The Antichrist of Salsa

So, the gang’s back together again. Part of me is overjoyed. Part of me is saying “damn, that was quick.” Another part of me is saying that maybe my personal life shouldn’t be so damn predictable. All of me is saying “put down the bottle, at least until you move out.” But seriously, my circle is back to being where it was before the Infinite Crisis struck. On the home front, I accurately predicted a touchdown to piss off the naysayers. On the school front, I reminded an ally that I can make one choice and change the future for the worst. On both fronts, they reminded me my choice in women sucks major royal donkey balls. With friends like these, who needs…

I feel the need to slightly grow up a bit, and by that, I mean preparing my exodus to move out. I anticipate sometime early next semester, although I’m not sure moving out is necessarily a benefit. After all, I come home to sleep, and that’s practically it. Even if I lived in Long Beach, I’m sure the only advantage would be booze, booze, and more booze. While inebriation is a great noble goal in itself, I prefer other vices.

Grad school…grrr. Makes my head hurt. I’m not sure whether the workload in grad school is overkill, or sitting through 75 bad speeches did the trick. The semester comes to a merciful close in a couple of short weeks. During the break, I intend to make a voyage back to Ciderville and pick up on a few excesses I’ve deprived myself. Namely, my Mustang doesn’t feel like home yet. I feel January will be a month where I can get a few necessary tasks done…or something like that.

Speaking of feeling like home, Prince William is marrying his girlfriend of a few years, Kate. While reading upon this, I learned that her sister shares the first name of my former flame, while the princess-in-waiting’s first name is really my former flame’s middle name. Yenno, I’d kill for the days when I wouldn’t think nearly that hard about my romantic follies. But it’s not truly a surprise, considering this season last year was when all of the action happened. I drove by the lighthouse at the Pike and got misty-eyed because of where I stood with her and where we stood afterwards. Last Thanksgiving, I made the rounds to her place, then went 200 miles in the other direction to dine with my family. Gotta love the memories. I really miss not feeling alone and being a winner for once. At the least, I still have my health and friends. And a Mustang that needs to be fitted for my use. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Starship “We Built This City”

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Reflecting on Pippa

One year ago today, I walked into the Social Dance Party flocked by entourage. The goal was simple, yet understated: do not leave the floor alone. That did not seem like too much of a leap, considering I had planned for this night to go perfectly. Well, as perfectly as a half-baked plan could. Tonight, the Shaman of Sexy was going to make his debut, embodying the talent studied from the past and the confidence of entitlement borne of being born talented. This was the night Anthony Guy shed his mortal form and took his rightful place as the new deity. Somewhere along the way, I met Pippa, and that’s where life as I knew it permanently changed.

The story’s been told multiple times to multiple people, but I relish it because it signaled a new direction. I had been shot down by countless girls over the years, and I started to show cracks in the armor. The medium, of course, was salsa, as it always seems to be. One girl was rejected because of my realist attitude towards courtship and dancing; another was flipped off and abandoned on the floor. I’m sure there were other microevents that led me to feel the way I do about these matters, especially Victoria’s successful rewiring of my future goals. I’m sure I missed the boat with Victoria as some people have pointed out, and that was a mistake that had to happen, because there probably was not another way. I met Pippa while teaching salsa at SOAR, but that was months ago; now, she’s back with a vengeance because I couldn’t remember her name. The most popular guy at the party being harassed by a nobody…a nobody in a red dress. Keep your options open, said Skylar. I kept my options open, got her number, switched over to unlimited texting, and that’s where the saga began. We dated adventurously for a month. In that month, I learned what it meant to be at my happiest. Feeling loved is hard to describe, since my mother has always shown me love. However, romantic love is a bit different…I’m not sure if it was romantic love, but it was certainly different from what my mother showed me, which is a good thing because incest is not approved. When we were out, this girl fought for my attention, which she always had. I directed my contemporaries to handle her with care, or else they would incur my wrath. The Shaman of Sexy captured power, and used it to make sure his significant other was comfortable. I loved Pippa, and didn’t hesitate to show it. She was more present than the sleeves I wore.

Things were not always great between us; every other day we’d fight and make up. Someone said it was like I experienced a marriage within a span of a month. Some of it was her fault. Some of it was mine. All of it was us being unable to figure each other out. This story doesn’t have a happy ending, considering the restraining order and the idea that she’s actively erased any reminder of last year. I can’t truly speak from her side, because of the lack of contact. On my end, things have been more successful materialistically, but I know that’s due to overcompensation for my horrible personal end. Sure, I’m a grad student, but I walk a campus that pretty much beat the shit out of me with memories of days past. I bought a new Mustang, partially because I still saw Pippa every time I drove the Malibu. I still have my salsa crew, but the magic and interconnectedness isn’t as solid as it was. I get the idea that everyone around me has a personal life that appears promising, moreso than mine. Sure, I can go to the salsa club (as I did Wednesday) and light the world on fire, but it’s all for show. Oh, and grad school’s kicking my ass. The money, the power, the privilege…none of that is quite the same as a girl clutching you in the tightest bearhug because she likes being around you, because she’s scared, or because you bought her a stuffed penguin to help her sleep at night.

Today is exactly the one year anniversary of when Anthony Guy began life knowing about Pippa Bowen. He still loves her, and thinks of her every day in between work, classes, and heavier things.

Social Capital: A Tale

I’m not a fan of being wrong; however, I have learned in recent years that there is honor in admitting to being wrong. Today’s world (at least here in the States United) requires us to be politically correct at all given moments, to not make mistakes, and other such pleasantries that are beyond reason. After a few such miscues and a much needed seclusion, I figured I’d come back to play by the rules. Yeah, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or expect me to let a dirty joke slide without consequence. But hey, there’s a new episode of 16 & Pregnant

Fair enough, the show doesn’t cure all ills, but let’s start with the good. Last Friday was the semiannual Social Dance Party, and I learned quickly that I would be in charge for one night only, since Skylar was sick. That was a shame, considering that he did a commendable job organizing the show. The same morning, I had a GTA meeting that preceded drinks and cheap happy hour food. I liked that, but then the show had to begin. My attire was completed at the last moment, and it was a hit. Blue over white, sequined shoes, and the United States Championship. For that night, I had complete social capital. Notably, I squandered it yet again because leading comes first, and pleasure is optional. Friday had sentimental worth to me, since I did not expect to be there. Not only was I there, but I directed traffic as foretold by the prophecy. A funny side story: the girl who served me the restraining order was there behind me as I lead the line dances. I was stunned, but meh, we were never on bad terms. However, it turns out a certain girl truly has isolated herself from her freshman year events. That saddens me, because I couldn’t throw a year’s worth of identity and shenanigans away if I tried. I still have my thoughts about the matter, and realized part of my recovery involved trading the Malibu for the Mustang. A professor taught me the power of my subconscious mind. She also taught me that stoners are unintentionally hilarious.

On the bad side of things, I’m uncertain if I want to continue the trek known as teaching. I’ve learned that my teaching ego is quite fragile, and being politically correct is not nearly the same as being right. I’m not a fan of students asking me if they could leave early, use their phones in class, or questioning my logic when all they needed to do was pay attention. There are other ways to get my attention, of course. One prominent way is rubbing a mistake in my face when the situation should be quashed. Sportsmanship lets victory and defeat alike lay in the annals of history; being a bitch involves, well, being a bitch. Someone was a bitch to me. Someone will get a nasty email in a couple of years when my affiliation is no longer a concern. Simply put, I made a critical error when grading, yet at the same time, I honed up to it. However, this student would not let the matter go, and sought to embarrass me again. However, I was not embarrassed, but irked. Whatever happened to being careful with whom you associate with, because you know who grades your papers. Death to political correctness; life to instructional privilege. An apology without heart is still an apology, on the surface. I wish someone would throw a fit by saying I’m insincere. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Sick Puppies “Maybe”

Before Masquerade

Tomorrow is the Social Dance Party, an event I’ve frequented every year I’ve been in college. My first go-around was the only time I did not have the central role, although I had a significant role. Ever since, I’ve been the little engine that could, for better or worse. I didn’t anticipate being at this party because grad school at CSULB wasn’t always in my plans. Considering the difficulties I had with Pippa and Skylar, I was certainly looking forward to the last show being the last show. Now, the gang is roughly back together, and we’re putting this party on not just as business, but for pride. We encountered some difficulties and a rough economy, but nothing could have driven us more to provide the greatest entertainment vehicle on Earth. The plan is simple: Zakiya provides the scene, Skylar writes the script and provides the soundtrack, and I direct traffic. Simple enough? Yes. This time, a grittier version of my character will be present. Of course, I mean there will be no wig. I’ll pack the United States Title, because the champion cannot arrive without arriving suited and booted. With that said, time for a soliloquy.

I ran into a professor today that brought back memories that have been colored by maturity and longing. She asked me how I was doing scholastically, professionally, and emotionally. The key is the last state, because she was the only professor I told about my situation with Pippa. I offered that I couldn’t focus on that because grad school has made heavier things (like my social life) unimportant. Truth is, I still think about her, which is compounded by occasionally seeing her on my way to teach. At last fall’s party, the whirlwind romance started, and sputtered to a close in April. There’s few things I’d want more than reconciliation with the girl considered to be my first girlfriend. Instead, I’ve settled for proctoring tests and midnight burrito runs that end with funny stories. Perhaps in another time, I’ll find that piece to complete my puzzle. At the moment, I have a belt to shine and a title to be defended. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – Hail the Villain “Runaway”