance floor. Deep-citrus- and cream-colored paint adorns the walls, while a greenish tint glows in the air.
As the DJ drops in a familiar beat of Clipse, we hit the floor. I am entranced by several saltwater aquariums, and find myself wondering if the heavy bass sounds as good to the fish in the muffled depths of the water. They didn't come to party. On the dance floor, however, there is a significant lack of bottom-feeders – aka guys forcing the awkward, sweaty foreplay. Instead, dudes actually ask us to dance and chance rejection.
As the night winds down, we meet in the lobby to call a cab back to the city. Upon hearing the news of a minimal 30-minute wait for our ride, we exit the showroom and hoof it down the sidewalk past a Chinese restaurant and several closed storefronts, and take a load off on the sidewalk cement. The audible sound of music permeates the air, and after what seems like an eternity, I head back to Studio 72 for a different cab number. Posted up directly in front of the entrance sit five squad cars carrying eight police officers presumably sent in for crowd control. Their boredom is palpable, so I opt to inquire as to how we ladies might find a safe ride back to the city. Suddenly, the club doors bust open with a young, baggy-clothed fellow yelling nonsense and laughing into the street beside me. He looks at me, smiles, and walks ahead confidently to his car. Suddenly, an officer asks him if he's drunk and looking to cause trouble. Stopping dead in his tracks, he looks back with a coy smile. "No sir, I don't drink," he says. "I just love life." And he walks away.
ooooohhhh, I'm so excited!! I can't wait to see them together!
come on man you know you got a bromance. you probably still rock that OutKast…
Yes, 14 is the correct answer. I'll pass your info along to the group's manager,…