Sometimes when I drink I have a certain delusion that I can magically become the dancer I was being brought up to be. Even though I did not become a prima ballerina or a back up dancer in that
awesome silly Jessica Alba movie Honey, this delusion still hits me when I have had too many glasses of champagne. If I see someone dancing alone on the middle of a circle, a wave of confidence will come over me and I will have to enter into a dance battle.
Being the ultimate girly girl, anything with the word “battle” in it does not really suit me, but like I said after a few glasses of champagne if you asked me to do a pirouette or an electric slide I would totally do it. However, if you added “on a bar” to those dance moves you are seriously disturbed because even though I can be classy, I can be quite the klutz, especially in high heels.
It was not even a month ago I was having steaks and champagne with some friends and after about half a bottle I thought I was Michael Flatley’s sister (does he have one?) and entered into an irish jig around the rooftop pool. I also had this other grand delusion that it would then be a good idea to become an Irish dance teacher and show my friends how to do it even though I really only knew one step.
You see, when I entered into Irish dance in high school, I was fresh out of the stuffiness that was ballet. Stuffy as it was, the motions of ballet are FAR different than the ones in Irish dance. Ballet is all about flow and grace and the ever so slight pitter patter of feet across the dance floor. Irish dance is about remaining rigid and stomping on the ground like you wanted to kill someone. That being said, I was really in no position to guide anyone through any sort of dance step at that point. Even though they said I looked good doing the one set of steps I knew, they were all drinking champagne too, so I took that into perspective.
Here is a prime example of my delusions of dance battle grandeur. Last night while celebrating a birthday at a big, dark bar in West LA, there was a random stranger who was looking at me from across the room. He came up to me, smile on his face and you know what my foolish brain decided to say?
“I wanna start a battle”.
I said it with a smile on my face but when I finally realized what had come out of my mouth, I took a step back, still with a shy/foolish/OMG smile on my face. The guy took a step back, patted me on the shoulder and said “good luck with that”.
Lesson? If the first words out of your mouth to a stranger who seems interested in you from across the bar include the word “battle”, you might as well just walk away right away. Don’t even try. Just slowly walk away, go to the bathroom to re-apply your red lipstick and remove the word “battle” from your vocabulary for the rest of the night. Save the battles for friends, steaks and champagne. That doesn’t mean you have to stop dancing all together though.