Bump and Grind To A Little Distraction

Dancing in a club is an interesting adventure. I use the word interesting because I haven't decided if I like it or not. The cocktails blur my opinion on the matter. There are three main components to the experience: finding the prime location, the ability or the inability to dance, and the infamous spilling of drinks.

You get to the club in a tastefully slutty top. You believe that this low-cut-cleavage-showing-back-exposed blouse will open the Red Sea. The problem is always the same; every girl is sporting the identical look...some better than others. Was that catty? You push and pull your friends through the crowd to find a vacated space where your party can dance, can talk, and can see the possible candidates in full frontal. I feel I have to do Geometry in my head when I look at the dance floor. If the floor is 8 feet by 9 feet, and there is a group of good looking guys to my right, but the bar is at the other end, and the bar tender has a nice smile, how will I get to the restrooms in these heels fast enough to discuss the dork trying to dance with us? It's difficult to do such a complicated equation, when you have had two rum and Cokes.

The next stage of development is the problem of dancing. Whether you can or not is not the dilemma. I am speaking of the sardine method of moving to the music. The bass is thumping, the energy is electric, and you are ready to let loose and show the world what you got. Unfortunately, there are two guys, three girls and your friends all on top of you. So, you do the same two steps side to side. Trying to enjoy yourself while you feel everyone copping a feel. You bump purses, elbows, and step on toes. Oh, let's not forget to mention the girl with the long hair that whipps you right in the eyes. Suddenly, the signal is given by one of your gals to exit and regroup. Should we leave the dance floor? We just got this spot? Desperate times, desperate measure! An attempt is made to broaden the circle of dance. If you create a space in your group, maybe you can filter out some people from the floor. It is a strategy with no guarantees, but you go for it. Like a Hail Mary in football, you take the chance, and hope that it works.

Finally, the drinking problem the majority of society has in clubs is a reoccurring theme, I would personally like to see eliminated. They pay outrages amounts of money for a drink with second grade liquor, and then are physically challenged in keeping it in their glass. They feel a need to demonstrate their ability to consume alcohol and keep a beat all at the same time. It is impossible to do, especially in the severe conditions of an overcrowded dance floor. There is always someone who is under the impression they have more room for flaying arms, and in that moment, the drink spills. The only consolation is that it happens so frequently, you just get used to the dampness, and continue dancing with your friends. Your feet are sticky. Your top is moist. Your jeans smell of cranberry juice. It is the risks we are willing to take.

The experience is harmless enough, so I return. I find that every time we go, we smile, we laugh. I guess a room full of strangers, gyrating to loud music, and getting tipsy is therapeutic to our stress-filled lives. Viva le club!