If you make a fool of yourself, they will come.

Saturday night, I had a mini-college-reunion in Wilmington, NC-- otherwise known as the Land of Perfection.

I swear, I don't know what it is about Wilmington and the Wrightsville Beach area in general, but I think my soul just takes off and grows little wings every time I venture anywhere near that salt water. I lived there for a few months after college, in a fleeting moment of wild abandon, and by golly, I believe I must live there again someday. Someday very soon. I owe this to myself and to the world that deserves a less anal-retentive me. But I digress.

Upon arriving in town at a very leisurely pace, one of my favorite people on the planet and I decided we wanted to stay beachside. With no reservations and no remote idea of hotel vacancies, we just decided to head to the ocean. One of the best feelings in the world is that of setting off in your car with a haphazardly packed suitcase and no clue where you'll rest your head or when that rest will come... and we decided to indulge ourselves in that feeling.

We got a perfect room with an ocean view overlooking a gorgeous swimming pool. We were high enough above the ground that the full moon over the ocean made it look like we were on the bow of a ship. I breathed in the setting sun and breathed out my working-girl life. Quick. Simple. Easy.

Just as I stepped out on the balcony, a band below belted out "Whyyyyy do you build me up (build me up), Buttercup, baby just to let me down (let me down)?" and I giggled unashamedly. I have a friend who sings this song daily in public places; I suspect he does so because he likes to hear his own voice. So, in the presence of the perfect ocean, the full moon, and the ocean air, I called him to tell him he was with me. That was the only part of my home-world that entered my perfect beach-world that night... and it was, in fact, perfect.

The night was a mix of good champagne, great seafood, old friends and new experiences. We had a three-hour dinner, over which we all went around the table and answered the question: "What have you been doing for the past four years? Readdddyyyyy... Go!" We laughed. A lot. And drank almost as much as we laughed, which would explain why I still feel a bit like I've been hit by a mack truck. On steroids.

But the highlight of the evening came at a rooftop bar somewhere near the river in downtown Wilmington. We had just come from a club full of sweaty teenagers posing as hip of-age 21-year-olds. They looked silly, we looked out of place. We're 26 and 27 now; clearly much older and wiser. Most of those folks were sporting crotch-high skirts while I was looking decidely J. Crew in knee-length denim. It became obvious we needed to roll. So roll we did... onto the rooftop bar and into a selection of music so delicious, Steve Perry would have been jealous.

We decided what the world needed that night was a good, solid dose of 80's and 90's dancing. So we rocked it out. Sprinkler? You got it! MC Hammer? No doubt!!! We even did the Running Man. A lot.

And suddenly. We were the coolest people in the bar. I learned a lot from this experience. Dance like a moron, and everyone will want to dance with you. Did I mention we did the Shopping Cart? We danced and danced and danced... and people crowded around and joined. At one point, we even did the "let's all stand in a circle and sway together" move, and this poor guy tried to break into the circle. Unsuccessfully. I felt a little guilty for that.

But in the end, it was all perfectly untimed, perfectly unplanned, and perfectly surreal. We all stepped back into our old lives, our college lives, our old selves... but we brought our new selves with us. We have less perfect skin, a fuller bank accounts. We have more stories to tell, and more stories to make. And floating around in all that, well... we just have us. And that is the best part.

But seriously. Dance like an idiot. People will love you for it.