Just Dance...

So, Friday night I went to Public Bar with two of my favorite partners in crime, S and U. I knew the night was going to be good when I started sweating profusely while waiting for the metro. I'm not talking about a nice glistening glow. I'm talking about a just-ran-a-mile-in-110%-humidity-while wearing-a-flannel-jumpsuit-sweat.

At the bar, we tried to mingle on the rooftop, but we were all miserable. The humidity increased about 100-fold and I knew if I didn't get another drink and find the AC vent soon, I would peace the F out, go home, eat some Skinny Cow ice cream sandwiches and watch re-runs on tv. So we did the former, thankfully, and got our drink on. After a while, this rather normal looking gentleman came up to us and struck up a convo. I was in no mood to do polite small talk, so I just brushed him off in my normal bitch fashion. S, however, is a lot nicer than me, and made an effort to have a conversation with him. A few drinks later, Wierdo McGee is singing MJ(R.I.P) into his rum and coke with a passion that I have only seen reserved for serial killers in movies.

After we ditched weirdo, we had the best dance party of all time. It rivaled the dance off I had with T-Masta-Flash about 2 years ago (we called it a draw, but I maintain that I won by a margin)We brought our A-game and then some. When an outsider tried to infiltrate our threesome, they were denied. When nasty drunk couples who were trying to get it on bumped into us mid dance move, we shoved back. There's nothing like rocking out to 80's hits, singing at the top of your lungs in falsetto, busting a flashdance like it's your job.

The night ended with two of us leaving and one staying behind to work it on a very tall and handsome gentleman. I won't say which one it was, but I will say that he does speak english!

LOVE!