Sally and I and some friends went out dancing the other night at this “start of the summer” 80s night thing. I mean, we had a good time. There were plenty of 80s movie-themed drinks, and only, like, every fourth song sucked. But, we were dancing and acting ridiculous, and everything was, for the most part, fine.
But, the problem? ‘Cause there’s always a problem? Nobody else was dancing! Every once in a while a couple of other people would venture out onto the dance floor for a song or two, but for the most part, it was just us five. Which, to be honest, is pretty much fine with me because I will gladly take a wide open dance floor where I can bust a move without fear of a) being sweated on by a stranger, b) being forced to dance with a stranger, c) being accidentally touched by a stranger, or d) slamming into a stranger while I’m doing a theatrical rendition of Hungry Eyes by Eric Carmen.
However, seriously, what’s the point of getting yourself all gussied up, rounding up your friends, and specifically going to a bar where there is a decent sized dance floor and crazy 80s dance music being played if you’re just gonna sit at the bar like a lump? At least dance to one song.
Anyway, there was one really square guy that wanted to dance. But, when he came up to us to ask if he could dance with us – with the most cheestastic line in the history of lines (“Is this a closed party, or can anyone join?”) – Sally thought he was the manager. So, she thought we were getting kicked out. Or, at the very least, asked to leave the dance floor. But, he danced with us for one song (or, you know, stood there and moved his arms around a little) and then we all headed home. We can’t be expected to carry the whole club, can we?
The moral of my little story is that if you’re going somewhere where there’s a big dance floor, go out and dance. And if you can’t dance, at least go out with your friends and sing along with what they’re playing (unless you’re going to a rave, or something, where there isn’t any music with words … do raves even exist anymore?). Unless you see me there. ‘Cause then you might just want to stand back.

Oh, yeah, and I knew all about the fact that Jason Priestly almost died, but Mary over at Sparkle and Shine Designs informed me that his face was, like, torn off and he had to get facial reconstructive surgery. And that, kids, is why he looks so totally bizarre. It’s just like when that guy that was in Creed got in an accident and his face blew up to 150X its normal size. Well, it’s not really like that at all, now that I think of it, because that guy was just on some kind of face-fattening medicine or something. Jason Priestly has, like, a whole new face.

Woah, are we behind on picking that prize, or what? I PROMISE, tomorrow we’re digging into our bag of names, err, e-mails. Oh, my God, you’re so excited!

Hey, who’s watching that show where those d-list celebrities dance the cha-cha tonight? It’s awesome.

love.