Dancing

I miss dancing. I miss clubs. Specifically, I miss the small semi-cool-and-best-attempt-at-alternative-in-a-cowtown Thursday night that we used to go to at home. Yes, I’ve been to great clubs in Los Angeles, New York or San Francisco – this isn’t one of those. What it was, was “Alternative Night” at one of the only clubs in our town.

Picture if you will Southern Oregon, home of jacked-up trucks with big tires, sporting US flag decals (or Dixie flags for the real assholes). Dairy Queens and Wal-Mart. And, on Thursday nights, a place where all of the weirdos (“We are the weirdos, Mister) could hang out. College kids, a really sizable goth contingent, G/L/Bi couples or triads of all flavours, the occasional old person, cowboys dancing side-by-side with pierced boys in gold lame shorts (one of my roommates, actually). It was amazing, and the music wasn’t even bad. They had fifty cent beer, free food, and you could dance by yourself all night without someone bothering you. You could sit at a table with your boyfriend and your girlfriend and your co-workers and your boss and not worry about anything. (Ok, so I worked with a really great bunch of people.) One year they made a pretty good stab at hosting an Exotica/Erotica ball that was actually fun – vibrator racing and dancin’ totally butt-fuckin’ nekkid spotlit behind a white sheet and all. :)

Gradually the manager changed the music, and the crowd changed to more of a normal fake-tanned one, and we stopped going. But I miss the old days. In part because dancing is such a “kid” thing here. Unless you’re straight out of school, you just don’t do it. I have no outlet, no place to go where I can dance all night in a trance. I haven’t worn any of my corsets in ages.

I’ll have to just dance here. Alone. Maybe even totally butt-fuckin’ nekkid behind a white sheet if I feel the urge. :) Now THERE’s a picture. lol…