Shake ya Tailfeather

I've recently realized that I am a dance whore. After several drinks, I'll dance with anybody, anytime. If the "D" word is even mentioned at a bar, I light up like Christmas. My inner black girl suddenly surfaces and I'm dropping it like it's hot faster than you can say "Roshanda".

I'm "that girl" who likes the wild, trashy bars with the light-up dance floors. And if they have a DJ, oh it's ON. If the DJ takes requests, I'm in heaven.

The hard part is...most of my friends don't like to dance. Which means that on the dance floor, I'm pretty much forced to fly solo. But my moves are definitely not resticted to a dance floor per se. I'll shake it just about anywhere there's music. Including cars.

Last night, Jennie and met some friends for $3 pitchers at Pizza Perfect where we steadily drank beers for at least two hours. The trip home inspired us both to roll down the windows and rock out to Britney Spears (who is an embarrassing trashball, but admittedly fun to dance to.) But car dancing is trickier than it seems. Your butt and legs are stationary so you have to get creative with your arms and shoulders. Which is why it's good to be tipsy.

We definitely got some funny looks from people who obviously don't know how to have a good time.