The Politics of the Dance Floor (You Want Me Down On Earth, But I am Up in Space)

On Christmas night, I found myself on the dance floor of an out of town gay bar.  The crowd was mostly straight, to be honest, but there were a few well manicured boys littered about.  Small town mashups, I guess.

In any case, the music they played was to die for, and I spent most of the evening dancing. It felt so good.  I have to say that me, my friend from back home, and the cool kids in the corner, were the best dancers there.

It may not be all that to say that, but, I think I'm starting to get why the last two people I've dated were too shy to dance in front of me.

At the end of the night, this man who had been checking me out at the club was crossing the street with a group of his friends.  When he saw my group of friends walk out, he yelled, "Woman with the stockings!" (That was me.) "You are incredibly sexy! Okay. Have a good night!"

Now that is how to catcall if you're going to: No expectation or demand, and a closing statement at the end.

(pause)

It's nice to be on the floor and not have straight dudes grinding onto you.  I like that gay bars set up the expectation that that should not be happening. It leaves the night to dancing and fun and music and the thin, fun flirting of gay boys and queer girls. 

While Icona Pop's I Love It played, a woman and I danced together a bit and she leaned over to say "I feel like we should be burning our bras!", then proceeded to mime burning a bra and tossing it at me.  That kind of flirting: Harmless.  Still allowing for people there to dance, to dance.

Anyway.  Here's to the little out of town club that had a pretty fucking great set of music to dance to.  At least enough to keep me up and out there until the better part of 2AM.

On that note,  I'll leave you with the Icona Pop song.  A bit out of step as far as the mix went that night, but I think it encompasses the spirit of the evening.

I Love It.

Be well; be loved,

k.