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Waiting for the weekend.

I knew exactly what I was getting into when I signed up for a class called Ballroom Dancing, but it didn't hit me until I was actually standing in the classroom. What it essentially boiled down to was that ballroom dancing combined two of my absolute least favorite things in a bi-weekly, hour-long session: dancing and social interaction. Every Tuesday and Thursday for an hour I have to not only meet and make small talk with complete strangers but also dance with them. And then I have to remember names and faces and details and all kinds of terrible things so that I don't constantly ask them what their names are. And I can't fake it, either. Girls don't respond well when you refer to them as "dude" or "man." I think the fact that it forces me to step so far out of my comfort zone is largely why I signed up for the course in the first place. It's good for me, or so I'm sure I will be told at some point. I also signed up for it because I'm such a good fucking friend!

And so, after my first foray into dancing, I came home and engaged in some anti-social activity.
So now I feel pretty okay.

Comments

Anonymous said…
You're such a good fucking friend, you nigg nogg
August 30, 2009 at 12:33 PM
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