On Saturday morning, I was telling Matt about GIRLS’ NIGHT! which totally deserves capital letters and an exclamation point because, sadly, such occasions have become quite rare. I was telling him how fun GIRLS’ NIGHT! was. We went clubbing! And wore dresses! I even shaved my legs.

“Ohmygawd, it was so fun,” I exclaimed. “The line was really long but I told the people with the clipboards who I was and then they took us down this red carpet and through this special door and we didn’t have to pay and we felt so cool.”

His reply: “Are you sure it wasn’t the senior citizens’ line?”

Grrrrrrrr.

And then I started thinking, man, who am I kidding? The truth is, we were so exhausted after dinner that all we really wanted to do was go back to the apartment, put on our PJs and maybe whip out a friendly board game. Yes, Boggle would have been fun. But in a noble attempt to reclaim our youth (”Come onnnn. It’s not like we’re 30,” I whined), we went.

It’s not like it wasn’t fun. It was. It’s always fun being with the girls. But there were also a number of why-the-heck-did-we-come-here moments. My ears are still ringing from all that rap music (kids today, I tell you). Someone spilled a drink on my foot (maybe me?). Jess swore she had arthritis while we were out on the dance floor. And Des was counting down the minutes until midnight because leaving at 11:48 would be so lame (12:01 is OK).

Plus it was kind of like, what’s the point? I realized that the purpose of clubbing is to hook up. I know this. The summer after college graduation, when we were young and free and jobless, Jess and I would hit the clubs almost every weekend. At first I would get annoyed when she would find a guy she liked right away and leave me alone and stranded, but I learned to deal with it. I would just put on my ‘lost’ face (it’s pretty natural for me) and roam around. I’d wait for a cute guy to say, “Hey, you look lost.” And I’d say, “I lost my friend!” And he’d say, “Aww, that’s sad. Let me buy you a drink.” It worked every time. Later on, Jess and I would reconnect, ditch the club and head to Monterey Park to eat beef chow fun and recap the events of the night. That was our routine. And it was good.

But that was then and this is now. Clubbing just isn’t the same. We’re in a different phase and — you know what? — it’s OK. It’s great, even. It feels good to finally understand that.

Of course, I’m still down to party, as long as there is plush seating available and preferably some snacks. Oh, and if there’s wireless, you better get ready for one craaaaazzy night.