It’s not a secret that when it comes to salsa dancing, I’m somewhat (ok, totally and completely) obsessed. The obsession began at Sipango, a Dallas restaurant which featured live salsa music (by Havana NRG) on Wednesdays. Fast forward seven years, quite a few pairs of worn out shoes, good and bad dance partners, etc., the obsession continue to grow, steadily. In fact, I make it a point to salsa dance whenever I visit a new city, state, or country, and so far have happily salsa-ed in Dallas, Austin, San Antonio, Houston, Seattle, Washington D.C., San Francisco, Ft. Lauderdale, Chicago, New York, Puerto Rico, Paris, and most recently, Des Moines.

Well, apparently things have been getting more serious than I thought, because I’m not sure how else one would explain what I did last Friday. Here’s what happened. After work, I met up with a few people from salsa and we drove for 3.5 hours to Kansas City, where we danced until 1:30am (that would be Saturday morning) and then headed back to Des Moines, arriving bright and early at 5:30am. Craziness, pure craziness!

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