Every time I see a movie with dancing in it, I get a screaming itch to throw a bunch of money (that I don’t have) at that studio downtown…and do a totally unrealistic montage-sequence jump to basically: a professional ballroom goddess, overnight.
…I don’t give a right shit about “clubbing.” Screw crunking and all that crap. I wanna salsa and tango like a mutherfucking champ! I wanna waltz like a floating cloud, with someone who can actually hold a posture and take the lead. I wanna put 40,000 cha-cha steps on my Fitbit in a single night.
…It’s actually like a sorta starving-hungry-eating-your-guts sensation. I want it that much.
…Course, schedules and funds being what they are, it’s totally unrealistic. (Unlike my overnight, award-winning-prob’ly competition-level success.) But surely, somewhere there’s a place I can go on the odd night, to “fake it til I make it?” Some version of a ballroom club for a cover fee, who provides dancing partners, with? Surely, in a major Metro area like Seattle, there must be such a thing?
…The obsession, once reignited, will haunt me for days now…wondering how and where such a place might exist…and what it might be like, if I could get over social awkward terrors enough to dance with total strangers so incredibly intimately, and how kick-ass it would be…to dress up all fancy, doll up the face-parts, and live for at least one night, like all those supremely perfect dancing women in films, always do.
…I could prob’ly pull it off, for a time. I mean, I have for shows, across two hours or more. Why not grow the suspension of disbelief further…stretch it to the mark…milk a whole Cinderella-at-the-ball kinda thing outta it?
…Which is just one of the the several supremely strange “feminine” eccentricities I do actually possess.
…When it comes to music and a dance floor, the dude-chick dies, almost instantly. Sentimentality and sensuality completely takes over. That “wine me and dine me” gene suddenly pops out from the burried graveyard of lady-dust, and materializes…solid as a brick wall. Where it goes in between, I dunno…
…I mean in “life,” just TRY and dominate me…I’d ball-vice you before you’d finish your first sentence, or get fully in the room.
…But play a tango or throw Gene Kelly up there, or Fred n’ Ginger…or you know…Cyd Charisse and her 7-mile legs, and I’m instantly all about putting on a dress with a slit up to here and some supremely uncomfortable strappy heels…ready to be guided damn-near anywhere. Never in the rest of real life does that happen.
…Like a secret Achilles Heel, deal, or something…
…Which, if you were a dude on a non-rehearsal, non-show Friday night, wearing a suit n’ tie, who happened to know of such fairyland places, and wanted to use it against me sometime…?
…I am so totally good with that.
Just, you know.
FYI.
~D
