I was really excited about the Love Bang! this past Saturday night. I hadn’t been since the Ninja Bang, when my friend and I were… ummm… removed… for bringing in our own beverages. How were we supposed to know that the Blind Pig doesn’t serve Sparks?

I think I speak for many when I say getting dressed up is half the fun. Why else would they have themes? I spent a good hour painting a black tank-top with a human heart and the words “I don’t beat, I BANG!”, and was pretty darned proud of myself. My friend wore a bright red slip with black slouch boots and her date dressed in semi-drag, donning a fedora and striped tie. We looked great. We were on the guest list. We had consumed a pitcher of a new drink recipe that’s been going around, although I won’t tell you what it’s called here lest I insult someone (but I’ll tell you that you shouldn’t be as dubious as I was about the combination of Pabst Blue Ribbon and Sparks Plus. It’s amazingly tasty).

We were ready to rock it.

But when we got there we were quickly deterred by the line of freezing people stretching down the block. We went down to the 8-Ball, hoping we could wait out the throng of obviously NOT dressed up, and, frankly, not strange, weird, or interesting people. Sorry to be insulting, folks, but boot-cut black pants and a “cute top,” or baggy, stone-washed jeans and a button-down shirt, are not proper attire for a mixtape dance party. You would stare at us if we showed up (which we never would!) at Rick’s or the Brown Jug, or wherever you go east of Main Street, so fair’s fair.

After our beers downstairs (where a girl dressed in the aformentioned chick uniform was stopped by the bouncer from trying to dance sexily on the bar, and a heavily tattooed friend commented to me that it looked like Delta Delta Zeta had taken over the 8-Ball), we went up to the party. If you can call it that.

The music was completely uninspired. The track list of the Ramones’ “Blitzkrieg Bop,” something by Missy Elliot, and “You Really Got Me,” by The Kinks, was fun the first five times I heard it. It was nice to see some familiar faces on the dance floor, but there were far less than the usual Cheers-like atmosphere I’m used to at the party. I had talked to several people earlier in the evening who had said they weren’t going because they just didn’t have “the energy to deal with it.” Seemed like there were a lot of people who felt the same way, including half the people on the dance floor, who danced like they were shaking it to “Everybody Dance Now” at cousin David’s bar mitzvah.

I think that was my last Bang. Who wants to wait in line for an hour and pay 10 dollars to dance with a bunch of sweaty Scorekeepers ex-pats while listening to music that sounds like someone just brought their iPod and plugged it in?

Guess I’m putting my money on the Elks Lodge. Or staying home to crochet and watch “How’s Your News?” on video for the umpteenth time.