And you don't even think about the three hundred other bodies pressed against you on the dance floor, or the fact that you haven't breathed fresh air in the past four hours or the fact that you do indeed look like Ginger Rogers on crack. All that matters is you and the music. And that one awful guy who won't leave you alone.

And that's another thing. Doesn't anyone ever ask if they want to dance with someone?! Grabbing my ass is NOT what I call an invitation. Thank God for my friends, though. J and I were "lovers" about fifteen times that night:) To clear things up a little J is a very beautiful, very heterosexual woman. I was flattered to be her lover for the evening. Needless to say the gentlemen looked at me with a certain contempt for the rest of the night, but I digress...

We decide to leave because my brother has to work the next day. So here we are at four in the morning (what is it with me and that time?) in the parking lot of the police station, which is where we had to park, in one of the less affluent neighborhoods in Chicago. No problem right, we just get in our car and go. WRONG! We are blocked in by cars on all sides, cause I guess they think it's ok to park behind someone when someone else is already parked in front of them.

Oh but it gets so much better!! We wait for an hour and a half for the owners of the car to leave the club. In the meantime my brother is having excruciating headaches (from a neurological disorder that he has) that can only be cured with Vicodin, which he didn't bring with him. Finally, FINALLY we get home at six in the morning. I take my shower, crash into bed and proceed to sleep the day away. There you have it folks. My first dance club experience. Any ideas on what went wrong here or why? E-mail me and let me know about your dance club follies.

May you all dance better than a strung out Ginger Rogers.