I don’t wanna work…

The beauty of a New Years Eve houseparty?  Booting that ‘countdown thing’ if there’s a good tune being spun at midnight.

We danced through it.  Did a ‘time-shifted’ version a few minutes after midnight to allow folks to down the champagne and get in a good snog.  Rather than deal with that moment as a single gal, i cleverly performed the countdown using the conga drum pair in the percussion section of the dining room dancefloor. 

Great bash…  You could imagine lovely silver serving dishes with psilocybin and Snickers Bars being passed.  It is all about presentation, you know…

Tactical error of the night (Trailer Park Moment?) – always wear proper attire to an event where you expect to dance.  The DJ/Host was spinning everything from techno to zydeco, seasoned with James Brown, Costello/Presley fades and just a touch of New York Dolls. 

It’s a little tough to pogo and slam dance when you’re wearing a smallish halter dress – intended to debut the 2007 Model Year bionic twins.  But i managed… 

And my body feels it today… there are certain muscles one only uses for dancing.  Or maybe for…well…horseback riding?  In any case, i was a bit out of shape to survive 4 hours on the floor unwounded.

Even the palms of my hands.  Especially the palms of my hands.  A girl can only play congas for so long before becoming bruised…