iSuck

So, I really do suck at blogging lately.

I've picked up another job, so that has seriously cut into the time to go out and meet people.

Also, I've picked up said other job to save money for a new car... not go out and meet people.

But, I did promise this post like three weeks ago, so here it is:

In the past two months or so, I've been going swing dancing with team!friend. There are two local places that offer dances on the weekend. They have free class for an hour before the dance actually starts.

Team!friend is all about this.
I have the grace and poise of a crackhead rhino.

The first two dances I went to were all about overly!enthusiastic!guy! who was just so.... overly enthusiastic. There wasn't so much wanting to dance with me as dancing with my breasts. That whole "my eyes are up here" thing? Yeah, I wanted to say that more than once. Plus, he was an terrible lead, which in swing is the kiss of death. The follow is supposed to do just that - follow. In effect, be pushed and pulled though the moves. If there is a weak lead, nothing happens just awkwardness. To be honest, the second dance I tried to stay away from him as much as possible. He have me such a case of the heebie-jeebies that I wanted nothing to do with him.

Well, I take that back. The second dance had a lot going on with it. The first of which is that I wound up there with a client who really took me to task this spring and had me in tears more than once. Hell, she had me in tears in front of my co-workers after one particularly nasty encounter. And of course, once we get there she makes it out like nothing this past spring happened, and we're all hunky dory. I seriously wanted to turn around and go home, but team!friend got me through it. This client was here with a group of people, which was a seriously mixed bag.

There was one guy there who seriously caught my eye. So, I decided that I was going have a bit of fun. I go up to him and introduced myself as Ethel. Ethel was a childhood nickname that my mother still does use on a somewhat regular basis. My brother was Fred, but I don't think he gets called Fred anymore. We just call him by his mainstay nickname. All the time. I never use the guys name if we're being honest. Well, that didn't go so well. See below.

Instead of actual swing dancing we did something more akin to the "awkward middle school shuffle dance."

Then there was quite possibly the most disgusting man I've ever encountered in this group. First he pulled me up from my seat with team!friend and he is drenched, just soaked, in sweat. Then he pulled me super close, and started to do some dance he claimed was the Charleston, but I am sure it wasn't. All the while he's doing this, HE KEEPS PRESSING HIS ERECTION INTO MY LEG.  Seriously. How abhorrent is that?! I still am grossed out when I think about it. The thing is, he did the same to team!friend. I got out of it, but even my dress reeked of this sweaty, nasty, pervy man. Just thinking about him grosses me out.

The night was somewhat salvaged by this guy at the very end. He was just all over the place, spinning and swinging his partners, holding them close and then pushing them away in some sort of twirl. I danced with him for one of the last songs of the night. I laughed so hard, and so did he as we just sort of did our own thing on a huge swath of dance floor.

The third dance was pretty alright. There was no overly!enthusiastic!guy. No guys rubbing their junk on my leg. No super awkward introductions. And, another friend was there. I need to come up with a good name for her, because I think that she is going to be factoring into my stories from here on out. Long story short: she is sepereated and getting a divorce after her husband left her, and is making her way back out into the world. Plus, there was a live band playing a genre called gypsy jazz.

There was also handsome!boy. Oh handsome!boy. We were in the dance class together at the start, and when I saw him, I little butterfly started making his way around in my tummy. He was a superb lead in class. The first thing I noticed was that he held me close and tight, but not in a pervy way, or a commanding way as a lot of the other men were prone to do. It was a secure hold, so he could push or pull me through the moves easily. He was all dressed up for the time period, too, which added to the effect. I danced with him later in the night, and I enjoyed it. A lot, actually. Part of me wished a) I knew for sure he was there by himself (we all dance with whoever all night, and there are actually few couples who stay together) and b) I had a Sharpie to write my number on his hand. Who knows, I might see him again.

So there is the rather long tale of my attempts at dancing.