Shorty got low.

I feel like something could come from the dance floor. I’m not really sure what that is, so I figure I will just talk around the dance floor and maybe something will come out. That kind of sounds like I’m going to puke on the Tilt-a-Whirl. Ready? Vomit.

The urge to shake your ass outside the privacy of your home can happen to the best of us. It happened to me this weekend. The funny thing is … I hate the idea of going dancing. I hate the atmosphere. I hate how hot and musty it is bound to get. I hate having my style cramped by a crowded dance floor. I need room for my genius. I hate having beer spilled on me. I hate the junk that is guaranteed to grind on me. I hate the one drunk girl that isn’t that hot and tries too hard. I hate the explicit voyeurism. Really, the whole ‘going out dancing’ thing kind of disgusts me … in theory. But somehow without fail, despite all that, the night will end up a good time. Man, I love to dip it down low.

Enter Wild Onion (I know, I know). Getting there early is the best way to avoid the dance floor drunken grind. The toughest part about an early arrival is you have to go big and balls out. No one else is on the dance floor. So it’s just you and your friends out there holding your own, with the rest of the bar watching and waiting for the night to start its boogie.

For someone who doesn’t like attention and for it being too early in the night for the liquid courage to take affect, I’ll have to admit to my self-consciousness. I’m there to dance and that’s just what I’ll do, but the track won’t jump from song to song without a hyper-awareness of my own body. Every time my hips get caught up on the beat, I notice it. Each time there’s a slightly ungraceful transition from one step to the next, I wonder if they notice it. Or when I catch myself making that stupid, concentrating face, well that I just laugh at.

Still, music bumping and booties following suit always equals a good time.



The male/female balance always interests me. Women go to the club to dance with their friends. I’m sure some women go to dance and finding men may be an added bonus, but I don’t know those women. I only know women that are there for the sole purpose of dancing. This night I was with a married woman and a lesbian, so it’s a valid statement to say they weren’t looking for dudes. It seems that dudes show up at the same venue, to hear the same music, and drink the same booze for a very different reason.

To make a generalizing, ridiculously sweeping statement – Dudes come to stare and hope for the occasion brush on the ass. For the most part, guys don’t dance, which is why I don’t believe they are there to get down (maybe dirty, but not down). They are too reserved in their bodies to let it fly off the handle. The irony there is women love a guy that’s cutting up the floor horrible style. To dudes, I say – embrace the disgrace! Your utter lack of suave doesn’t matter. What matters is the ladies will make you look damn good, no matter how terrible you are. Seriously! Let us make you look good! Every lady loves a man mad-dogging the face of humiliation and settling the score with a dance off!!!

Oh part of me really wants to categorize the type of men in a joint like this, but part of me thinks that’s horrible and people wouldn’t realize that I write for humor first and world view second (it may even be third or fourth). I will say this …

My male encounters for the night:

I fell in love with the Asian dude in his forties that never stopped dancing. He showed up alone and rocked the hardwood like a pro. Completely content in his solitude and letting the beat flow through him.

I was bothered by the middle aged men that fly solo and grab the benches at the counter surrounding the dance floor. They never talked to anyone. Never looked like they were having a good time. And never, ever looked away.

I found out later that a guy was dancing with me that I didn’t even know existed. He never addressed me, or got close enough for me to acknowledge him. Instead, I guess he just danced around me and made it look like were together. Weird.

Another guy took the direct approach and flung his arms around me and Jess. Jess likes girls. Jess’s body completely shut down at his advance and became very still, which made me laugh my ass off and made him mortified. He avoided that side of the dance floor for the rest of the night.

Another dude stopped me on my way to the bathroom, after hearing his southern drawl, I told him that I was sorry he was from Texas and went on my way.

The point is - that is a lot of dude action for a night when you aren’t looking for it. By the time we left, the place was packed and disgusting. It was a sausage fest (a term I recently said to my mom and it made her very uncomfortable which made me laugh very hard). The guys outnumbered the gals by 3-1, easy. If guys really come dancing for the ladies, the percentages aren’t in their favor.

Still, music bumping and booties following suit always equals a good time.