It was one of those nights. Me and my favorite lonely single girlfriend wanted to practice our dance moves with abandon. Real abandon, the kind that is inadvisable when cute, straight guys might be watching. But where to go? Outside of Ryan Heffington's dance classes, there's only one dance floor in Silver Lake where girls, biological and otherwise, can truly boogie down; where the DJ cranks Depeche Mode like it's 1987; where a bona fide disco ball casts glitter light at your twinkle toes; and where it's dark enough for you to practice moves thought to have died with the '80s. We bought two shots of courage each and ventured into the darkest crevice of the Akbar dance floor. Unidentified trance was playing. Anonymous sweaty men with shaved heads bucked their hips in time to the beat. “Take your skirt off,” I told my friend. She did, revealing her black pantyhose. Not an eyelid batted among our gay boyfriends on the dance floor. “Now you,” she said. I complied. It was just me, my best friend and our panties, scissor kicking and practicing dance moves we'd seen in Major Lazer and Milli Vanilli videos. We did this all night long. Nobody gave a shit — we were invisible. It was perfect. 4356 W. Sunset Blvd., Silver Lake. (323) 665-6810,

—Caroline Ryder

LA Weekly