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Before I begin, allow me to introduce you to my parents, Pasco and Mrs. Cap:

The Cappies

And if you needed further clarification…

Poor Papa

Now, to mentally prep you, these are the people who sat me down one evening after finding an admittedly scandalous Victoria Secret thong in the dryer (gag gift, nobody get too antsy) and told me I was never to shop there again. Because it was a sex shop that sold sin.  Because it was a sex shop that sold sin, yes, you read that correctly. 

Okay, so you understand me: 1) I have über-conservative parents. 2) These days, if I’m ever desperate enough to venture laundry at my parent’s home, I stand in the laundry room like a sentinel for the ENTIRE duration of the wash & dry cycle lest I be chastised for my sex shop-enabling ways. 

Comfortable with the fact that you and I have reached an understanding, I will continue on with my story. 

Picture it: Friday night, leaving the movie Julie & Julia (which I adored, by the way, but that is neither here nor there), I see I’ve received a text message from my friend in Atlanta (whom from here on out will be referred to as “Fancy”). 

Fancy (7:55): Ummm is there any way your dad would be at Loca Luna tonight? bc if not, his twin is here. 
Me (9:27): I don’t know what luna loca is but i guess it is possible?
Fancy (9:41): It is like clubby shi-shi Atlanta. It is not quite a Pasco-style place. 
(An aside to Fancy–you’re going to have to define “shi-shi” to me at a later date. What the heck.) 
Me (9:55): Haha then I doubt it. 

Now, as an Atlanta native you’d think I’d be familiar with all the hot spots, but guess what. I’m not. Probably almost entirely due to the fact that all my time in Atlanta has been spent living under the roof of the über-conservative, Victoria Secret-despising couple pictured above. So I ask Leisel (who is familiar with Atlanta and does love to par-tay) about Loca Luna. She informs me it’s a very large, hip salsa club downtown. That settles it. We share a laugh at the thought of my father cha-cha-ing with the hipsters and continue to talk about the movie. UNTIL: 

Pasco (10:03:06) I’m heavy into salsa dancing at the Loca Luna. Please rescue me! (What. The. Heck.) 
Me (10:04:23): Fancy is there! She saw you and I said there is no way it was you. Who are you with? 
Pasco (10:06:18) My Friday night girlfriend. (WHO IS THIS MAN. I don’t know whether I’m confused or proud.) 
Me (10:09:19): You dog you (I’m proud.) 
Me (10:11:23): No really, who are you with (SO confused.) 
Pasco (10:15) Mom. But they pass the ladies around pretty freely. (WHO IS THIS MAN?!)

Immediately I forward Pasco’s texts to Fancy. 

Me (10:04:42): Omg Fancy I just got that from MY FATHER
Fancy(10:06:27) No you did not. I do not believe you.
Me (10:06:33) I just asked him who he was with and he said MY FRIDAY NIGHT GIRLFRIEND!

Folks, I do not know how to describe the level of freaking out going on at this moment. Glorious, hysterical, the-world-has-just-turned-on-its-end freaking out. My father, the man who responds “Go read your bible” when I say I am bored, is SALSA DANCING. My mother, who burst into tears and asked if I’d been drunk when I got an extra piercing in my ear, is hoopla-ing it up at a CLUB. So after much frenetic calling between my sister, my father, Fancy, and myself, the story was finally pieced together. My parents’ friends hosted a birthday party at the swingin’ salsa place. From the time Fancy spotted Pasco until after midnight, my parents, the Cappies, were partying. I mean, I tried calling Pasco and there might as well have been a football game being held in the building, it was so loud and impossible to hear my father over the ruckus. It was a PARTY. So, to be clear, on a Friday night I am in my pj’s, in bed, while my 60+ legalistic, conservative parents were doing a conga line in the boom-boom room of Loca Luna.

This guy was there…

Loca Luna

Via Loca Luna

And these ladies were there…

Loca Luna

Via Loca Luna

These people were there…

Loca Luna

Via Loca Luna

And these people were there: 

The Cappies

I do not know if life as I currently know it could get any more delicious. 

And THEN I received this gem: 

BTW, this is NOT my mother. From what I can gather this is "Vera", the little hussy.

BTW, this is NOT my mother. The little hussy.

So, to sum up: My father texted me all night about how he was dancing the night away with both my mother and other women until after midnight. Then sent me a photo on his iPhone to document the event.

 MY PARENTS ARE ROCKSTARS.
And I’m so proud.

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