45% Serious

I went out dancing the week before last with my right hand gal, and ever-indulgent witness to my kooky antics, Meg. It left me with some food for thought, but here are the glib parts first.

I witnessed the most awesome/awful dance off between a group of white guys of varied degrees of inebriation versus one talented black guy.

Meg: He smells like laundry.
Me: Yeah, spicy laundry.

Some guy elected to type, then show me a text, rather than talk over the cacophony. The message read, "I've seen you turn down every guy in here, but I have to ask, will you marry me? I am 45% serious."

Which leads me to my deep thought for the week: I seriously enjoy being an ice princess. I guess I'm going back to my roots, but is it nostalgia? Maliciousness? Simplicity?

Let me explain the process. I go out, dance like a maniac (usually in some gothette ensemble), and flat out refuse to entertain any sort of conversation or interaction with any boys I don't know or are not friends of people that I know. This has always been the way I do things. Maybe it's because deep down I'm shy, maybe it's because I'd really rather be dancing, maybe it's because I know guys in bars are only trying to get in my pants and are not worth talking to, maybe it's that I worry that if I flirt back things will end up in a back seat.
Perhaps a discussion for another time.

The reason I keep doing it is pretty simple, however. I, like anyone, relish a compliment. It's nice to know I'm cute, or interesting, stand out, or dance well. Mae West said it best when she quipped, "It's better to be looked over than overlooked." So no posturing there, I admit it. The difference between thwarting advances with a ruthless stonewall and the more expected polite flirting is that I'm content with just knowing. I don't need the free drink. I don't need the canned compliments. I don't need the ll-advised hookup. No, I'm content to reel them in and throw them back. I get to be, in equal measure, a bitch and a honest, no-head games girl. Instant gratification, no mess. More importantly, no room for those awkward mixed signals.

The reason that this process is even worth mentioning is that I've made a few notable exceptions to the policy, particularly recently (although no strangers and not in bars, god forbid). On the one hand, I guess I've felt that refusing to talk to people is kind of eccentric and not very polite or grown-up or whatever you want to call it. I guess the other part is the curiosity factor. Oh, and the selfish factor. If I can happen upon an especially smitten suitor that seems easy enough to deal with, (read: throw back later at my discretion) why not enjoy the distraction? Casual dating the ultimate procrastination. Besides, everybody is doing it! What I've learned is that it is very, very entertaining. I like going on proper dates and being spoiled. I like having someone wondering what my next move is without ever fretting over theirs.

One the other hand, I am, deep down, a goody-goody. I don't mind being cruel, but I don't like being deceitful. And the other thing I've learned is that there is no way to be aloof without it being interpreted and being hard-to-get. So, while I'm loathe to lead anyone on, the leading may be all according to the one doing the following. Follow? Also, I am quite a snob when it comes to my reputation. Sure, I dress like a vampire hooker, dance like sex in heels, have some over-the-top hobbies, but all that luridness is cancelled out by the fact that I am thoroughly abstemious when it comes to sex and drugs...a little rock and roll never hurt anyone. This snotty reason for being that way doesn't particularly help tilt the moral scale in its favor, but, hey it's part of it too.

So, hmmm, where was I going with this? I guess the moral of the story is that I prefer --as I ought to-- the blunt, perhaps unwarranted, rejection to the drawn-out seduction and fizzle. And despite the reasons for me feeling that way include being conceited, an elitist, and rude, it is preferable to the alternative which I fear is bringing out my worst predatory instincts. (Let's not get into those.) Right? Right!

I feel like I've written myself quite a pep talk to get back on the righteous path of holding out for the OTL except, of course, I'm rather in the middle of quite the epic pursuit.
Circuity is my new strong suit these days.
Maybe I can be 45% serious.