Conspiracy of One: Two Days Until…That Day
Riddle me this, riddle me that: who’s afraid of the…forget it, never did like that joke, but Jim Carrey was genius.
Well, Valentine’s Day is about to come and go, but since it hasn’t, let’s take a look at my efforts: none. Are you serious? None? Damn. This year I’ve really outdone myself in simplicity I’d say.
First and foremost, I’m having some flowers delivered to mother, so that will result in a nice dinner sooner than later. I have to pick up flowers for Amy, who I hope is progressing nicely. Lastly, I was cheap and decided to steal two Starbucks on-the-spot congratulatory notes. The story of both of them are starkly different…one’s positive, and one’s negative, like a battery charge.
I shot Raquel a card while we engaged in salsa. It was more nice than sarcastic, at least in her belief; she was really touched by it. Made me happy, although I may have seemed a bit overzealous because I couldn’t keep my eyes off her the rest of the night. She likes her steak rare, while I prefer well done and smothered in A-1. Honestly, I eat steak sauce with everything. Well, that was the good, and now here’s the bad.
A girl named Christine happens to be in the class. We got off on the wrong foot in the beginning. I tried to make amends. She didn’t even want to read my note, which was basically an apology, something I don’t hand out often. She refused it, and in the middle, I basically said “fuck it” and left her, because dancing with someone who’s very uncomfortable with you is, for a lack of better words, uncomfortable. Unfortunately, uncomfortable became the theme of the moment as I accidentally shut off the lights while leaning on the wall. So, she took me back and we finished the song, but after that, no mas. I think if I’m attracted to another Christine, my first objective is to sprint away. Not walk. Sprint.
Lastly, I spent an inordinate amount of time dancing with Valerie, a friend from previous classes. We probably danced five or six songs. It was fun, she has a really tight closed position, and well, there’s undeniable chemistry. The thing about chemistry is that there’s no way to fake it; you can try, but true chemistry trumps any ersatz any day of the week. There’s a subtle gleam in the eyes, a calm tug at the palm, comfortable interaction between forearm and side boob…well, you know. Chemistry rocks, no matter the differences. She was small, but damn, I can’t match that presence with everyone. Funny story: she has a huge truck. She’s all of maybe five feet, yet drives an imposing Nissan pickup. I scratched my head after that one.
Must outlive the addage “familiarity breeds contempt.” Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Rob D “Clubbed to Death”