the long night

Last night I had a date with the dancefloor. I have to say, it was magical.

And then this happened:

That's Lil' John (who I instead called Little John all day today, oops; hey, I didn't even know who he was until a month ago). He is rapping at the club in the hotel. Where I was staying and dancing. He was also pouring Grey Goose into people's mouths. I did not participate in that.

The club crowd was unbelievable--I could not keep my eyes focused all night because of the characters around--good bad and ugly. There were two particular older blode women that really got to me. Hollywood. [also Puck, from Glee, some very tall basketball players, some other rapper, you know my facility with pop culture]

Even with the celebrity sightings and unexpected Rihanna after-party, the dancing took the night.

Though I've always loved to dance, it was seldom practiced for a few years there. Inhibited and not knowing exactly how I wanted to conduct my life, dancing became one of those things that was sidelined and neglected, particularly given my partner and lifestyle during these years. There were a few moments of extreme catharsis through dancing mixed in there (joy in Florida with Caitlin, Magali, and Anne--coming together after some tough conversations; crying in the San Francisco dive bar a few summers back on the madonnahotties trip to NoCal; sadly, all that difficulty surrounding the ex. I should have known).

Now I dance for joy. Because of the long lapse, I want to dance often and freely to experience this joy. I get the itch if it's been too long and anyone who has spent any significant time with me will know it's hard for me to hear music and not start tapping and shaking. The hands go up, the hips start shaking.

Dancing can be potentially the best foreplay, but it can also just be pure unadulterated fun, especially when you're dancing with someone who knows what they're doing.

I had a great partner last night.