When it comes time to go out dancing, you can usually expect me to dance to such music like the Quad City DJs, N-Trance, Madonna, and the "Macarena." So I usually get my groove and some fierce, loose-fitting duds on, and head on down to my type of club, IBTs, Congress or the Paragon.

Well, imagine my surprise when my friend Olive called and asked me if I wanted to go dancing on a recent weeknight. I didn't even hesitate to think about it- I immediately said "YES!!" Then she went on to say who was coming, like our friend Lid. Then she dropped the bomb on me. She said, "Great! We'll pick you up at 9, and go to the Cactus Moon." The Cactus Moon? She said that yes, it was a country bar, but to relieve some of its audience, they play Top 40 songs. My little gay self felt a little relived since straight country bars and gays do not seem to go together. But I really did not want to upset my friends, since Olive rarely goes out dancing.

I figured I would go to become musically and socially diverse. It had been a very long time since I was around a bunch of hicks, rednecks and cowboys. Besides, I love doing an "unexpected-of-you" type of thing (i.e. loving the movie "Showgirls").

So I went through my almost-every-occasion closet and chose what to wear to my "country bar devirginizing." I figured the boys would be wearing boots, so I dug out my boots, not the kind bought at Corral West Ranchwear. I also figured Wranglers would be in place, but since I tend to stay away from anything making my booty too conspicuous (it does it on its own), I picked out my Gap jeans. Urban cowboy, no. Urban status diva, yes!

Well, we got to the bar and for some unexplained reason, I saw a KLPX 96.1 van parked outside. Rock n' roll? I couldn't believe it since the latest hit from some country homeboy was blaring inside the club. Anyway, the cute, pseudo-cowboy bouncers pulled me aside and didn't want to let me in. They said it's because I have an Arizona state license, not a driver's license. I say it's because they looked at my ensemble and said, "Hmm, too urban. Not enough loud, bright and disgusting colors on his shirt and he's not wearing a hat!" Eventually I got in by the bouncer asking me what my sign was, here's how that went:

Bouncer: What's your sign?

Me: Oh, honey, like I haven't heard that one before!

Bouncer (chuckles): No, really.

Me: Um, "Stop."

Bouncer: Stop what?

So I saw the L-shaped dance floor and people spinning and two-stepping. Where were the folks doing the butterfly and shaking their colitas? After meeting people whose names I still can't remember, I sat down for about five songs. That's when this friend of Lid, a livewire of a country girl, came over to me and said, "HEY! Why aren't you dancing?" I responded, "Do I look like I can dance country?" Before I could roll my eyes, she was teaching me to two-step.

I must admit it was fun, but nothing like getting nasty with the butterfly. Eventually "Guacamole" by the Texas Tornadoes, "Mickey" by Toni Basil and "Come N' Ride (The Train)" by the Quad City DJs were played. I felt a little more comfortable.

A lot more happened that night, like a fight between two cowboys over some heifer I suppose. I was glad that I carried my cellular phone with me because there were these girls who had to answer some calls from the 1980s, cause the era wanted its hairstyles back.

Well, two nights later, Hell-ga joined us and we rode off to A Little Bit of Texas! Go on, pardner! This was much better for many reasons. One reason was that the dance floor was huge, so I didn't have Justin ropers stomping on me, and huge belt buckles the size of the average human head being branded into my waist. Also, I didn't have to wait for a "dance" song to be played since they also have "Tremors," a hip hop club within a country bar.

The other good thing about this country Price Club was that there were not as much 80s rejects, hicks or trash. Very nice. Plus there were urban cowboy hotties in the house! Even Hell-ga agreed.

So, if you feel the need to go country dance, whether it's because you love country music, or because you have no rhythm (you don't really need it, just counting abilities), Hell-ga, Olive and the rest of the posse agree that A Little Bit of Texas is da bomb! If you need cramped spaces, flashbacks to 80s hairstyles and tasteless bikini contest, Cactus Moon is your best bet.

In my uneducated country book of the country world, A Little Bit of Texas is the Garth Brooks of Tucson's country bars, while Cactus Moon is the Boxcar Willie.