Profiles from the Dance Floor

By Erin Bush

Stop number two on the couch surfing circuit completed last Thursday. And for whatever reason, I haven’t gotten around to recapping what an amazing time I had. I spent five days on the couch of a twelfth story one-bedroom overlooking the Ferry Building, Bay Bridge, and the twinkly lights of the massive Embarcadero Center Buildings. This spot was also positioned twelve floors above the gym I am a member of and was three blocks from my shuttle to work.  One of the bars we frequent, Old Ship Saloon was a mere three blocks away – guess where I was every night. And finally, there are about eight coffee shops within a two block radius supplying me with all the caffeinated drinks I could ever dream of.

The most impressive of the six nights spent at stop number two on was Thursday. It started with a less than stellar day at work, which had me in a less than pleasant mood. I mean, putting in a stressful eleven hour day and a mile walk home in heels does not a happy girl make. Anyway, I dragged my four inch wedges all the way back to the apartment because I didn’t want to be shuffled in with all the tourists on the F-Line Cable Car. I sit down on the couch for a few minutes, to get right back up and head to the Old Ship Saloon for some much needed drinks. My poison for the evening? Cheap red wine and a veggie burger. Mood improving.

One of my friends brought along two of his French friends for dinner and drinks. About halfway through our meal, the French guy asks in a very stock accent, “Where are zee parties, zeh dancing?” RJ, Dana and I all look at our watches and cringe, thinking about how late it already is (a sad 9:30 pm) and our impending early morning work hours – well, not Dana. Sure enough, 20 minutes later, we’re all in cabs on our way to the Castro. Next stop, Badlands.

Badlands is a gay bar in the heart of the Castro. It wasn’t too crowded and they were playing a classical mix of Cher, Madonna, Lady Gaga, the obvious tunes – just callin’ out stereotypes at work. Anyway, the music moved me and my drink out to the dance floor, where I danced non-stop for a good three hours, save for the occasional water break. At one point a lovely gentleman smiled at me and said “Hey! When are you going to put that drink down and dance with both hands?” I swigged back the remainder of my tequila shot, placed it on a table and got to dancing – with both hands. Best. Advice. All night.

I danced my face off. Even when I got to work the next day on five hours of sleep and after hitting the gym like a champ, my face was still on fire from my late evening workout. At one point during the night I was dancing pretty hardcore with the male French friend – [sidebar: earlier in the evening I asked if he was gay or just French, turns out he was both] – he moved his hips a couple of times and then BAM! he dropped to the floor, knees bent back and laying flat on his back, and popped right back up as though he was break dancing. I had met my match.

We continued dancing off and on. RJ and Dana bid me adieu and headed home. During one of the on-sessions dancing with the adorable gay French man, a guy walked by, looked at me and said, “He’s gay.” I looked at him with a completely expressionless face and then said:

“Duh.”

Honestly, you’d think I’d have more friends.

When one o’clock rolled around, I had to call it a night. My clothes were soaked with sweat. I was dehydrated, exhausted and fully recovered from my hellish day.

So, don’t dance like nobody is watching, dance like everyone is watching and you need to put on your best show – with both hands.