Shakin that a$$

Scene: I'm keeping myself occupied with vodka and Safari Disco Club while waiting for Male Friend to drop by so we can party like it's the last weekend before school starts up (because it was). (And yes, people, Male Friend is still--and will remain--Male Friend. Don't you get any ideas.) Oh, and I'm looking pretty hot, if I do say so myself.

So Male Friend arrives and I inform him that it's my one month break up anniversary and that he and I will have a great time and we will end the night dancing. He's totally game. We start The Night That Will Be Great sipping on black russians and smoking Cuban cigars at a cigar bar, and at some point in the night we learn about "Freeganism" from a guy that spent a month at a housing cooperative in Syracuse, during which he did not pay for food (hence freeganism) nor wear clothes on Thursdays. Come to think of it, maybe he was propositioning Male Friend and I for a threesome. Anyways, all fun, but it's time to dance (meaning I'm sufficiently liquored up to not care that I will be entering a club where I may very well encounter students that I'll be teaching the following week...while they are grinding their genitalia on their dance partners).

But first, we just haveeee to listen to that song that the d.j. at the cigar bar cut off too early. So we head to Male Friend's house (no, this story isn't going there--I told you Male Friend is just a friend). I have my first ever vodka with freshly squeezed orange juice (you gotta make do with what you've got), and we listen to great music and talk about hedonism and continue to drink. We then realize, "Oh poo, it's 1:15 and we better head to da club soon if we want to shake dem a$$es." So we do. But before hitting the dance floor we stop at the bar for tequila shots. Usually I'd respond to an offer for tequila, or any shot for that matter, with "yuck", but I figure it's my one month goddamn anniversary and tequila shots seem fitting, especially given the ambiance of the place: 19 year old boys dancing in their skivvies on raised platforms, with dolla dolla bills (yo!) hanging out of their not so whity but very tighty whitie tighties. Oh, did I not mention this is a gay club that us heteros like to infiltrate on weekends? Yup.

Male Friend and I then proceed to dance--nay, shake our money makers--for the next hourish. About a quarter of that time we spend mesmerized by a laser beam, which, if you stand at the right angle, looks like it's piercing right through you. More tequila. More dancing and laser staring. Before we know it, it's last call, security starts herding people out, and Male Friend and I are laughing at the scramble that takes place before us, as horny boys and girls do what horny boys and girls do when the night is nearing a close.


It was a good night indeed, we agree, and start walking in the direction of our neighbourhood. Walk, walk, walk, talk, talk, talk. Wait, where's that music coming from? Oh, up there! Oh that sounds like a good party. I look at Male Friend; he nods approvingly. We telepathically agree that we're going to crash this party like it's the last weekend before school starts up (because it was). We see someone heading up a back staircase, and follow him up. Now we're standing on someone's back porch (one that, I realize, was almost my back porch...I had almost rented that flat), and we realize that no, the music is NOT coming from there. That dude running up the stairs is clearly answering a booty call. Oh shit, we run down. We echo-locate the party, which is actually next door. Yup, music is definitely coming from there. Uh oh, the door's locked. I slip my wrist through the mail slot, but I'm about an inch off the target. Damn. I recall from my previous apartment hunt that there's another entrance, so we try that one. Locked, too. What do we do now? Neither of us thinks about just walking away. After all, it IS the last weekend before school starts up....and my one month anniversary. And that pretty much means that anything goes.

I'm not a shy person to start with, but I was feeling especially un-shy that night (have you been keeping a tally of all the drinks I've had?). So I strike a pose and yell up to the screened in porch, "Hey, the door's locked!" "Oh, hang on, I'll come down," a voice shouts back. Score! Male Friend looks at me in disbelief for violating the telepathic rule of not drawing too much attention to ourselves. A lady answers the door, looking a bit confused, and offers, "Oh, yeah, you look like people that were here earlier." We say that "Kyle" told us about the party. Neither of us know a Kyle. So we head upstairs and straight to the dance floor, where all of three people are dancing. Well, two, while another kinda bobs along while sitting on the couch. The party, apparently, is much smaller than it sounds. We dance anyways. We're dancing, dancingggg, and *ooof* Male Friend knocks over the DVD stand, and the 1,456 DVDs it once contained spill all over the floor. Strike #2. We act like it's no big deal. He's down on his knees, a fair bit embarrassed, scooping up the mess; I continue to dance, while he passes me stacks of 10 DVDs at a time (yes, there were that many).

By now it's clear that we don't belong. This is a Spanish party (like, the kind that white folks who know how to speak Spanish have), they all know each other, and we don't. This is when I decide to bust out my Spanish. I did, after all, take Spanish 101 last term. "Quien es el...", I start out, meaning to ask the impromptu DJ who the singer is. Only I forget the word for singer (after I've started the sentence), and all that's popping to mind is the French word for song, "chanson." I know both start with a c, but my mind isn't at it's sharpest right now. I decide the best strategy is to trail off, and let him assume he didn't hear me because the music was too loud. "Quien es el cha..." He laughs at me, folks. He laughs. Undeterred, I go on, "Como se llama?" (What's his name?) He tells me. I do not understand his response. I just nod my head and go back to dancing, content that I just fooled this dude and in so doing redeemed Male Friend and I.

Male Friend suggests we make a graceful exit after the song ends. We do.

All in all, a very happy one month anniversary!