Freak Patrol

As a kid I took the obligatory dance lesson or two. Alright, I actually enjoyed going to ballet/tap class as a little kid and performing in recitals. Of course, I quit before I needed actual skills and talent to not look like a complete fool. But donning that little leotard and sparkly spankies was about the last time I didn’t feel utterly awkward dancing soberly. As I matured, so did my dancing style, until, inevitably it became fueled entirely by alcohol. Let’s take a look at its progression:

• In middle school, I was in complete shock when the cute, older 8th grade boy asked me, the awkward, dorky 6th grader to dance. Dancing at that time, for me, consisted of slowly shifting weight between left and right feet. And a chaperone still came over and told us to move at least 6 inches apart. Damn you, chaperone, you stunted by dance dreams.
  
• In high school, acquiring a date for homecoming or prom was much more of an anxiety-inducing task than the dance itself. My most memorable moment was during 10th grade homecoming. At dinner, I ate all my chicken fingers, as well as many of my dates’, like the classy lady I am. I guess they didn’t settle well and I remember rushing to the bathroom towards the end of the night. After projectile vomiting repeatedly, my mom had to pick me up from the “after-party” (aka watching TV at our friend’s house) and I couldn’t partake in the sleepover. Gah! I wasn’t even drinking!
• College = alcohol and was basically just a blur of drunken dance parties. Which have somehow extended into the adult world.

Which begs the question….where do we draw the line between the classy and the trashy? Sure, dancing at a bar, even as a postgraduate, is still generally considered socially acceptable. Go out with your friends, have a few drinks, jump around wildly when you hear Journey and get your groove on.

However, there is always that person that crosses the line. When, I ask, did it become appropriate to dance, squatting in your seat, at the table of a sports bar? (I don’t even mean dancing beyond wasted on TOP of the table, I might even give you a pass for that). And in what universe would anyone choose to dance, alone, up against a wall, or as one onlooker described it: f*ing the wall. Not only is this uncomfortable for the wall, it’s distressing to observe.

This is what we call inappropriate dancing. It goes beyond “grinding,” or “freak dancing,” if you will. It’s downright inappropriate. Which is why I propose we (when I say we, I mean all of society’s appropriate dancers) implement a dance contract as this school did.

According to the principal, “it got to the point where it was simulated sex on the dance floor, and we needed to make a stand on it.” Amen! It’s time to follow their lead and implement their policy: dance contracts.

Anyone attending a school dance is required to sign the contract to agree not to dance inappropriately. They wear wrist bands and are monitored by the Freak Patrol (I am not making this up, though I wish I had). After one freaky- deaky dancing incident, your band is snipped (that’s what she said). After the 2nd warning, you can dance your skanky butt on home. You are O-U-T.

So, how about it? Due to the actions of a few unfortunate souls, dance contracts may be necessary to attend adult social functions. Flash your ID, sign a contract and slap on that wrist band. If you follow my lead and “dance like a white girl” (as my friend so lovingly complimented me this weekend), your wrist band will always be intact. And we shall put an end to inappropriate dancing for good. Thankyouverymuch.

(Oh, and I love the one parent at the end of the video who adamantely disagrees with the whole concept. Totally an ex-stripper.)

The Bachelor: Bananarama

As I sit here, watching The Bachelor: The Women Tell All Episode, I can’t help but wonder what the room would look like if all the guys I’ve dated were thrown in there, reminiscing about their experiences with me. Let’s be clear here—I haven’t had the most successful dating life. After a long-term relationship that ended pretty badly, I’ve had to endure the dating scene of D.C., which has been interesting, to say the least. There have been all types, with “weird/awkward” probably being the common thread (I don’t really fall completely out of this definition either). But between the wanna-be-poet who told me about writing a memoir of his grandfather's sexual escapades (on a first date, didnt feel the need for a second) and the man with the unnatural obsession with cooking oils, I've met a few odd birds in my day. Let’s imagine Chris Harrison interviewing some of these fellows. We’ll begin with a unique, sarcastic whip who shall be known as Bananarama

Chris: How did you and our fair lady [I’m the fair lady] meet?

Bananarama: Check it. My boy was in town and although we may be in our mid-to-upper 30s, we decided, bro, gotta hit up Adams Mo. First, I had to be sure to spike my hair and throw on my fave Ed Hardy. Ditch this corporate lawyer shit. So, we’re out, chillen, hitting up that hot spot Fish Bowl when I see her walk in.

Chris: I see, so you made your smooth move and were able to have some quality get-to-know-you time at the bar?

Bananarama: Oh yeah dude. I mean it was probably quarter after 1 when I made the move, had already thrown back a few jack and cokes. I threw out my usual “Yo, girl you are so gorgeous!”

Chris: And that did it for you? She didn’t roll her eyes and as soon as she saw you approaching and thought to herself “Please, dear god, don’t let this loser in a too-tight-tshirt come talk to me, my friend dragged me out here tonight and I’m just not in the moood”.

Bananarama: Nah man, not at all. Then I turned on my lawyer charm and made some semi-intelligent statements.

Chris: That probably caught her off guard. Considering the outfit and all.

Bananarama: Yeah, and then it got better when her friend left her stranded there. Ideally, I like to get the youngins’ alone and vulnerable so they will have no choice but to give me their numbers. When she realized she lost her friends, I knew it was a green flag.

Chris: Alright, so you get her number and then help her find her friends and part ways?

Bananarama: C’mon Chris. Don’t you know how to play the game? I put her in my phone under my future fiancé. Flash a few photos of my "nieces" and lay it on thick. Girls totally dig this, and don't find it forward or weird at all. Then, knowing full well that the bar is closed and won’t let us back in, I tell her we should go outside and look for her friends.

Chris: Creepy.

Bananarama: Exactly! (Big smile spreads across his face.) But damnit, if she didn’t end up finding her friends. I told her to come with me to find my “friend” at McDonalds (aka my apartment) but she stuck with her posse.

Chris: McDonalds was your first mistake. Nobody can resist Jumbo Slice. But I digress. What happened next?

Bananarama: Well, of course I gave her a goodnight kiss- figured I’d give it one more shot. I had to try something after the odd expression she gave me after I told her my age. I think the gelled hair really knocks about 4.5 years off my age.

Chris: Hmm, yes. I’d agree she was a bit taken aback by your age. But who are we to judge? Creep on my friend. According to our cameras though, it appears she gave you what we like to call the “side-cheek” when you went in for that kiss?

Bananarama: She was just temporarily blinded by my sweet metallic shirt. It happens sometimes. I forgave her though.

Chris: So thoughtful of you. Well, time for a commercial break. When we return to The Bachelorette: Re-tards of the Dating World, we’ll get more into Bananarama’s first official date.

Stay tuned.

(In case you are interested, this shirt is called "Deeper Shades of Soul king Centaur Skull Fleur Gold Men's Short Sleeve Polo Shirt in Tan." Oddly, this describes Bananarama to a T.)

What Would Johnny Weir Do?

True friendship: Going out for your friend’s birthday and missing the most anticipated, juicy men’s figure skating competition of all time. That was my predicament this week when I realized my friend’s birthday celebration would be disrupting my plans of once again, sitting on my couch, reading live blogs and watching the show. Luckily (or sadly), we went to our “regular” bar and I was able to sway the powers that be to put ice skating on as many TVs as possible. In my post-couple drink/couple saki bomb confusion I couldn’t understand why they were showing skiing, snowboarding and every other imaginable sport except skating. Wasn’t this supposed to be the most dramatic Olympic event!?

By the time 10 rolled around and it finally aired, I gave up any hopes of actually hearing the broadcast and settled for just watching distantly. Unfortunately, my viewing was interrupted by the behavior of my friends and their dramatics. Someone makes out with someone else’s crush and all hell breaks loose. (Yes, my friend was turning 26, going on 16.) But this isn’t surprising coming from my incestuous “we’ve-all-made-out-with-each-other” kickball team friends.

Once that shitstorm settled I was able to catch just a few performances: Johnny Weir, Evan Lysacek and Pluscenko. Now, I am a fan, but even I don’t understand what the hell is going on without Scott Hamilton’s insightful commentary. So I saw Weir’s flawless performance and saw the joyful outburst of Lysacek. But then I saw that crazy Russian land his QUAD, and I knew it was all over. I sank in my chair until I realized, in fact, all was not lost. USA had claimed victory for the first time since Brian Boitano. USA! I also made friends with a fellow Johnny Weir fanatic. I can only hope I run into that classy fellow again.

Somehow, yesterday, I also learned that I’ve been out of the What Would Brian Boitano Do?-loop a la South Park. (Update: He now has a show on the Foot Network called What Would Brian Boitano Make? ) My roommate schooled me in this last night and it made my gchat convo from earlier in the day make a lot more sense. We’ve also created a new name to call someone who is….awesome?:

In reference to questioning how to deal with our friends’ crazy drunk antics and aftermath….

g: what would johnny weir do?….
g: id concur. no Jweir but he'd do in a pinch
me: hahah nobody can compare to jweir
g: he is such a jweir
me: new phrase that we must include in our vernacular
g: deal

Later…

me: are you seriously drinking tonight
g: i told my coworker id booze with him
me: ah, you're a beast. i'm going home and napping lol
g: i should. my minds telling me no...but my body
me: hahah my mind and my body scream no. WWJWD
g: too funny. you are being a jweir about all of this
me: i thought we agreed jweir was awesomeness

Take-aways for above exchange: 1) Clearly I got no work done yesterday. 2) We are still working out the kinks in our definition of jweir. WWJWD?

Quad or Bust

I get that people mock men’s figure skating. Really, I understand that, based on some of their—how shall I put it—outlandish outfits, mockery is inevitable really. But, as I stated earlier, I love watching the skating. And it truly requires amazing talent and athleticism to perform at this level. This year, the men’s skating is the most exciting because the US actually has a couple contenders. Granted, they are going up against this Russian dude who is scary good and can do a QUAD. If you want to play a drinking game and get smashed during the Olympics, here is one: Drink every time they say quad during the men’s figure skating. “Plucshenko’s landed the QUAD/triple craziness!” “But Lysacek may not have the QUAD, but he’s got the total package” “Can you win the gold without the QUAD?!?”, “That guy fell 3 times, good thing he didn’t attempt the QUAD”…you get the point.

Anyways, while the skating itself was interesting to watch, I stumbled across people who were live blogging/twittering it. This greatly enhanced my experience watching an already entertaining event. And if you don’t enjoy the men’s competition, find a humorous blog, grab some beer and you will. Ah the power of social media.

A couple observations about last night:

• NBC made Pluschenko (Russian-gold-QUAD man) out to look, uh, a little crazy in their pre-program interview/Russian dictator statue montage. I mean, sure the man is undoubtedly cocky and a trash talker, but he’s allowed, I suppose. He can do the QUAD AHHH.
  
• France’s Brian Joubert is HOT. Of course I immediately Wikipedia-ed him. Found this interesting little tidbit. Keep in mind this dude does wear sequined outfits for a living. Just sayin’…. “Joubert has been considered somewhat of a heartthrob in his native country, France. This reputation has been contributed to by Joubert's short relationship with former Miss France, Lætitia Bléger. He later brought a lawsuit against Bléger for 40,000 Euros for insinuating that he was homosexual and that their relationship was arranged to hide this.”
  
• Canada’s hopeful Patrick Chan didn’t do that great, but he is still super cute! Come from behind kid.


• Johnny Weir reminds me of a gay Edward Scissorhands. I’m a fan.


• Some dude, don’t even remember his name, wore a scary, sparkly skeleton costume. I understand wanting to present a complete presentation, outfit and all, but really dude? This was just hideous, even for this.


• My roommate walked in when Evan Lysacek was skating. Here was our interaction. Roomie: “His outfit looks like a Lady Gaga ripoff” Me: “Um, his costume is tame compared to the others!” Roomie walks away like I’m crazy. (Good job Evan!)


• To the other American, Jeremy Abbott – better luck next time. And by next time, I mean in four long, long years.

So those were some of the highlights. Check out this hilarious blog that I followed during the broadcast for more in-depth analysis. I’m sure she will be doing it again Thursday.

QUAD.

Sweetest Love Affair In All of Sports

The Olympics always get to me. While I love the swimming and gymnastics that come with the summer games, I’ve always been the biggest fan of the figure skating during the winter Olympics. I remember watching competition after competition as a little girl. I was a fan during the days of Kristi Yamaguchi, Nancy Kerrigan, Brian Boitano, Kurt Browning and Scott Hamilton. I thought I was Kristi Yamaguchi’s biggest fan. Yes, I had a poster. Yes, I wrote her a fan letter. Yes, I brought flowers to her on Stars on Ice. But enough with my obsession. I even took ice skating lessons. After breaking my wrist, I realized ice skating wasn’t my calling. But I still love watching it.

I just finished watching the pairs skating, and again, I am in aw by the beauty and power of this sport. And I love seeing the pairs that are actual pairs in real life. In honor of Valentine’s Day this past weekend I stumbled across this article with some of the best on-and-off the ice figure skating pairs.

My most vivid memory of a real life pair were Russian gold medalists Ekaterina Gordeeva and Sergei Grinkov. They were and are arguably still regarded by some of as the best pair team of all time. And then they fell in love in real life.

"They were partners in the sweetest love affair in all of sports. They were a real-life Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers. Only better. No credits rolled across the screen at the end of their eye-pupping performance. No cameras and lights were broken down and taken to another place. The greatest pair in pair skating was a total pair, 24 hours a day, every day..." Sports Illustrated, December 4, 1995

Look at them. They are both GORGEOUS! And they had a beautiful little daughter Daria. I remember them performing with Stars on Ice when I was young. And then, tragically, Grinkov died suddenly from a heart attack at the age of 28. Apparently Gordeeva has happily remarried (the'98 men's gold medalist!) . But their story always comes to mind as I watch pair skaters.

I'm Back!

I’ve been a bad bloggy. I started this blog about a year ago because I loved reading blogs and wanted one all my own. It was supposed to focus on books and the publishing industry. I started with good intentions, but as the warmer months settled in, my life got crazy and busy. The blog started straying from books and publishing—to be honest—these weren’t the most important things in my life. And some of the posts became a pain, rather than a fun and open place for me to express my inner voice.

So I stopped completely at some point. But I miss this blog. I thought I could define my life and interests into a tidy little compartment. But if the past year has taught me anything, it is that this is far from the truth. I’ve learned so much about myself, my interests and life in general in the past year. And that’s what I want to share in this blog. I still love books, and always will. But I’m also becoming very interest in environmental issues. I have grown to love the city of D.C. and the group of friends I am blessed to know. I even have some (alright, a lot) of funny, and sometimes, sad dating stories. I want to share all of this so that one day, I can look back, remember and hopefully laugh, at this exciting time of my life. Welcome back to Between the Pages.

It's a Living Book

I stole this from another blog...but had to share:

"It's a living book, this life; it folds out in a million settings, cast with a billion beautiful characters, and it is almost over for you. It doesn't matter how old you are; it is coming to a close quickly, and soon the credits will roll and all your friends will fold out of your funeral and drive back to their homes in cold and still and silence. And they will make a fire and pour some wine and think about how you once were . . . and feel a kind of sickness at the idea you never again will be.

So soon you will be in that part of the book where you are holding the bulk of the pages in your left hand, and only a thin wisp of the story in your right. You will know by the page count, not by the narrative, that the Author is wrapping things up. You begin to mourn its ending, and want to pace yourself slowly toward its closure, knowing the last lines will speak of something beautiful, of the end of something long and earned, and you hope the thing closes out like last breaths, like whispers about how much and who the characters have come to love, and how authentic the sentiments feel when they have earned a hundred pages of qualification.

And so my prayer is that your story will have involved some leaving and some coming home, some summer and some winter, some roses blooming out like children in a play. My hope is your story will be about changing, about getting something beautiful born inside of you, about learning to love a woman or a man, about learning to love a child, about moving yourself around water, around mountains, around friends, about learning to love others more than we love ourselves, about learning oneness as a way of understanding God. We get one story, you and I, and one story alone. God has established the elements, the setting and the climax and the resolution. It would be a crime not to venture out, wouldn't it?"

- Donald Miller, Through Painted Deserts: Light, God, and Beauty on the Open Road