. . . for an american

This Saturday ended up being pretty exciting. I went very last minute to a formal dinner/dance for Joshua's frat, wearing my pretty dress from my piano recital and a scarf thing I borrowed from Nam, the new girl on our floor. Then, at nine, Armando and Gabe picked me up at the Hilton (pulling up in a two door sports car blasting some reggaeton), to drive to Orlando to dance the night away. We checked out Salsa Heat, this once a month Salsa club in some random warehouse-turned-nightclub, where we met up with Ellie, Andre, Luis, and Sheree (there were also people from Imago there). There were some outstanding dancers there, for real, there were professional salsa dancers there that blew my mind; it was rather intimidating. By the end of the night Armando admitted I was a "pretty good dancer. . . for an american."

So I think I'm having an identity crisis. Basically, I just really want to be Latino. At least part of me. So, if someone could just make that happen, I'll buy you a pizza with my obnoxious amount of unused flexcash.