Sunday, January 27, 2008, 2:15 a.m. I'm sitting at a table at the Doug Fir Lounge surrounded by my friends, and quite impressed by the fact that I'm still wide awake, alert, and full of energy after three+ hours of salsa dancing.
Earlier that day, I seriously considered not going. I had a residual headache from a cold, the weather was TERRIBLE, and venturing outside seemed like too much effort. But it was my friend's birthday, and he had been talking about getting everyone together for dancing for ages, so I didn't want to disappoint him. I rested all day, and hoped for the best.
I recounted all this, and attributed my late-night energy to the fact that I laid low all day. Across the table, one of my friends said that she had the same strategy, and that "that's how you know we're getting old."
What? Oh my gosh, she's right! If it's gotten to the point that I need to take it easy all day in order to stay out late at night, that's an indication of impending middle-age. But hey, I enjoyed myself, so whatever works, right?
Salsa dancing is fun, even if you don't really know what you're doing. It's fun to dance, and fun to watch everyone else dance. As long as you move to the beat, you're okay. One of my friends swears that he can't feel or hear the beat. So he tries to listen super-attentively, and count. Success doesn't usually result from this method; I think maybe he is just thinking way too hard about the whole dancing process and psyches himself out. How can that be possible? This perplexes me. Bass rumbles your chest and shakes your feet. It seems impossible not to feel it.
We all watched red-shirt guy in amusement. He danced with a variety of women with gusto, always with a creepy/mental expression on his face. Really, words can't fully describe his expression, but I will give it my best shot: eyebrows raised, nose scrunched up, mouth open with a maniacal grin plastered across it. 
Concensus: red shirt guy was creepy.
Concensus: red shirt guy was creepy.
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