OK, it’s not like I was waiting for an engraved invitation, but when Bryan Yoshida sent me a photo of a Ginza Nightclub membership card with my name on it, on his birthday, there was just no way I was going to bail on finally seeing what the place was all about. It was late on Saturday and I was doing my best to stay up and interested in the nightlife after the complete madness the night before in Chinatown for both Chinese New Year and First Friday. Ka or Paparazzi would have been the obvious choice since I was actually dressed up for once, but after leaving another party in the vicinity and seeing the hoards of people walking over to that area, I felt like being around some familiar faces at Apartment3. It was the perfect option because it was Russ Inouye’s birthday and all of his Vertical Junkies crew was there and ESKAE was spinning. At one point, right when I was standing in the foyer talking to Sarah Honda about the upcoming Oscar Night fundraiser for the Hawaii International Film Festival, ding goes the elevator and in walks Andrew Bird in a full suit, looking smashing though slightly uncomfortable to be out in public. They quickly escorted him through the back door before I had a chance to tell him that his private show at The Hall the day before changed my life. I kept checking my watch. Is it 2am yet? Nope, OK, more conversations where I’m comfortable and accepted before going straight into the lion’s den of nobody-I-know but everybody-I-want-to-marry. Finally the lights came on in Apartment3 and people were slowly starting to make their way out. For a packed house, the vibe was surprisingly mellow for last call. Gotta love the grown-ups. It was finally time for Ginza. I caught a ride with Metromix Tracy and got dropped off right in front, practically exploding out of their wrapped Beetle like a white girl gone wild. She drove off and left me alone to deal with the line, which was more like a full-on mob with hundreds of people trying to get one security guard’s attention. It was nuts. I was so happy. It didn’t take more than three or four minutes to get through security, then to the will call to pick up my card, then inside. I was finally inside the private mega-club afterhours spot. It was huge, clean, dark, totally modern-city looking and wall-to-wall future husbands. They were in collared shirts and designer jeans, in plaid shirts and tight pants, there was even a couple in hoodies and kicks. Totally fine with me. Everything was in such good taste, it was almost sickening to see such cleanliness this late at night. I almost missed the grime of Chinatown. Almost. It was easy to wander through and look around. Even though it was full of people, there were no bottleneck spots, just wide open clean space filled with the most beautiful faces I’ve ever seen. I might have been the only girl in there not wearing a dress and heels. I was definitely only one of two white girls in the entire place, which was totally fine. I even gave her a “you go girl” nod while she was dancing and I was saying hellos to DJs Compose and K-Smooth. It was at that point that I reached in my bag to tell the world (via Twitter) about this Mecca of perfect men. That’s when I realized I had left my cell phone in the Metromix car. It was probably the Universe telling me not to blab about a nightlife Eden of perfection that feels like a nightclub in the actual Ginza district. At that point, the only thing that made sense after doing birthday shots with Yosh at the bar, was to go home. I had found heaven; it will be here. For now I need some rest.