Sunday, August 19, 2007

on the dance floor

I have now been to three different clubs in the good old state of Utah. What to say? I'm jaded because none of them are Diva's (nor do they compare). I'm a little disappointed, but at least there are clubs. To me, dance is oxygen. So, here we go...

On Thursday night, I went to Area 51 in SLC for Goth/Industrial. It starts off pretty interesting because there are two floors with two very different styles going on. Top floor is 80's night and bottom floor is Industrial. What a mix. You have young college girls excited to be able to crimp their hair and wear red plastic pumps mingling with these dark vixens in black lace and patent leather. I was thoroughly amused. When I'm running my own club, I think the floors will mesh a little better, I know for sure that 80's night is not something I'm crazy about. Anyway, back to it. For starters the dance floor is in the under 21 section, so the bar is in a separate room entirely, which means no drinks near the dance floor. I can handle that, though I usually start my first dance with drink in hand. It certainly cuts down on spilled drinks and shattered glasses that have caused me to bust a time or two. I'd rather have that, however, than the endless scattering of cigarette butts so negligently sprawled about the dance floor. It is going to take me a good LONG while to get used to the smoking inside clubs out here. Not only did the cigarette butts make the dance floor a little slippery (especially in my 6 inch heels), but the smoke filling my lungs makes it really difficult to dance for the extended periods of time that I'm used to. Thick air aside, I had a relatively good time. Right when I walked in, a band was just ending, so half an hour later, two or three people were actually dancing to the music the dj was spinning. She played two or three of my favorite songs, otherwise there was some stuff I hadn't heard, but I liked it. By the time I actually started dancing, there were a handful of people on the floor. I'm used to having a different style than everyone else, but I felt like I stood out more there than anywhere I've been. Maybe it was the amazing outfit I was wearing (skirt designed by the one and only Xandra- whose fashions can turn the eyes of even the blind). Who knows. This guy from Brazil started dancing with me (he wasn't half bad), and he told me I looked like a beautiful Egyptian, a compliment I'll take any day. It felt really good to dance since I hadn't had a chance in weeks. I got lost in my zone for a while, and when I became aware of what was around me, I realized that the dance floor had almost cleared, leaving me in a huge space to myself, and that eyes were on me from all directions. Feeling more like I was being watched than like I was sharing the joy of the beat with other people, I stopped dancing. Don't get me wrong, I love attention, but not like that. So, I left early, missing my girls to the utmost.

Friday night I wanted to groove to some hip hop. It was aching in me since I watched the last few episodes of So You Think You Can Dance (yay for Sabra, by the way), and since I started taking a wicked fun hip hop class out here. They took me to a sleezy bar/club called Teasers here in Ogden which was supposed to be the hoppin'-est place without driving to SLC. We got there and NO ONE was dancing. I bide my time at the bar, where the bar tender only gave me 2 cherries in my drink (man, Joe's hard to beat). Anyway, the music was groovin', so I hit up the dance floor in all it's emptiness. It felt good, and I was breakin' it down, and finally it started crowding up. The people there were certainly enjoying themselves, and that's my favorite part about watching people dance-- there's so much life in it. Well, I'm gettin' down with my bad self, and this guy starts to dance with me. I love dancing with new people, for sure. It was all fine, though he wasn't a great dancer, until his alcohol must have hit him all at once. He stopped reading my body language or respecting my boundaries. Grinding is NOT dancing, and if you don't give me enough space to do my thing (or thang, I should say), I will not want to dance with you. The next four or so songs consisted of him practically chasing me around the dance floor, to the amusement of some bystanders. I don't want to get vicious and push him away, so I gracefully just add movement to my dance which keeps me several paces ahead of his lustful eyes at all times. Finally, I get fed up and quit the floor. If it weren't for him, I think I would have had a little more fun. But the night's not over yet. We head to this other place called Kamikaze's where some friends of theirs are playing. It's this great jam band with dance floor in front, and everyone is getting funky. Funny sidenote: there's also another room playing top 40, so again we find the not so blendable juxtaposition of hippies and fergie wannabe's. Anyway, dancing to this band was a lot more fun, and I really got into my grooooooove (unfortunately, they stopped playing shortly after I started playing). The place closed (at one o'clock... these crazy Utahns aren't late nighters) and we had to leave. I say five stars for whatever the name of that band was because it was wicked fun. It'd been too long since I rocked out to a jam band.

Last night we headed back out to SLC to check out this place called Sky Bar. It's on the thirteenth floor of a hotel, with a view of the city, and it's talked up a lot. I was a little disappointed in its size. It was wicked crowded, and the dance floor was too small. It was also pretty upscale, considering they almost didn't let Stan in because he was wearing a cotton t-shirt. I have to give it mad props for the energy of the people there, though. From the time we got there until the time we left, the dance floor was packed with people gettin' down. I really adored watching them have so much fun. I danced longer here than at any of the other places because it was closer to Diva's (though still leagues away). There were seats all around the floor, and people blowing cigarette smoke into the dance area, which really frustrated me. Otherwise, the music was pretty good. They played a lot of my favorite top 40's. I danced my little heart out joined by my fellow club goers. This one random guy who danced with me was really fun because he knew all the words just like I did, and was just as excited when certain songs came on. He was also really respectful of my space, so it was fun. He couldn't dance, though. I think I'm in withdrawal from a man who can really really dance. I'll be hard pressed to find that here, I'm sure, but I'm on a mission. It's vital. Anyway, I danced until the very end, and the dj even had to say "okay, this song isn't for dancing, it's for getting you guys out of here," to which my only thought was that every song is for dancing. If you want us out, tell us there's a fire.... which I'm glad there wasn't because getting out of there was a mission. Imagine everyone in a jam packed club trying to leave in groups of 6 on three elevators that have to go 13 floors both ways... slow filtering. By the time we got down, the police and firefighters had surrounded the entrance to manage a fight that broke out (the beginning of which started on the elevator, believe it or not). Anyway, I was sweaty ('a little sweat ain't never hurt nobody') and sinking into a depression. Yeah, so maybe I had fun and danced with people who could move, but I MISS MY FRIENDS and Diva's and my dancers. It was a great experience, but the aftertaste is a little sour because it's all so new to me.

I will be checking out new places as often as possible, and I will be on a mission to find people who can dance with me, though NO ONE can replace my diva dancer. Anyway, I have to go polish my dancing shoes, but I'll keep you posted...

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