I don’t dance. You will never ever see me dance. Ever. It simply will not happen unless maybe it’s to save my life or the life of someone I care about. Even then, that person better hope that when they went down to Starbucks earlier, they brought me a treat.
This fact seems to boggle and even offend many people. They are boggled because I was a ‘ballerina’ for some 13 years. Yes folks, I flounced around on my tippy toes on stage in front of bright lights wearing too much makeup and I LOVED IT. I LOVED ballet. It’s the perfect activity for type-A’s like me. You can actually be perfect in ballet. There IS a perfect pirouette, there IS a perfect port a bras, you can do a perfect grand jete, the chance to be completely right is there. That appeals to total freaks like me. Or it did, I’ve actually gotten much less anal retentive over the last few years.
People who don’t even know me will come up to me and say, ‘You were a dancer, weren’t you?’ It happens every few months, not too often, but it happens. They claim I walk like a dancer. Whatever that means. I used to live at the studio, seven days a week, turning down all sorts of other things cuz I had dance. I was good at it too. Mostly because if I’m not good at something, I quit immediately. My group won all kinds of gold hardware. I adored being on stage. Everyone, look at ME! Hahahaha, you can’t do THIS, can you? Clap for me, you uncoordinated monkeys, clap!!
Unfortunately, ballet did some major damage to my body. Pretty much every move you make from your very first plie is completely unnatural positioning for your body. You are misaligning almost everything. It’ll catch up to you folks, especially when you eventually put all of your weight onto your freaking toes. I was forced to quit due to knee problems, two ripped (read, completely destroyed and mangled) quads and the demands of university. Pffffft. Turns out university was totally NOT worth it, but whatever.
So anyhow, I loved to dance…..ballet. This doesn’t translate into loving to dance in general. I went to two school dances in my whole life, one in grade five and one in grade seven. I skipped every single high school dance. Everyone told me I’d regret it, I’d look back and realized that I passed up something I can’t go back to. They were wrong. I don’t regret it. I would have regretted it if I’d gone, and had to stay there, knowing I’d be having way more fun anywhere else.
I just don’t get it. I don’t understand it. I’m glad for people who do like to dance, to each their own and all that. I do not gain even a glimmer of pleasure from standing in front of others, flailing my body around in unchoreographed motions, trying to attract attention to myself whilst being unable to hear my own thoughts due to the music blasting into my ears. I don’t see the fun of being crammed around other flailing, probably inebriated individuals. I don’t want people to be staring at my ‘moves’. I don’t want uninvited ‘gentlemen’ trying to dance with me, cuz they figure they can get away with it on a dance floor. I don’t want to be unable to talk to my friends, and instead be reduced to bouncing around in their general vicinity.
Even at a more ‘refined’ gathering, like a wedding, I don’t dance. In my opinion, absolutely everyone looks like a fucking retard when they dance. Yeah, I said it. They all look like they’re trying so damned hard to fit in and smile and be all, ‘Look! I’m conforming to societal pleasures! I’m moving about in a fashion that indicates my great personality! I have friends! I’m trying to eminate what I’ve seen people on TV and in movies do! I shall smile while I gyrate and tell myself that this is living at it’s best!!!!’
Okay, okay. I KNOW that some people are going to be all ‘dancing is fun! yay!’ or be offended at my thoughts about people who do dance. That’s just what I think when I see people dancing. I think they all look really lame and pathetic and only superficially happy. They all look like they’re only doing it cuz everybody else is doing it, but that’s some sort of sick feedback cycle. I find people to look sad when they dance, if you really look at them. They look degraded to me. Like they’ve had to lower themselves into this pit of others, writhing about in an attempt to attract others or to be able to say, ‘Yeah, I went dancing’ at work on Monday, so their colleagues will be impressed by their social calendar.
People will try to literally DRAG me onto the dance floor. They quickly learn that this is an unintelligent idea. I will threaten their lives, yell loudly and insult their mama in ways unimaginable.
Everyone always says, ‘What? You don’t want to have FUN or something? God Talea, loosen up!’
No. I do like fun. But I have a definition of fun which probably 93% of the population doesn’t understand. I am a loner. An introvert. I like to read and knit and blog and sit and think and sleep and hang out in my house and do crosswords and blah blah blah. Most people think this isn’t fun. They think that this is pathetic and I will regret it one day, when my youth has passed me by and I haven’t one slutted myself up and waited in line at a club, to pay some big scary black guy $10 to pass through the doors and onto a half-lit dance floor filled with too much perfume, too many hair products and not enough clothing on people who really could stand to lose some ‘jiggleage’ around their middle.
Please stop telling me it will be fun. Stop telling me that you can make it fun, that you used to have a friend who hated dancing too, but now she loves it. Good, I’m glad she does, cuz I hope everyone finds something they can do that they love.
For me, it won’t be dancing. Seriously, if I ever change my mind about marriage and get married one day, there will be no dance. I’ll think of something else everyone can do after they’ve eaten and drank on my dime. Maybe clean the place up, you money sucking leeches! Hahaha. I crack myself up.
P.S…..If I’ve pissed you off and you really love dancing, I’m sorry. I am. I’m glad you like it. But, as I’ve said a million times, it’s my blog. Please don’t bitch me out in the comments section, cuz I’ll either just delete you or I’ll respond with ‘it’s my blog. You are wrong.’
Now, go forth and comment. I love comments. I am now off to walk in a very serious, non-flailing manner with no rhythm whatsoever to the kitchen and find myself some food.