dancing queen

I didn't spend a lot of time around drunk people in college, but I was delighted to learn last night that watching awkward, intoxicated white people try to dance is oh-so-amusing.

My coworkers and I went to The Australian -- a bar with nightly live music -- as an extension of Erin's birthday festivities.

There was a group of two guys and girls who'd had a lot to drink. By the end of the night, they were tearing up the dance floor, oblivious to the stares of the outside world.

The tallest girl wore brown hi-tops, black Bermuda shorts, and a green screen printed tank. Her style of dance can only be described as spastic. Her hips wagged back and forth. Her wavy, red hair grew frizzier and frizzier with each erratic toss of her head. Her elbows, which she whipped and flung about with wild abandon, threatened to blind anyone unlucky enough to interrupt her groove.

The lankiest guy bopped his head to the beat and tried to dip and step to the music. The funniest thing was his arms; he didn't quite know what to do with them. His hands sort of flapped around at the ends of his wrists.

The best thing about drunk people dancing is that they all think they look awesome. My friends and I sat and watched, the same way you stare at a car accident, and I couldn't help but wonder, "Do I look like that when I try to dance?!"

There was only one way to find out. Back at my apartment, I turned on some music and used the video setting on my camera to check out my technique.

Embarrassing to confess to the online world? Maybe. Judge me if you will, but I've got moves, y'all.