… and dance floor awkwardness.
It’s been three weeks since I came back to Beirut, and I wouldn’t lie if I said that I have partied every single day since I came back. I’ve been to pool parties, house parties, techno parties, psychedelic trance parties, minimal parties, r&b parties, hip-hop parties, gangster parties, dinner parties, etc. I’m 31 years old, and I have been to a lot of parties.
When we party in Norway we sit down and drink till we get completely shit faced. Then we go out. If we hadn’t done it like that we would have never ended up in a conversation with a stranger of the opposite sex. And I don’t know if it’s the climate that does it, but our joints seems to be locked into a system where they can only operate in calculated angular movements. That’s alright, if you are dancing to minimal electronic music where you can get away with jumping up and down, hitting the beat by accident every once in a while. (Everybody else is too shit faced to realize that you’re out of synch anyways.)
And I don’t know if I’m talking on the behalf of anybody but myself here, but when the DJ is playing psychedelic trance, or even worse, r&b or reggae, my body completely fails to respond to it by smoothly twisting its limbs in a way that goes well with that kind of music. And I don’t do drugs that makes me believe that I look über cool while forcing my body into some calculated mechanical “snake” moves.
I more often stand by the bar with a beer in my hand, nodding to the music, unless I’m drunk enough to jump up and down to music that you’re not really supposed to jump up and down to. Trying to synchronize these moves to the smooth moves of a beautiful lady in front of me is nearly impossible.
So there I find myself on the dance floor, dangerously sober and way too heavy from having overeaten on an over priced pizza that I had on a triple date with Matias and Adrian. In front of me, with her long dress and black hair, is the woman of my dreams orientally moving her body.
“Dancing is really important to me” she says, while I’m moving my dorky limbs un-rhythmically to the music, being way too conscious of my own body. “Yeah… well, you know… It’s not my kind of music” I awkwardly lie, shooting down a beer while ordering a new one. (If that stupid pizza hadn’t been so fucking expensive, I would have been able to afford some shots). So there I am, lost in a dangerous territory that I am no master of, stupidly penguining around looking for an exit plan.
Then I decide to tell this goddess – which is OMG so hot by the way – that I have to leave because I’m so totally tired and stuff. My master plan is to make it seem like I’M the one that’s hard to get! Ha! and hope to catch her on safer ground later. Quite satisfied by myself for having found a way out of the inferno, a loophole so to speak, I prepared myself to make my genius anti move. But before I got the opportunity to strike, she vanished before my eyes. Left alone, I waited for fifteen minutes before I left. Goddess = 10, Jorgo = 0.
But I like to party!