It was getting kinda late, and my cell phone rang.

�Hey Sucker. I know you�re sitting there in your underwear, watching Law and Order. Put the cookies down and put on some clothes. I�ll be there in a few minutes. We�re going out for a drink or two.�

I looked down at my little white tank top and the comfy white Jockeys, put the brownie on the paper plate in front of me, and very defiantly said, �I�m watching Without a Trace, thankyouverymuch,� not at all admitting that this friend knows me well enough to call me out on all of that other stuff.

I used my ten minutes pretty well, throwing on a v-neck sweater, a pair of jeans that just barely fit my legs, and some makeup so no one would point and laugh at the guy who dresses like he�s stepping out of a Kenneth Cole ad who showed up to a bar with the vagabond.

If you�ve ever read my blogging banter before, you know that no back story is needed: When going out for �just a drink or two,� there�s no telling how the night will end.

With one mojito each in-hand, we found the friends. Apparently these friends weren�t there for just one drink, and we were joining them for dinner. We smushed ourselves into a table in the perfect spot were we into the see-and-be-seen scene. Hell, a super-famous super model was sitting next to me, and most of the women in attendance were also wearing cute little shiny shirts. Make that the See-and-be-Scene -- har, har.

We entrusted one of the guys to order, and we had ourselves a feast. A couple more mojitos later, and we started to wrap up dinner. The band that was setting up during dinner finally started playing, so we stuck around for a bit.

From the side door, three Capoera dancers came out and started kicking and flipping at each other. Oooh, shiny!

Then this guy with a clarinet came out and starting jamming along with the samba band. Yes, clarinet and jamming in the same sentence.

And these break dancers. And a guy doing the beatbox. And kids with five-gallon buckets, playing them like drums.

But oh boy, oh boy, this was not all. When these can-can dancers came out in sparkly bikini tops, bottoms with fringe, and big feather hats and started pulling people from their tables up to dance...

Yes, of course I was up front, shaking my groove thing. Okay, it was samba... So I shook my bon-bon. Made sure that my hips don�t lie. And she-banged, she-banged and all of those other catchy songs from the 3.5 seconds that the US experienced the Latin Infusion in our everyday music.

Rick Martin, I shake my fist at you.

Shakira, I shake my hips at you.

Le sigh.

After all of the shaking and shiny things my mojito-ed little body could take, we headed to the upstairs lounge. I had no idea this place was there, but it was chic and a great way to end the night on a nice, chill note. �