Friday, March 16, 2007

Double-checking just how old I am

So my co-worker, Beautiful Dreamer? Her current dude is very pro-dancing. And officially so am I, by the way. But somehow the dancing thing is traumatic for her, either because she hasn't really done it enough to be all cool, or because she can't get over the dancing = sex thing. And somehow that has resulted in me taking her out in order to experience "going dancing" tonight.

All of which just seems like proof that I gotta stop coming to work drunk. Bad things happen.

Anyway, in my youth I went dancing many times a week. There was a time, in fact, where there were more nights that I did go dancing then didn't. Because here was the deal:

-I was jobless
-I was cash-less
-I was pear-shaped. A BIG pear. Like Bartlett or d'anjou, ya know?
-I was hanging out with college students who's only requirement for the following morning was "decide how many classes to skip in preference of sleep." (answer? ALL of them, of course!)
-Our Bar? Free on weeknights
-Our Bar's water? Also free on weeknights

So Monday through Thursday we always had that option of heading to Our Bar to spend the entire night dancing and drinking free water. An option we often chose, because Hello? Free dancing, free water, we had no cable at home... how was there any OTHER option? Plus for me, as the only virgin in the group (in the bar, in the city, in the state, what-up, region?, check me out, nation! Hello, World!!) this was as close to the nasty as I got.

Also I enjoyed the nightly ritual I called "hey, do you know her/him?" It went like this (yes, another list. Suck it up):

-cute guy/girl comes up to me and smiles, and I smile back and get all excited and flattered -- "cuteness smiling at me? What the-?"
-cute guy/girl comes in close (to be heard over the music) and whispers in my ear (thereby giving me the neck shivers) "hey, do you know her/him?", gesturing to one of my hot friends. Hot friends that yes, I do, in fact, know.
-I nod yes, and cute guy/girl gives me a matchbook, napkin, scrap of paper with their phone number on it to give to my hot friend.
-I promise to pass it on, and once they're gone I set fire to it in the little table ashtray. And I do the evil laugh. And I smile and nod to my hot friend, because they don't know the rule of hotness: you can be hot as you want, baby, but I control the digits! (seriously, is there anyone who's not hearing the evil laugh now?)

So here I am ostensibly dabbling in the dating world (once I decide which of the many, many e-dudes who are wooing me that I should take pity on, because man am I one choice piece of property!) and I'll be showing a friend, who is already dating someone, all the ins and outs of "going dancing." I predict that I'll either be home and asleep by 11:30pm OR I'll come dragging my behind in at 2:30am w/ sore feet, sweaty armpits and pants full of digits. For Beautiful Dreamer.

A guess I'd better bring my lighter.

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