Dancing is the cure. For everything. The sad part is, like taking a fourth shot of Jager (which, by the way, is not the cure for everything), you rarely do it unless you’re completely shitfaced.

However, I believe the world (or at least your psychie) would be healed if we remembered to boogie every once in a while. 

Good times to get down on it:

1) A lingering project, a deadline, homework — anything that involves too much concentration that you don’t have the concentration for. I can’t tell you how many times when I was in grad school, I cued up Chaka Khan while sitting at my desk, grueling over how to overanalyze myself (neuroticizing about my neurosis if you will) for a 5,000-word memoir. When my mind could no longer take the pressure, I played “I Feel For You.” I shook my hips, let my arms flail however they may, sashayed around my desk, my bed, and, of course, paused in front of the mirror a few times. Dancing is a release out of your head. Ultimately, it’s like masturbating. 

2) A breakup. When a boyfriend moves out after two-plus years of living together, in theory, there are many things a newly single girl is dying to do in an apartment she now has all to herself. Sprawl out with trash mags in bed, eat ice cream for breakfast and not share, watch Ashton Kutcher movies at 4 a.m. — all of which I did. But first, I danced.

3) A social gathering where no one seems to have much in common. This may seem like a poor idea; who’d want to make a fool of herself in front of people she’s already awkward in front of? I disagree. On some level, most of us can bond over a terribly nostalgic pop song, like Bel Biv Devoe’s “Do Me,” or whatever song “made” the 8th grade. We all secretly want to shake it. We want to do it right. Or wrong. It’s a collective sigh at a collective inside joke,  an acknowledgement that this song, for good or bad, feels amazing to move to. Right now. Like a circle jerk, perhaps.

4) When you’re too drunk to have a conversation. After a particularly long drinking shift, there sometimes comes a point when I can no longer keep up with the words coming out other people’s mouths, or when I’m unable to interrupt other people’s diatribes with my own stories. This is when my body will naturally make it’s way to the dance floor. If there is no proper, designated dance area, I will make one between tables and a jukebox; I need to physically exorcise the alcohol so we will all be saved from the emotions or arguments I could be having if I was forced to keep talking.

So yes, dancing does have it’s place within the realm of alcohol. However, I still believe that shaking your ass is best done for your own personal pleasure.