Salsa Dancing @ Plan B (And a terrible thing that happened in Brooklyn)

Last night I found myself at a salsa club in the east village with two friends (R and M), dancing our hearts out and cracking up until 1am. Now, this is a very unusual occurrence for me. I've turned into a bit of an old lady during this past year when it comes to weeknights, and I can get very upset if I miss out on my 8-9 hours of beauty sleep (as some can attest to, I can be quite a grouch in the morning without it). I do go out alot, but I'm usually back in my comfy bed by 10pm. YET, as it appears, all of this doesn't mean I won't take advantage of a wonderful opportunity to go a little crazy.

So, after spending some quality time with my dad (and my cat!) in Carroll Gardens, I hopped on the F train to 2nd Ave to meet two of my friends at Mudd Coffee to plan our evening. First, I'd like to say that 1st Ave is the nexus of the universe, because on my walk uptown, I ran into not one, but TWO of my good friends that I hadn't seen in ages. So, after brief conversations about coffee (one friend was departing a coffee house), the economy (the other friend works for JP Morgan Chase), and basically how both things were causing them sleepless nights, I finally made my way to 9th st. and my friends. We had a bit of an arguement about what to do (some people are very hesitant to go to a random, corner salsa club at 10pm on a Wednesday night), but finally, we agreed to give it a try and arrived at our destination of 10th st between A and B; a little place called Plan B. And WHAT a fun place! Housing a full, live brass band with an awesome flutist and trumpeter to boot, this place carries a group of lively people who just simply want to dance. The place is small, but intimate, and allows just enough room to not ALWAYS get stepped on by stilletos (though this did happen to me often, and when I finally complained, the guy I was dancing with said "Calm down, Carrie Bradshaw") I'll be the first to admit that I am no salsa queen, but last night it didn't really matter. Some guys were nice enough to give me dancing lessons and some just decided that I should learn as I go, but in the end we were all laughing and grooving and having a good time. R insisted there was a Diego Luna look-a-like in the crowd, but he turned out to only move like Diego and not look like him.

And then things started to turn this morning...

I was happy to leave last night as a wonderful memory of trying out something new and enjoying it a bunch, until I started getting unsettling text messages this morning from R, about how M's phone was off and we didn't know if she had gotten back to her apartment alright last night. Sometimes I simply hate this city...

On her way back to Brooklyn last night, M was mugged outside her building and woke up in the hospital with bruises and a broken nose. And every time I hear of something like this happening to a young, hopeful person, it makes me hate this city a bit more. As always, I try to remind myself that things could have been much more terrible (there are far worse places you could wake up in than the hospital after being punched out in the middle of the night), but just knowing it happens is enough to really upset me. I don't know... I don't know if she wasn't being safe, if she was too drunk to make a smooth entry into her building, or if it was as random as other assaults that I've heard of and been a victim of, too. All I can do is wish her a speedy recovery and remember to never let my guard down late at night, that NO ONE should let there guard down. You can never be too careful in this city.