Play that funky music white girl

I arrived at the weekend with a need to burn off steam. I found myself a) unemployed, and in that state following one of the most stressful weeks of work on record, and b) with an awful post-cruise cold, likely picked up from one of the many coughing-sans-coverage passengers on my 767. Saturday arrived, and with it the promise of a Redskins playoff game. The beau and I had a tiff that day, so in true Kris fashion, I donned my largest boyfriend-defiant hoop earrings, took his beer out of my fridge, and headed to the Best Friend's house for some football and Baked Lays.

I'm convinced that Redskins football is literally in her blood, the promise of a Super Bowl ring something that pulled her through the days of the clots. With each passing play, the two of us drank more cheap beer, cheered our hearts out, sang the Redskins fight song, drank the rest of the white wine, made the cat cheer much to his chagrin, drank red wine, broke open champagne, and danced. Yes, my friends. A la Bridget Jones, we two solo females got our groove on right there in her 50's kitsch-filled Arlington pad, courtesy of her excessive drunken iTunes downloading, while her tailless cat hid in the kitchen.

From the moment the Best Friend started playing her AC/DC air guitar, I knew it was SO on. I spent those first few seconds contemplating the dance moves that would follow. Ohhhh, yeah.

She was a fast machine
She kept her motor clean
She was the best damn woman I had ever seen

I recall there being a lot of hip movement at this point, the old reliable college move that, accompanied by a badass game face, could definitely pass for dancing in the right lighting.

She had the sightless eyes
Telling me no lies
Knockin' me out with those American thighs

I took it up a notch, introducing Rockettes kicks into my routine, puffing with pride that my legs could clear the height of the sofa.

Taking more than her share
Had me fighting for air
She told me to come but I was already there

Shake it! Now back to the hips. And some booty shaking with the arms high over the head. Man, I probably looked hot, Claire's Boutique hoop earrings and all.

'Cause the walls start shaking
The earth was quaking

BRING IT!

My mind was aching
And we were making it and you -

My sassy hips crescendoed with the music, and I decided it was time to bring out the big guns. I hadn't attempted it since college, but it was time once again for the worm.

You shook me all night long

Hands strategically placed on my hips, I attempted to let the hard rock genius flow from the soles of my black Chucks up to my pursed lips.

But something went terribly wrong.

Yeah you, shook me all night long

The smooth, 20-year-old hip action was no longer there, and it was replaced by a jerking motion that made me appear to be in the front row of a certain fitness enthusiast's Sweating to the Aussies.

Working double time
On the seduction line
She was one of a kind, she's just mine all mine

I was in bad shape. Bucking to and fro out of control, I tried to think quickly, and in my tipsy haze did the only thing I could think of to save myself: I pulled out the thumbs.

She wanted no applause
Just another course
Made a meal out of me and came back for more

That's right: the thumbs. I had reverted to the Solid Gold kiss of death and there was no way out. I found myself sashaying to the right, pausing at the end with a raised right foot and hitchiking move of dramatic proportions.

Had to cool me down
To take another round
Now I'm back in the ring to take another swing

I checked to see if the shades were down and if my friend still appeared too drunk to notice me.

'Cause the walls were shaking
The earth was quaking

And now that I had gone the whole way right, there was no way out other than to thumb my way back to the left.

My mind was aching
And we were making it and you -

The song lasted another couple of minutes, and I cut my losses by hopping around in a circle Flatley style throughout the entire chorus and lengthy guitar solo. I was winded with anxiety, and mortified that my dance moves were so bad. Hi, my name is Kris, and I am a twentysomething no more. I contemplated going to buy my first pair of elasticized pants from Penney's.

In hindsight, I'm proud to say that I never resorted to biting my lower lip while the thumbs were in play, a middle-age dance move best displayed with a loosened tie at weddings.

But let's be honest with each other, friends. It's really only a matter of time.