Posts Tagged ‘dancing

02
Mar
11

it would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed.*

*editors note: I’m sick +  I want to ski today because I got a new jacket and want to show it off + I have “real work” to do = repost from a letter back in November. Enjoy. Again.

Dear Meghan,

I should state from the very start that I’m extremely grateful for what went down between the two of us for those amazing and gut-wrenching three minutes between us in the camp dancehall circa 1995.  If you hadn’t absolutely crushed me as a young teenager, we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we have today; which, as you must know, means a great deal to me.  However, that being said, I hated you with 100% of my soul for about two days.

It took an assload of courage for me to come up to you at that dance.  I was (my use of the past tense here is questionable) awkward, gangly, freckled, metallic (in the mouth region), but I will give myself some credit because I was the best tennis player at camp, as if I thought you might be impressed.  You, on the other hand, were/still are tall, hot, blonde, smart, sweet, southern belle who was the creme de la creme of the female camper population.  I’m pretty sure all of the younger male counselors wanted to ask you to dance that night as well, but apparently their jobs were too important.  Questionable decision on their part…crap food, crap pay, crap cabin…I think I would have sacrificed that for a dance with you.

There in lies the problem though, I didn’t need to sacrifice anything, for a dance anyway.  I sauntered up to you, actually that is complete bullsh*t; I walked timidly up to you, looked up into your eyes since you were already taller than me, and asked you out, and you surprisingly said, “yes.”.  It should be entirely clear to you now, I ASKED YOU OUT.  As in – Do you want to go out with me? Or, do you want to go steady with me? Or, as the old timers might say, may I court you so we can go necking in the woods later?  Unfortunately, you heard none of these.

What you heard, perhaps over some awesome mid 90s song like “Return of the Mack” or “Runaround,” was, “Will you dance with me?”  Well of course you said yes, we were relatively good friends and a dance was absolutely harmless.  We were like 13 or 14, it wasn’t as if I was going to try and make out with you like I did with this broad.  And so, we danced for a couple of minutes.  Me thinking that this was the beginning of what I was sure would result in my first boob grab sometime down the road; you thinking three minutes of dancing wasn’t going to kill you.

that could’ve been us…forever

Well, at some point it must have clicked, and you realized what I actually asked.  You broke our contact, and while very sweet about it, proceeded to stomp all over my heart.  I can’t quote you on what you actually said, because I was too busy trying not to cry, but I think it was along the lines of a bumbled, “I’m really sorry…I thought you just wanted to dance…I don’t want to go out with anyone this summer.”  Thanks for putting me down easy.  Of course, when you went out with JR (not the dude from Dallas) later that week, it stung a bit.

Was it the braces? Freckles? Did I have bad breath?  Oh, I know, you just couldn’t stand going out with someone who was better at tennis than you.  Seriously, it’s not a big deal, we would have never worked in the long run.  Something tells me a long distance thing back in the mid 90′s between to teens would have ended badly.  I still love you…as a best friend. Ok I gotta stop this letter now, I think that last line marked my first supremely cheesy line.

I’ll dance with you anytime,

Me

*High Fidelity

17
Nov
10

it would be nice to think that since I was 14, times have changed.*

Dear Meghan,

I should state from the very start that I’m extremely grateful for what went down between the two of us for those amazing and gut-wrenching three minutes between us in the camp dancehall circa 1995.  If you hadn’t absolutely crushed me as a young teenager, we probably wouldn’t have the friendship we have today; which, as you must know, means a great deal to me.  However, that being said, I hated you with 100% of my soul for about two days.

It took an assload of courage for me to come up to you at that dance.  I was (my use of the past tense here is questionable) awkward, gangly, freckled, metallic (in the mouth region), but I will give myself some credit because I was the best tennis player at camp, as if I thought you might be impressed.  You, on the other hand, were/still are tall, hot, blonde, smart, sweet, southern belle who was the creme de la creme of the female camper population.  I’m pretty sure all of the younger male counselors wanted to ask you to dance that night as well, but apparently their jobs were too important.  Questionable decision on their part…crap food, crap pay, crap cabin…I think I would have sacrificed that for a dance with you.

There in lies the problem though, I didn’t need to sacrifice anything, for a dance anyway.  I sauntered up to you, actually that is complete bullsh*t; I walked timidly up to you, looked up into your eyes since you were already taller than me, and asked you out, and you surprisingly said, “yes.”.  It should be entirely clear to you now, I ASKED YOU OUT.  As in – Do you want to go out with me? Or, do you want to go steady with me? Or, as the old timers might say, may I court you so we can go necking in the woods later?  Unfortunately, you heard none of these.

What you heard, perhaps over some awesome mid 90s song like “Return of the Mack” or “Runaround,” was, “Will you dance with me?”  Well of course you said yes, we were relatively good friends and a dance was absolutely harmless.  We were like 13 or 14, it wasn’t as if I was going to try and make out with you like I did with this broad.  And so, we danced for a couple of minutes.  Me thinking that this was the beginning of what I was sure would result in my first boob grab sometime down the road; you thinking three minutes of dancing wasn’t going to kill you.

that could've been us...forever

Well, at some point it must have clicked, and you realized what I actually asked.  You broke our contact, and while very sweet about it, proceeded to stomp all over my heart.  I can’t quote you on what you actually said, because I was too busy trying not to cry, but I think it was along the lines of a bumbled, “I’m really sorry…I thought you just wanted to dance…I don’t want to go out with anyone this summer.”  Thanks for putting me down easy.  Of course, when you went out with JR (not the dude from Dallas) later that week, it stung a bit.

Was it the braces? Freckles? Did I have bad breath?  Oh, I know, you just couldn’t stand going out with someone who was better at tennis than you.  Seriously, it’s not a big deal, we would have never worked in the long run.  Something tells me a long distance thing back in the mid 90′s between to teens would have ended badly.  I still love you…as a best friend. Ok I gotta stop this letter now, I think that last line marked my first supremely cheesy line.

I’ll dance with you anytime,

Me

*High Fidelity

14
Nov
10

suitor number 3, is your kiss like a soft breeze, a firm handshake or a jackhammer?*

Dear Bride-to-be,

Yeah, that’s right, I can’t make up a name for you that’s similar to your real name as I do with all my other letters.  Why? Because we were never formally introduced.  Though given our situation, I guarantee you will remember me.  Oh, if this were a real letter, and not a blogl, I’d probably put some kind of warning on the envelope like, “for your eyes only.”  However, two things come to mind – 1. it’s not a real letter and 2. given your actions during our brief encounter, I doubt you are still married anyway.

So, any idea who I am yet? Possibly not, I guess in the full week leading up to your wedding there might have been at least half a dozen other guys you made out with in addition to me, not to mention it was 4 years ago.  Hell, you might have even slept with half a dozen or so guys.  But to clear things up a bit, we were at a dance club/meat market, I was extremely inebriated (the only way I can survive at a club is if I am going to at least ‘brown out’), and I bought you and your bridal party a round of shots.  Literally, that is how we met. I was at the bar, as were you and your crew, I saw your sash about being a future bride and thought I’d be nice.  Turns out you really thought I was nice.

You dragged me to the dance floor and insisted we dance together to thank me for the shot.  Here’s the thing – I did not see this coming at all.  I did not buy you and your friends a shot in the hopes that we’d go bump & grind to some lameass song.  You were, probably still are, really effing hot.  Simply put, you were kind of out of my league.  So in my inebriated state you backin’ that ass up into me, even though you were a week away from getting hitched (at some point while at the bar, you told me your wedding date and that you were a law student), was pretty sweet.  Then when we were dancing face to face things were getting kinda hot, and despite my better judgment I just went in for the makeout.  You were totally into it.  For about five awesome minutes, we danced and kissed (with tongue) at a meat market club dance floor.  I legitimately thought I was back at my college frat house.  Then your friends finally decided to act like friends and dragged you away.  End of story.

bring back any memories? probably lots...

However, I do have some lingering questions.  1. Are you still married to the guy you were marrying a week after our steamy make out session? 2. Is he a better kisser than I am? 3. Why do I only meet hot, future professionals that want to make out with me at 1am when I can barely remember my own name, who are engaged? 4. Was I special? Or did you make out with lots of other dudes your last week of freedom? 5. Do I need to create a new category of letters?  Because this certainly isn’t a very ‘adult’ like story.

Hope your (ex)husband never reads this,

Mc-Shot Buyer

ps – Questions #1 & #3 are not being asked because I want to somehow meet you again…while you are both hot and probably smart (given the lawyer thing), you are also most likely a slut.  And while education and attraction are important qualities I seek, slutiness is not.

*Mallrats




Letters sent…

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