The first time I went to Club Frida — the upscale Tex-Mex restaurant's late-night transformation — I heard Tito Puente and Juanes, among others. We tore up the dance floor like nobody's business, much to the dismay of the rest of the bar.

So, I decided to go back this summer. But it was Thursday night — a new one for me as far as Club Frida goes — and there was no Latin music to be found.

The club features a very serious smoke machine, a barrage of green lasers and, as it turns out, some seriously hip DJs that play remixes to '80s favorites. This guy played a Karma Chameleon techno mix while getting into the groove probably more than anyone actually on the dance floor.

So my friends and I are all there, having a good time, sort of, dancing to Culture Club and drinking overpriced margaritas. Margarita pitchers are unreasonably expensive at $20 a pop, by the way. And all of a sudden, the smoke machine stopped, the lasers were turned off and the New Wave was silenced. The lights came up, and we were sitting in a bright, near-empty bar holding almost-full glasses of expensive green liquid.

A bouncer with a handlebar mustache and a penchant for pissing off well-behaved patrons emerged from the entrance of the bar, and boy did he have something to prove.

"Get the hell out of here!"

The guy was screaming. I think it was 1:30 a.m., but who was counting, anyway? Not me, certainly, even though my wallet was empty and I had a whole lot of margarita left to drink.

He came over to me, perhaps in awe of my bright green shirt, wondering how I was going to finish that entire margarita before he transformed into the Hulk.

I started chugging the stuff as he continued to berate me. I asked him kindly to stop screaming. He responded by telling me to get the hell out of the bar again and getting closer, as I tried desperately to suck down the remaining $10 in my glass.

I finally finished the drink and handed him the empty, walking toward the front door. But I ran into my female friend, who had another glass — about $5 worth — and was nowhere near finishing it. I decided to help her, and hair-face got upset. After enduring some more screaming, I asked him a simple question. We won't get into the details here, but I was being dragged out of the club in no time, laughing hysterically as my friends took pictures.

Anyway, long story short, if you're going to go to Club Frida, be prepared not only to pay a cover and buy some expensive drinks you won't be able to finish, but also bring shoes you won't mind the bouncers scratching up on the way out.