alternate title: Somebody didn't learn her lesson about dancing)
Alright, this blog is about a time I went to a dance hall and two things are important to know. The dance hall is appropriately called Cowboys, and I don’t really dance. In fact, the last time I went dancing anywhere I was kicked out for dancing like I was drunk. Sadly, I was sober... that’s just how I dance.
I made a new friend at work (who I will call Jane, because I never asked permission to call her by her real name on my blog. Whoops) a few weeks ago, at the company Christmas party. We bonded over wearing very similar dresses (WITH POCKETS) and also over the fact that we are female engineers. I think every female engineer has a little something special in their heart for every other female engineer. You’ve got to, you know?
So last Thursday, the day before my last day of work, we decided as a way to conclude our short but awesome friendship that we’d go to Cowboys. We were sort of expecting line dancing (a type of dance I am okay with) but it was just your normal, contemporary music with your average bar dancing so we got a drink each and took a seat near the dance floor to people watch.
Have you ever played the game “Which Cowboys Are Real Cowboys?” If not, let me suggest it. Let me also suggest jeans as the dead giveaway... hat and boots do not a cowboy make, but some nice boot cut Wranglers and you’ve got yourself a true blue.
We only planned on having a drink or two, but we weren’t allowed to close our tab until it reached a certain amount. So two drinks turned to three turned to four. The night was still young after all, right? Eventually a live band came and started playing country music, and all the grinding turned to two-stepping. Awesome! This is the best!
It was fun to watch people couple off. There was one over zealous spinner who had a different girl each song. There was the kind of chubby cowboy who was an amazing dancer, and every girl he danced with looked totally in love with him. There was the woman in the leopard print halter top with her incredi-sweaty short bald husband. There were a few obvious first dates. There was the elderly couple who were out dancing everybody else. It was great people watching.
Then this super old man came up to Jane and I and asked if we were in the service. Weird question, right? We said no. He said, good and would we like to dance? I said no. Jane said, oh, haha, not right now, uh, maybe later, haha.
So he disappeared for a minute then next thing we know he’s dancing with another girl our age, right in front of us. Pulling the craziest movies. He kept trying spinning the heck out her and her face was sort of terrified. She kept catching Jane and my eyes with a “this is the most uncomfortable I’ve ever felt” countenance. He kept spinning her then reaching under his leg, so that if she grabbed his hand, she’d have to crawl/slide through his legs. She kept giving him the “I’m not sliding through your legs” look but he kept trying anyway. It was so weird, you guys. At the end he tossed his hat up in the air and gave us a very clear “you see what you’re missing out on?” look and the poor girl skittered away.
Later people finally started line dancing and we joined in. Fun times. But then the next song was Single Ladies which Jane DIDN’T KNOW so we had to dance to that one, with me teaching her the moves (thanks, Arianna). And then it was another good song and another and heck, after four drinks then fine, I will dance. Then this guy kind of joins in our dance and starts chatting us up. That’s cool, I’m up for new friends. However, the next song is a slow song. And before I could be like “haha I have to go... over there” he had already grabbed my hand and my waist and whoops, I’m slow dancing.
My dad is an ardent believer in all his kids knowing how to properly eat spaghetti (with a spoon) and how to play lots of card games. Sure dad. He thinks that one day we’re going to be at an interview, or meeting future in-laws, or something high pressure and that spaghetti eating and card players are make-or-break social skills.
“Lisa, this is my mom. Mom, this is Lisa. Sniff sniff. Mmm is that spaghetti cooking?” “Yes, and if Lisa slurps even a centimetre of noodle, I’m not going to let you marry her. Also, later let’s play bridge.” Totally happens.
So while I’m a wizard at long noodle pasta and my skills at Hearts are legendary, I don’t really know how to slow dance. It’s not a skill I saw myself needing past eight grade, because that’s the last time I slow danced with anybody. And let’s face it: dancing in grade eight is just an excuse to touch somebody of the opposite gender. You just sort of shuffle awkwardly and place your hands in a very symbolic way. (Hands on his shoulders= I said yes out of courtesy. Wrists on his shoulders, with hands clasped behind his neck= guess what, I have a crush on you. Elbows on this shoulder area such that torso areas are touching= omigosh, did you see the way Karley and Andy were dancing?)
Keep in mind that everybody else was doing really fancing looking spins and two steps and I don’t know what a waltz is, but I bet people were waltzing. All I can really do now is give you the play by play of our conversation
Me: Uh... I really don’t dance. Problem. I kind of don’t know how.
Him: this is good
Me: Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh (I made this sound until I had to take a breath. Say uh for about 10 seconds. Really sets the mood for awkwardness, no?)
We then exchanged the, “what’s your name” type pleasantries (his name was Rome. Was he lying or are his parents just that annoying?) and blah blah blah, I’m here on an internship but I leave in two days. Then bull-S like:
Him: What are you studying?
Me: Mechanical Engineering
Him: oh, so you’re smart and beautiful
Me in my head: that was the lamest thing I’ve ever heard in real life. (eye roll)
Me: ... exactly. (eye roll)
At this point, he sort of pulls me in closer. However, my head and feet remain where they were so together our bodies are kind of making a K shape. Oh dear. Then
Him: I’m not as smart as you.
Me: ...
What am I supposed to say to that? “Ooh... but maybe you could be?” “No, you’re probably not.” “You’re probably smarter in different ways, at different things, right?” So instead I said nothing and he continued on to muse aloud about how I’m going to make more money than him, but that he’s okay with that because it’s nice to be pushed around by women every so often. (I HAVE SO MANY ISSUES WITH THAT SENTIMENT.) And this point I was almost barfing on his face because really, I think it’s unattractive for anybody to have low self esteem about their own intelligence, but when it’s a guy who can’t take my smarts outside of the context of the fact that I’m also female, it’s just super lame.
At the end of the song I think I gave a thumbs up then went to go get another drink and find Jane. Rome’s one redeeming feature was wearing a good hat, and a few minutes later I saw him chatting it up with a new girl. And then... hat flirting. You know, when he puts his hat on her head? Oh, hat flirting is my absolute favourite type of flirting. I love hat flirting.
Dear Rome... we made a K with our bodies, and now you’re hat flirting with another girl? So soon? No regard for how I’m feeling or if I’m hat flirting with anybody? I was obviously crushed. When the crazy dancing through-the-legs old man came by to again ask if we wanted to dance I was tempted for half a second to say yes, and then remembered that he was a crazy dancing through-the-legs old man.
The band started playing country music again, and Jane and I then hit the dance floor so that she could teach me how to properly two-step. News: two-stepping is easy and fun! If all dances were “find a partner and two step your heart out” dances, then I would definitely go to way more. Especially if many of the eligible gentlemen were REAL COWBOYS. Rome then approached me once again steal (and I do mean steal) a dance. This time I artfully avoided physical contact and he got all, “I really think we get along well” and so I got all, “Instead of arguing down the strength of your conviction, I’ll iterate the fact that I permanently leave the state in about 36 hours” and he got all, “Why not make the most of our time together?” so I got all, “my friend is over there. Bye.” I then jogged, yes jogged, off the dance floor. I then put my excellent Avoidance Skills to work for the remainder of our time at the bar.
The whole this averages out to a flattering experience, kind of. I mean, I’m just not the type of girl that regularly gets hit on and I can’t recall ever being legitimately asked out. (I’ve had a few “what are you doing later?”s which I of course answer with a “studying” or a “watching Veronica Mars reruns” or even a “going to weight lifting class”) Male attention at a bar is definitely a new one. Fellas, if you’re looking for some action, let me suggest against spending time trying to woo the girl with frizzy hair in a pony tail, wearing jeans and muddy old skate shoes.
That said, if anybody wants to hat flirt with me, I won’t say no.
Sigh, yes I will.
Sigh, who has a deck of cards or some spaghetti?
