All of my friends have left for the weekend, but that’s not going to stop me from going to Club 51 Degrees, “the Hottest Night Club in Savannah” according to commercials on 97.3fm. I think it’s the only night club in Savannah.
I have only been to Club 51 Degrees three times in my life. All of those times were extremely awesome. Typically you have to pay an expensive cover fee to get into Club 51 Degrees. While I’m not one who usually does such a thing, Club 51 Degrees Nights (as we’ve come to call them) just apparate out of thin air, much like I expect wizards do in Diagon Alley. It is impossible to describe Club 51 Degrees: one must experience Club 51 Degrees for himself, or he will never truly understand.
I almost used the Donnas version of Dancing With Myself for today’s Daily Doof, but then I heard this jam by Two Door Cinema Club while driving around today, which inspired a private in-car-solo-dance-party. This didn’t go unnoticed, as it ended at a very crowded stoplight.
As it turns out, the two soldiers in the Mustang next to me live in my apartment complex. We live right beside each other. I’m typically never ashamed of my dance moves, though I know that my car dancing is probably my weakest skill set. But I will admit, for the first time since I made my high school’s step team (drop), I felt embarrassed about dancing. The incredulous looks of these military men simply shattered my ego.
I gotta shake it off, and I think the best way to do so would be a solo pilgrimage to Club 51 Degrees. I’m nervous but I’m excited at the same time.
My failure today pales in comparison to that of my partner in dance crime (which is only a misdemeanor in most states) from Williamsburg, who wrote a blog post about getting hit in the face by a ceiling fan while attempting to table-dance. Dressed as Amelia Earhart. Read about her exploits here.
Amelia B., I wish you were in Savannah tonight. We’d have reconciliatory dance-offs at Club 51 Degrees, the Hottest Night Club in Savannah. I’d dance you under the table.