Monday Confessional: Dancing Queen

First off, yes. I do realize that is not Monday, but Tuesday. I know this because of my iCal, and not the internal clock in my body which still thinks it's midnight on Saturday night. Now, I know I'm not "old" in the true sense of the word. Or should I say that I am not elderly? But I am old enough these days that a weekend in Vegas now apparently needs a week-long recovery. 

While I feel that I should really do a post about all the wonderful things I learned during BlogWorld Expo and all the fabulous people I finally met face-to-face, that's not what my Monday Tuesday confessional is about. It's about exposing a little of myself to the world so that you can point your finger and mock me or share in the pain of my experience. 

Let's set the scene: Saturday night, Las Vegas, Aria Hotel and Casino. Beautiful, fabulous, delicious meal at Shaboo Sushi then off to the BlogWorld party of the evening at Haze nightclub. While back in college I went dancing Wednesday-Sunday, I honestly can't remember the last time I slipped on my dancing shoes. Walking into the club I was immediately back in my early 20's. The smoky atmosphere, the thumping music, the squeezing through the throngs of people to belly up to the bar. felt like coming home. 

And we danced. We danced our asses off. When the DJ blasted my new favorite song "G6", I may have even been dancing on a box. When we stumbled out of the club around 1 AM it wasn't due to intoxication as much as my sore, swollen feet that were stuffed inside my 6 inch wedges. Because I'm a thinker, I had shoved a pair of flats in my purse and after being directed to a local bench, my feet were once again my friends. Yeah, the feet were fine, but it was my knees that rebelled.

Swollen and stiff, my knees are still recovering from one night of dancing 3 days later. Which makes me wonder if my club days really should be officially over. Looking around the club on Friday night, I kept wanting to pull down the hems of the dresses of the girls so that their nether regions weren't hanging out the bottom of their dresses. People in my age group keep saying things like "I can't remember the last time I was at a club" and while I had a blast, I will say that I kept wondering if people were looking at me and kinda laughing. Or wondering what I was doing there. Did I look out of place? Being there, dancing, did I look...silly?

So my confession for this week: I'm Beth, I like to dance and my knees hurt.