Look, the thing about going to a rave in your 30’s is that at this point it is totally ironic. The saving grace, of course, is that it wasn’t actually a rave, just a party for a friend of mine that was rave-themed. Granted, it had all the ingredients of a rave…right down to the sweet-ass glowsticks; but there were about 1,000 less people than an actual event.
Not that I’m complaining, everyone was beautiful.
You know what else is really masculine? I realized that I miss dancing. Sigh, I need a girlfriend.