White Men Can't... Dance

     So, for the first time in my life (probably including all that Jeff 1.0 funny business), I went dancing. (not ballroom, but contemporary stuff)  I think a long time ago my driving therapist suggested I go dancing, for some odd unknown reason-- I pretty much blew off that suggestion.  But I got to thinking today, you know, it's not like I'm meeting people anywhere else that I talk to, since my classmates are almost all around a decade younger, mostly just finished high school.  So I walk down to this restaurant that has Friday night dancing.  I figure I'll just go and at least observe, see what it's all about.  So I walk in, and stand at the edge of the dance floor, idly twiddling my fingers while digging a hole through the floor with my toe, feeling somewhat like a schoolboy. (hey wait, I am  a schoolboy)  Seemingly, everybody's with a partner, no one's just out there by themselves, apparently you just don't do that.  Also kinda makes it hard for me to find a dance partner, since they appear to be all paired up.
     So feeling like a key without  a lock, I walked out, forget this.  I got about 100 feet, halfway down the grand staircase outside by the river, and stopped.  "Hmmm... well, you know... ah shoot, just go try again."  So I climb back up the staircase, walk in, stand by the edge of the dance floor for a few minutes, and come rapidly back to the same conclusion.  But I stay a bit longer, as there's this cutie dancing her fool head off-- I mean, she's my type, and she's got very fluid moves goin' on.  Yeah, but that's not gonna happen, at least after she sees my moves-- again, I'm not sure if I've ever danced before.
     So I leave again, and this time I make it down the staircase, along the river, and then halfway across the bridge I stop & have a long talk with myself.  "You know, this is what was wrong with Jeff 1.0.  Not putting himself out there."  Back to the dance floor I go.
     And this time, I figure, heck, it's not like I've got anything to lose.  So I step onto the floor and start "shakin' my groove thing." (I wish you could have seen it, it would have made your year)  And then, El Cutie-o (as she's known in Spain, La Cutie-o in France) come dancing over and says over the music "I've seen you before."
     Ooh, ah, cool, an on-ramp to conversation-- ever the endless repository of quick light-hearted wit, I cock my head jauntily to one side while I snappily retort with "Um, okay."  That'll melt her heartstrings...
     ... time passes, I continue what I call "dancing"...
     She works her way back over toward me.  "I know!  It was contra dancing!"  Drawing back on my humorous college days (at the uni, as the British say, right Janet?), I summon up a "Yes it was."  (I can't have a clue if it's true since you have about 50 dance partners in contra, but that's conceivable, who am I to argue and why would I, so yes it was indeed, oh yeah, glad you brought it up, have you seen any of the old gang?)
     ... time passes, I continue what I call "dancing", and I work my way over to her and in a break in the music, heartily squeak out "I don't have a clue how this works... can I see you again?"  To which the reply (heavily muffled by hip-hop) was EITHER "I'm seeing somebody" OR "I'd rather lie in pig vomit", you know how those two phrases sound exactly alike while "Ice Ice Baby" is playing loudly.  One of those two, but they amount to the same thing really, when you think about it-- I rolled a gutterball, but it's not necessarily the tenth frame. (for all the non-bowlers, that would be the end of the game)
     So, it mostly just signifies a drastic change-- I'm almost positive Jeff 1.0 wasn't a dancer.  But it's like anything else, keep trying different things until you find a solution to your problem, which peg will fit that hole.  Yeah, OK, so a dance floor is apparently not where to meet people to talk to, whoops, wrong peg, live & learn.  And at least I tried.  I may even try that again someday...