ENVY: Come on, ride it. IMAGE: Daryll James

As I stepped into the cheesy, pastel-lit confines of downtown club Envy (204 SW Yamhill St., 200-5500), the space that used to house H2O, I noticed a small quarrel: A pushy frat boy who bore a striking resemblance to yours truly (down to the blue-collared shirt) was facing off with a fake-titted girl who violently mouthed “no” at him. I shook it off, making my way through a sea of fake-tanned girls in backless shirts and men with pineapple haircuts, most of whom didn’t hit the 5-foot-7 mark. In the upstairs bar, a pretty bartendress cleverly fended off the advances of a puka-shell-necklace-wearing bald man. “Do I look tough?” he slurred. “No, you look bald and drunk.” She fired up a disappointingly weak gin and tonic (cheap, $5) followed by a strong girly drink called the “Hawaiian Fruit Punch” (good, $8) that made up for it. I wandered through a series of vacant but pretentious “reserved” rooms before hitting the packed, Top-40-blasting and amazingly ethnically diverse (for Portland, anyway) dance floor. Just as I’m unlocking my hips, up comes the girl with fake tits from my initial moment at the bar—with her stocky boyfriend. She’s pointing at me. “You got a fucking problem?” stocky boyfriend spits in my direction. “No, it was someone who looked just like me,” I respond (it was!). “Oh, sure,” he quips. “Do you want to step outside?” I stepped outside, only to realize he hadn’t followed. I got on my bike and headed home to Southeast. Wonderful, wonderful Southeast.