Last night, I finally broke down and went to Monday Social. The club has been around for ten years and, over those ten years, has brought in one fucking awesome DJ after the next and still, I have never gone. I have missed UNKLE, Danny Howells, Lee Coombs and a host of other DJs I really dig all because I have become the sort of sad sack who doesn't go out on Monday nights.

Yesterday, I just bit the bullet and figured, why the hell not? It's Rabbit in the Moon and I have been digging on their remixes since late high school or early college. Should I pass that up so that I can be a responsible adult who goes to work all bright-eyed and functional? No, that's not living, that's just drudgery.

So I went to Monday Social, met up with the Usual Suspects, sipped two vodka tonics, danced to David Christophere's set, which was along the dark house lines of Green Velvet, danced more to the first fifteen or so minutes of Bunny's techno-heavy mix and then decided that I should be a grown-up. It was 12:45, I had work in the morning and I should be responsible and just go home and get some sleep.

I drove home blaring Laurent Garnier's "Man with the Red Face," because it kept me alert, walked into the house and received a text message from Carlos.

"Bunny just plaed a sick psb mix."

For the civilians, PSB means Pet Shop Boys.

"NO!" I texted back.

I left early to get some sleep, still drove home tired and still dragged myself through the day like death was upon me. Had I stayed until 1:30, I would have felt the same, but I would have heard Bunny freak out "West End Girls," or what Carlos thinks might have been that classic Francois Kevorkian mix of the same. I would have been a happier person for it. Let this be a lesson to all: Never be a party pooper.

P.S. On a totally unrelated note (I didn't want to bother with another post), the teens on One Life to Live are partying to Kill Hannah's "Lips Like Morphine." That amused me.