just another thursday night...

...at the broken spoke, y'all.

(you think I'm joking, but this is actually what it looks like)

I had to skip the two-steppin' lesson this time, but I had promised my friend Audrey to meet her and her sister (who's visiting from Ireland) for a night of live music and good times -- so I pulled on my awesome cowboy boots, threw on some jeans and a top and headed out the door to broken spoke.

broken spoke never fails to disappoint. it's this run-down looking building with disgusting chicken-fried-steak-type menu items in the front restaurant and a low-ceilinged dance hall in the back. it even has a mini-museum showcasing all the talent that has played there (willie nelson, etc etc etc). the dance floor gets completely packed with swirling couples of all types -- girls with lots of tattoos, guys with Elvis-style hair, men in boots and hats, girls in wrap dresses and cowboy boots, people in t-shirts and jeans, cowboys, yuppies, dorks, music heads, old people, young people, everything goes. you drink $3 dos equis and dance with as many people as you can, stopping every few song for a break in front of the huge fans to cool off. the bathrooms have curtains decorated like the TX flag instead of actual doors, and you have to hold it shut with one hand if you want any semblance of privacy while you pee.

I was joking with my friend's sister about how she's definitely far from Ireland when I realized that I would never been caught dead doing this in DC. it's not that I was too cool,I just don't think this type of place would have even been on my radar. yet there I was, wearing boots and jeans, two-steppin' with all kinds of dance partners from this Napoleon Dynamite look-alike with a TX flag handkerchief tucked into the back pocket of his jeans to a 50-something man with a large beer belly who held with me with a really tight grip and danced surprisingly well for a man of his girth.

there's something to be said to being willing to live different lives. I've done the club scene in DC, I've worn stiletto heels while drinking insanely overpriced martinis in NYC, I've partied until 6 am in Buenos Aires, I've rang in the New Year in Barcelona, I've hung out in fratty bars in Charlottesville, I've channeled my inner lounge singer in piano bars in Switzerland, I've smoked hookahs at Moroccan-style lounges... and now I've worn cowboy boots and two-stepped in a crumbling dance hall in Austin TX where men still hold out their hand while they ask you if you want to dance and then dip you when the song is over.

I want more, more, more... keep it coming.