Pop, Lock & Drop It

My friends and I have never been "partiers."

Being from a ridiculously small southern hole-in-the-wall town, "parties" consisted of beer, a bonfire, perhaps in an open field, or to be fancy, a barn.

Yes, I wish I was kidding.

No, I am not.

Not our chic scene, might I say. While our class of high school morons were taking part in the field/barn/beer bash, we were reading Cosmo and painting our fingernails. We were feasting on cookie dough while they were drunkenly trying to tip a cow.

College wasn't much different (for me). I go to a private christian university, and while I'm not naive enough to believe there aren't any parties, I definitely don't hear about them. Or participate.

The only thing that could ever call me to party would be dancing. The girls, too. We love to dance. Funny thing is, I can't dance. I don't have too much expertise in the rhythm category, but I do it because it's FUN.

So while in Panama, we hit up (that's my gangster talk) a very popular club. One you might have seen on MTV's Spring Break special. Don't worry mom and dad, we did not participate in the wet t-shirt contest.

But we did dance. For hours. Two nights in a row, actually.

And we did make some friends.

And then, alcohol and drug free, we went back to the hotel and took a dip in the hot tub.

Which is very chic, might I say.