April 1, 2007

• Praise God, Hallelujah, and Holy Fucking Shit; I might have met my next dance partner.  I even like his name.  I like everything about him.  He’s the right height.  I’m too excited to prioritize.  He’s happy.  He has good rhythm.  He is not self-conscious and doesn’t care how many people are on the dance floor.  He is ELEGANT.  He’s sensual, and he has style.  Please, God, make him available. 

  It’s a curse to be such an optimist.  There’s a reason this guy is all the way across town, by himself.  He said he was to meet friends but they never showed up, and that might have been two women.  But he likes to dance, and he’d be hard-pressed to find a better partner.  I couldn’t believe the way I was acting.  I told him he was the perfect height but what I was thinking, too, was that he was the perfect fit.  On the slow dances, at first, just to make it easier to follow someone new, I was getting in pretty close.  A few times I inadvertently rubbed up against something I shouldn’t have. 

  I liked the smell of him and all his answers.  He has a unique style of speech, too, so conversation was captivating.  Lots of times if someone can do the swing they don’t freeform.  This guy is comfortable either way and good at both, better than good.  He’s in perfect shape, too, so up for every dance.  Could it get any better?  Oh, and he’s attractive and he doesn’t drink and he doesn’t smoke and he went home at midnight.  In other words he takes good care of himself.

  What has me curious, and what made me more aggressive was his passive nature.  He kept going to the bathroom, which involved leaving the barstool and walking past my table.  It was the only path he could have taken, and the first time he checked me out.  The second time he smiled.  The third time he said, “how are you?”   He looked familiar so I panicked and thought he was this guy I went out with a couple times before I figured out how strange he was.  So the last time I said, “Do I know you?  Are you a friend of lsdfjslfj’s?” to which he answered, “No but I wish I were.”  Then at the break he came over and we talked and he invited me to join him at the bar.  But even that I instigated by saying I absolutely HATED coming to these things alone but that my dance partner had fallen in love.  I told him to pull up a chair and that’s when he suggested I join him.  That’s what I mean by being unusually aggressive.  Plus, when I asked if he danced and he said, “yes,” and I said, “swing?” and he said, “yes,” I said, “Then you must dance with me.”  I could hardly believe myself. 

  I really like being able to run with it like that; you know, when someone can deal with a strong personality.  Like on the dance floor when we weren’t doing the swing.  It was too fast to slow-dance to and I watched the way he moved.  Damn, he’d be great in bed is what I was thinking.  He kind of purses his lips in a smile and just feels the music, totally unselfconscious.  There’s a real lightness about him; I mean transparency, like he’s not carrying burdens.  On the dance floor when he twirls me and when I was watching him dance alone, it looked like he was close to God.  You know what I mean?  Close to the source.

  Okay, there’s only one thing I found to worry about.  You know there had to be something.  A guy who pees that many times is a good candidate for prostate cancer, don’t you think? 

  • 11:17 am
  • 19 Comments