Photo: Everyone dancing at the LDA BALL 2007

I’m a dancer, a latin dancer, so what I usually do when I go out is to go out dancing.
Due to a series of personal reasons, the last time I went clubbing was… a long time ago. I was still a teenager. Recently I decided to see what it was all about. Especially seeing myself free and single. 

To experience that, I joined two friends who love clubbing, they are beautiful and have done it all their teen and adult lives.
We all dressed up but one of my friends had the beautiful idea of wearing shorts, and yes, they were very short shorts. 

As a result the guys didn’t see her at all, only her legs. It was as if there was nothing on top of the rim of the short shorts. One of these obsessed males was talking to her, or in her direction and she had to tell him:

‘­Hello­oooooo! I’m up here! You are talking to my legs!’

Worse than this was the one that threw himself on the floor as a rugby player diving for an incredible ball, hugged her legs and really didn’t want to let the legs go. I’m pretty sure the level of blood in his alcohol was extremely low!

The adventures are endless but for a dancer like me it was… a bit boring.

When I arrived the first thing I felt was the booming of the music in my bones.

Man, it was loud! And it was good! Dancers love loud deafening music. The ones that make the floor vibrate and your whole body hum. Even hearing impaired dancers want loud, loud music: they dance from the reverberation of the floor. 

So in the club the music was exciting at first, but quite repetitive. Although there were DJs and they seemed to be changing the music, the sound, the beat itself, didn’t change at all.

My second impression was that people seemed to be moving, but for dancing… hummmm, not exactly. 

They were stepping all right. A bit like merengue.

If a tree, an old, stiff tree ­could dance, this is how they would do: one, two; one, two; step, step; step, step; left, right; left, right; and so on.

Nothing below the chest moved; while arms were flailing in the air and heads going all over the place.

To the end of the night the trees were a bit wobblier, due to alcohol consumption. 

I did try dancing like that, and got to the conclusion that my heart beat was slower than when I’m sleeping. During my rest time I’m usually dreaming, and my dreams are exciting enough to accelerate my heart more than during this type of dancing.

This dance was so monotonous and mind numbing that really didn’t get the blood flowing. Maybe if a prince was there or a zouker, or both, or both in one! 

Watching all that “dancing” I strongly felt like screaming: ‘W W W DOT LATINDANCE DOT COM DOT AU PEOPLE!’

I kept having these daydreams (even though it was night) about a dancer, appearing out of nowhere, seeing me, noticing I was a dancer, as I would have noticed him, sweeping me off my feet, gone with the wind style, and dancing zouk to the dance music, leaving everyone around us drooling and seriously compromised, saying: 

‘What is that? Should I stay and find out? Should I go to the bathroom to sort out this problem right now?’

As no­ one learnt how to dance and no zouker showed up disguised as a pretty prince, I just enjoyed the rest of the night observing people.

Couldn’t help myself, I did keep picturing what kind of moves this or that couple could pull on the bedroom. It wasn’t such a masterpiece, to be honest. I was laughing at it. 

I really felt part of an elite: www.latindancersarehot.com.au

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