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Two things about the preceding post.

One: I know I said I was dreading this wedding, and I was. But I'll be damned if I didn't have a great time. See, you lower your expectations to almost rock bottom and you're never disappointed.

Two: When I said that I was hoping there would be something blog-worthy about this wedding, I was hoping that someone would do something idiotic that i could then come home and write about in an entertaining sort of way. I didn't really expect that person to be me.

Here's the thing. I never dance at weddings. I leave my seat only for food, drink and bathroom reasons. I sit and watch other people jerking themselves around to really bad disco music and I enjoy the show. When the line dances come -the electric slide, macarena, what have you - I run for the door and hide outside lest one of my well meaning relatives tries to drag me into a monotonous, spastic-like dance.

I don't know what came over me, but I not only danced, but sang tonight. No, I didn't do the chicken dance or anything so droll. Prodded on by too many vodka & cranberries, I danced the night away to the super sounds of the 70's. The stuff I hated when I was in high school.

It started with Lipps, Inc.'s Funkytown. My cousin dragged be onto the dance floor and I went with it. Then it was Sly and the Family Stone's Dance to the Music. Donna Summer's I Feel Love. Rapper's Delight. When the Commodore's Brick House started up, I grabbed the microphone from my aunt and sang the entire song while doing an Elaine Bennis dance. Every once in a while I would spot Justin, pretending to talk to my cousins, but glancing my way with a real quizzical look on his face. He never saw this side of me before. He didn't know. No one knew.

I have gone from the girl who wore a "disco sucks" button through most of her adolescence to this woman who entertains her family by singing some of the worst songs to every hit a turntable. And enjoying it. There has got to be some kind of self-help group for this.

Won't you take me to....eh, nevermind.


gotta make a move to a town that's right for me....

if there's video of you doing the elaine dance, i wanna see it!

and michele finally admits she's just a tragic gay boy trapped in the body of a suburban woman!

It takes a brave woman to admit something like this.

Who are you, and what have you done with Michele?

It is the highest impertinence and presumption, therefore, in kings and ministers, to pretend to watch over the economy of private people, and to restrain their expense, either by sumptuary laws, or by prohibiting the importation of foreign luxuries. by paradise poker