There will be NO DANCING here!

Flash back with me to Cape Coral circa 1996. A teen-only dance club opens up in Cape Coral. It is called Danceteria... kind of like Cafeteria, only instead of Cafe, there's Dance. Clever, wasn't it? I ended up going there once. It was kind of pathetic. There were about six people there all huddled in one corner talking quietly amongst themselves while bad techno remixes of Mariah Carey songs blared so loudly that the floorboards were actually rattling from the bass. There was a table set up by the door with a burly bouncer checking ID’s, verifying that no one over the age of 18 got in. He was even giving out wristbands. My friend and I walked in, looked around, and walked right back out.

That was my first ever experience at a "club." Later that year, my friend's and I managed to make it over to Ft. Myers to an actual club that had actual people in it who were actually dancing. I remember being there with a group of about fifteen guys and two girls and we all just stood in a big circle talking over obscenely loud music in the dark.

We did not dance.

Then came 1997, my senior year of high school. I drove up to Ybor City with a couple of friends to go to The Castle. For those of you who have never been, The Castle is a Goth club in formerly sketchy area in Tampa, Florida. I wore a pair of tight black jeans, a black turtleneck and put a ridiculous amount of gel in my hair in order to make it stand straight up in spikes. I remember "dancing" with someone that may or may not have been a woman. I really was not sure, but the person seemed harmless enough, so we moved rhythmically to a strange industrial/dance mix. There was no touching. I spent the remainder of the evening sitting at a table with one of my friends making fun of everyone in the place, including ourselves.

That was it for me until the summer of 1999. No clubs. No dancing. No moving rhythmically to industrial/dance mixes. Nightlife for my friends and me consisted of playing Goldeneye on the Nintendo 64 for six hours straight. Then came TFR. Third Floor Rawlings. I chose that dorm for a summer semester because I had tennis class right downstairs every other morning. I was completely unaware of that particular floor’s legendary status. The floor was split with half guys, half girls. We shared a common area. No locks separating the guys from the girls. It was the most amazing summer of my life. No joke. So many stories... but that's not what we're here for, is it? No, no it is not.

You see, the summer of '99 was also the start of my Dancing Days. That's right. I was a clubbin' fool. It started with Ladies Night at the Purple Porpoise. I would go with Marc and Cindy and that crew from the dorm. We would get there, claim a table and send the ladies out to get free drinks and pass them along to us underage guys. That was the plan, anyway. On the very first time we went, my friend’s older sister spotted me with a beer in my hand. She grabbed me by the arm and dragged me on to the dance floor where we talked and danced all night. She kept feeding me beer, which was just an added bonus. I became an instant legend with my friends for getting picked up by such a hottie. I just neglected to tell them that she was one of my good friend’s sisters.

That became a weekly thing for us. A group of us from the dorm would go to the Porpoise, my friend's sister would find me, and we would dance the night away.

The next semester, 80's night was born. Before the summer of ’99 there is no way I would have been caught dead at a club on a Thursday night, let alone have been known as a regular. But that is exactly what happened that next semester. Every Thursday night I transformed from mild-mannered-everyday-Dave to Dave-Master-of-the-dance-floor! I would walk through the doors of the club simply known as The Theater with two women on each arm. I kid you not, friends. Two women. Each arm. All single. All beautiful. All mine… and Ben’s. Since I am the one telling the story, though, the women were with me and Ben was with Us. I am sure when Ben tells the story all the women are with him and I am not even there, so its all fair. But I digress. The six of us would walk in to that club like we owned the place. We would walk straight to the middle of the dance floor and instantly the entire club would ebb and flow with us. Men would flock to our ladies and, if given the signal, Ben or I would swoop in and save them from an over-aggressive or just plain under-whelming suitor, and women would gravitate towards Ben and I just because we were with other beautiful women. It was really a great system. By the time two o’clock hit and they were closing the doors, we would all be absolutely exhausted. We would then head to a diner across the street where we would order water by the pitcher instead of the glass and just sit around talking, laughing and rehydrating until our legs were strong enough to lift ourselves back up and carry us home.

Those were good times.

Lately, though, I save my moves for weddings and University of Florida National Championships.