You Should Be Dancing
I don't know what possessed me to go to Sunvana for a disco party. Actually, that's a lie. I know perfectly well. I heard there would be dancing queens, hot stuff, and possibly some bad girls, and figured that if anyone was going to be the last dance, it might as well be me.
Besides, I was born to be alive. And fabulous. Mostly fabulous.
So, after spending an entire afternoon in front of the mirror, asking who's that lady and concluding that she works hard for the money, I decided it was time to get down tonight.
And off to Sunvana I went.
Now, I don't know if you've ever walked into a room and immediately felt like you should be dancing, but that's exactly what happened. The disco inferno was already burning, everybody was doing the hustle, and looking at some of the outfits, quite a few people had taken the instruction to shake your groove thing very seriously indeed.
The music was telling us to get up and boogie, the dance floor was practically screaming don't stop 'til you get enough, and somewhere in the midst of it all, I found myself wondering whether I was in Funkytown or had simply stumbled into Boogie Wonderland. Either way, I was staying alive.
Sure enough, I had my camera with me. Because while some people go out to dance, and others go out looking for love in all the wrong places, I prefer to do both and collecting photographic evidence.
And what evidence there was.
Le freak, c'est chic, darling. There were enough glittering outfits to make a mirror ball feel insecure about its appearance, and enough exposed skin to suggest that somebody had taken You Can Leave Your Hat On as a complete set of dressing instructions.
Some were born to be wild. Others were born to be my next photograph.
I was particularly pleased to see that the ladies were having none of this standing-around-looking-pretty nonsense. These were bad girls, disco ladies, and super freaks, and they were going to dance, dance, dance. As for the men, well, some were definitely more macho men than others. I shall leave it to you to decide who's who in the photographs.
At some point, I found myself humming I Will Survive, which is usually a sign that either the party is going exceptionally well or I've made another series of spectacularly bad decisions.
Possibly both.
And while I certainly wasn't there looking for a new love, I couldn't help noticing that love was in the air. Or perhaps that was just the heat from all those bodies getting down on it. Somebody wanted to be somebody's lover, somebody else was probably asking Do Ya Think I'm Sexy?, and I suspect more than one person was hoping to ring somebody's bell before the night was over.
You know how these things go.
Me? I was having the time of my life. Yes, I know, wrong decade, but I'm Doreen. I make the rules.
And speaking of rules, here's one: if you see me pointing a camera at you, don't panic. Strike a pose, give me your best disco diva, and for heaven's sake, don't stop the music. I want you to want me in the frame, preferably under the best lighting available.
Because I love the nightlife. I've got to boogie. And if you think I'm going to let a perfectly good disco party pass without documenting every last dancing queen, funky town resident, and freak out on that floor, you clearly haven't been paying attention.
Eventually, of course, the last dance had to come. Although I'm not entirely sure when that happened, because by then I was lost in music, caught in a trap, and there was no turning back.
One more song? Yes sir, I can boogie.
One more photograph? Gimme! Gimme! Gimme!
One more handsome stranger asking me to dance? Well, heaven must be missing an angel, and who am I to disappoint?
So thank you, Sunvana, for a night of disco fever, good times, and enough boogie nights to remind us that some things never go out of fashion. The glitter may settle, the mirror balls may stop spinning, and the music may eventually fade, but I have a feeling we'll be dancing again.
After all, we are family. Or at least a rather awesome dressed collection of people with a shared appreciation for rhythm, fabulous dance moves, and showing off.
And if you were there, take a chance on me and have a look at the photographs.
I'm your dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen.
Oh, please.
Even ABBA couldn't get away with that one in my case.
xoxo - Doreen
Hot stuff. Bad girl. Disco inferno. And still the main attraction.
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This post is not sponsored or paid for in any way. I was also not blackmailed or tortured to write it.
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