There is something quite disconcerting about being the only sober, sound person in a club full of drunk, dancing Caucasians.

It is unsettling because I am usually one of those furious, thrashing bodies on the dance floor. But that night I was alone at a club and waiting for my friends to show up. I stood near the DJ booth watching men and women in their late twenties grinding to Justin Timberlake, the handful of black men shaking their heads at the uncoordinated finance guys, and two asian girls jumping up and down and thrusting their pelvises.

As an Asian girl, I think it’s safe to say that my people are the least coordinated people on the planet. Instead of forcing their kids to be dexterous with numbers, perhaps Asian parents should be concerned with developing their children’s actual physical dexterity so as to ensure they don’t look like members of the Boxer Rebellion.

Of course not all Asians are bad dancers. *Cough* *Cough* *Wink* Wink*. Some of us spent our Saturday afternoons studying MTV Jams videos instead of memorizing sat words.

But on Saturday night I was watching choreography usually associated with Superbowl Sunday. I don’t watch football but I’m pretty sure this is what it’s supposed to look like.

I’m sure you’ve heard that quote “Love like you’ve never been hurt. Dance as if no one’s watching.” Well, we are watching. And it’s pretty painful. Literally. I can’t tell you how many times I was assailed by flinging limbs, besieged by frat boys, and showered with beer.

One guy in a suit saw that I was hiding in a corner and said, “You can’t just stand in a corner all night! Aren’t you gonna dance?” “Sorry. I usually need a couple of drinks before I’m ready to dance.” “C’mon, I’ve only had one beer and I’ve been dancing all night!”

I’m not sure who should feel more embarrassed: Me for being such a party pooper or that guy for admitting he dances like that when he’s sober.

Finally my friends showed up and I was able to loosen up with a few drinks. We were dancing on the stage when I decided to take pictures with my camera. Then a fellow standing next to me said, “You know you’re blinding everyone here with your flash.” “Well, it’s a bar and I can take pictures if I want to.”

Because I’m trying this new thing of being nicer to guys at bars, I looked up and noticed that the fellow was actually quite attractive. Purrrrr. We started to chat a bit, the usual bar script. Who are you here with? What do you do? He told me he was a consultant. I replied, “That’s original.”

We decided to go to the bar and get drinks. As soon as we were about to order my guy friend sloppily approached me from the back and hugged me like he was trying to tackle me to the ground. By the time he finished and went on to hug the next girl, I looked over and saw my fellow had left. Note to self: It is not a good idea to meet new guys when you are out with 10 of your sloppy drunk guy friends.

I headed back to the stage and danced with my girlfriends. I looked down and made eye contact with the fellow. I smiled and waved. I suppose I could’ve gone down and chatted with him. He was nice, funny, attractive. Purrrrr. But I was having a lot fun of dancing and listening to my friend Tommy sing all the words to Journey’s “Don’t stop believin’”.

And I’m tired of re-hashing scripts. What do you do? What kind of music do you like? Clinton or Obama? I’ve been living in New York since I was 18 and I’m tired of talking. So this only reinforces my belief that the next guy I meet should not speak English.