On Wednesday afternoon, I met up with one of my gays to do some shopping at Barnes & Noble, in Union Square. Adam just nailed a new assignment at work, and I was wearing a really cute outfit, so we decided to celebrate hump day with Raspberry Mojitos, before heading to the book store. One Mojito led to two and then three, and before we knew it, we decided to ditch shopping to go dancing. We headed to the East Village to scope out the dance scene and ended up at Babel. It may not be the hottest lounge in the city, but awesome music and a dance floor was exactly what we needed, and Babel fit the bill.
It took no time at all for Adam to hit the dance floor. He’s such an amazing dancer, when he’s drunk. Normally, or I should say, when he’s sober, he’s shy, holds back and looks uncomfortably stiff. But, after a few cocktails, the dancer in him escapes and he’s sharing his signature moves, all over the dance floor. We danced our asses off for five straight hours, I could have gone on and on, but Adam was wearing his brand new Salvatore Ferragamo’s and his feet were killing him. We had had to throw in the towel and head home.
The next day, Adam couldn’t get out bed. His body ached, his muscles were stiff (hard core dancing for hours will do that to you) and his poor feet were full of blisters. Being a dancer, I can relate to the pain, but since I’m used to dancing all day long, that wasn’t my issue. I was suffering in my own way, from a pounding headache. I attempted to get through my morning yoga class, very unsuccessfully I might add, since my balance was out of control. But man, did we have fun last night! You know those nights, the ones you don’t plan, they just happen…they always end up being the most fun.