Nasty Nanna

Why the fuck do people presume that because you are at a dance class that you have to dance with them?

Folks there is a serious downside to this dancing caper and it is the scary and nasty nannas you can cop in a class rotation.

I am sad to say that it is not all (but mostly) perky young fun out there.

I got told off tonight buy this old cow because I stepped out at the end of a class for a much needed drink of water and dare I say it, to rest my weary legs.

Now, I know it is not totally cool, and I seldom do it to people but this bitch is just wrong.

She can't dance, she won't follow and I just could not face four minutes of arm wrestling on the floor with someone lacking the flexibility to wipe their own arse without a brush on a stick.

When there was a break for announcements, I made my apologies and bolted for the bar.

As I was sitting there necking a schooner of water (you know the hard stuff) she strode over and gave me a dressing down asking me if it would hurt to just have one song with her? Am I too good for her?

I was fuming. I wanted to get right back in her face;

Actually nanna, I fucking am! If I am working at a venue then sure, I will dance with every person that asks because that is what you do but on my own dime I will dance with who I like to dance with, and politely accept that they too have the right to brush me off if they choose not to dance with me. Get with the program!

Instead I gave some lame excuse about sore knees (had to pick something the old fart could relate too) then had to stand around like a dick rubbing them for the next two songs before picking the youngest hottest dancer to go and rip up the floor to the Black Eyes Peas - Pump It.

I don't think she bought the excuse...

Rock you

This is an intermission in the preceding story. Other stuff has just happened that I am too excited about not to have a moment of grinning.

Those of you who read here know I love my dancing - Yada, yada, yada.

Well I have started competing and tonight just gone was a pretty major event. I was feeling under prepared but ready to have fun.

Obviously we were better prepared than I thought, well that is what the trophy I am looking at says anyhow - 1st place kids. We killed it.

Time for some well earned sleep - at 2:23am :)

I'm going straight to hell..

Antagonising the deeply faithful seems to have become a wicked little past time of mine.

Now before I get onto the meat of this story I need to take confession. If that last line does not give it away, I am indeed by baptism a child of the Catholic church.

I had the dubious joy of attending a Catholic school and even spent a few early years of that time under the brutal rule of the "Brothers".

My time under the influence of the strap taught me two things in life. Firstly, I actually did more work when threatened with a solid beating and secondly the callous and malicious behavior of those representing their God on earth seems to be directly proportional to their level of faith in a God who, on face value to me at least, really does not give a shit or is also tending towards the masochistic.

It is also possible that He is rather poorly organised and hence the problems that should be fixed with a wave of the hand just keep getting put of until next week.

By now you probably understand that for me, faith in God is not really an option. It just does not compute for me as an individual, to believe that I am part of someone's giant ant farm play thing.

A religious education did nothing other than teach me that religion = control and wealth. I would not go so far as to say control of the weak minded but I do lean that way.

Don't even get me started on the mixing of religion and state...

So back to the fun stuff.

Every now and then on my search for a mate, I meet someone who's faith rules their life. For me this is like bad teeth are to Fanny or an unwashed butt crack to Phish. Pretty much a deal breaker.

The last one of these had beautiful olive skin, deep green eyes and curves in all the right places. She could talk the leg of a chair and seemed totally in touch with her sexuality as far as God willed it. It seemed that his will stopped short of sex before marriage which she proudly announced on our first date. We had met once before but circumstances had us get to know each other via the phone for about ten days before finally meeting again in the flesh.

The date was to be a meet and greet, some dancing and a chance to see if the initial connection was real or imagined. I have to admit that by this time I was already a little dubious as to how far all this might actually go. Our previous conversations had covered the level of her faith, her activity in her church and her feelings on the whole sex before marriage issue. All this was covered between graphic descriptions of how she was sorting herself out while thinking about all the other things you could do while not having sex.

On meeting in the street I was polite and went for a gentle kiss on the cheek. I closed my eyes for a moment too long and found a tongue in my mouth. Hello!

Over dinner she announced that as we were going to be out an about on a work night and her home was so far away, she had come prepared and had her clothes for the morning and a toothbrush for the night. She was going to stay at my place if that was ok.

Um, ok.

To be continued.....

Effing hacks.

You know when you do something against your better judgement and the result equals your worst nightmare?

You know you should not be surprised or disappointed but you are and can't help it.

You hang your head in shame at your stupidity at being duped.

Well, that is how I feel after shelling out the clams to see Indiana Jones and the kingdom of the crystal skull.

The reviews were ok, even enthusiastic that they had pulled it off. I think they were paid or drugged or are sad fanboys who don't know a descent screenplay from used toilet paper.

It sucks big hairy balls. George Lucas is a fucking hack and deserves to have all his pencils confiscated lest he ever attempt to put them to paper again.

Sure, the first movie was the only really good one in the now quadrilogy and if there is another man out there that seems capable of making mountains of money out if shit sequels then Lucas is the man.

I should not be surprised he stuffed this one up too.

Harrison Ford must have needed the cash and Cate Blanchet (My Cate, what were you thinking?) should have known better.

I was bored. I actually turned my phone on to check the time and prayed for a call so I could leave the theatre. I laughed at one joke and only because it had nothing to do with the actual story on screen.

There was no need to jump the shark with this movie Mr Lucas. Fans would have enjoyed the ride with so much less.

Sure I sound like I have had a bad day and some may say I was not in the right mood for it.

Not so. Until 15 minutes into the film, I was having a great day. A fine meal with a fine woman after a successful day/week of work. I was looking forward to this movie. I was relaxed and had my sense of disbelief suspended and stowed in preparation for the 125 minute ride.

It was not me, it was the movie.

Do not spend your money.

Do not see the film.

Do not sully your eyes with the crap that is Indian Jones and the kingdom of the crystal skull.

/RANT

The scent of a woman

I have gone a bit dance crazy of late with upwards of 12 hours a week spent pushing myself around the floor in classes, training for a routine, training for a competition and also a fair bit of good old social dancing.

I am loving it and the ache in my feet, calves and knees is not about to slow me down.

I am lucky to have some great friends and some wonderful ladies that are amazing to dance with. There is a level of sensuality and trust bordering on the erotic at times and the sexual tension can be powerful.

Tonight hit a new level.

Her scent pulled at my loins. My pulse was thumping in my ears and there was a lump in my throat.

We were so close, she in front and me behind. My hand pressing down on the top of her hips - fingers spread over the top of her thighs.

Her body was pressed against mine, leaning back into me. My head resting on her shoulder. All I could smell was her light musk of perspiration.

I wanted to gently taste it. To lick, tenderly from her exposed shoulder to the back of her ear.

The desire to make contact was intoxicating.

She could read my thoughts, or it felt that way. She leaned back into me a little harder as we gently squeezed down together in a lunge.

The end of the phrase in the music was rushing towards us. It was time to break the spell and send her spinning out and away to safety.

At arms length we locked eyes. She smiled a wicked smile.

With a spin and a dip the song was over and we left the floor hand in hand as friends not lovers and she returned to her group of friends.

A mate approached me.

"What the hell happened just then?"

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently.

"Dude, you just had a massive moment. The whole fucking room could see it - you may as well have just had sex right there in the middle of the floor."

Sprung. Some things you just can't hide.

Did I tell you I like dancing?

Tech gone wrong

I am, or should I say was, always pleased that there are very few things with buttons and software that could outsmart me.

Today however I got publicly humiliated by my new mobile phone.

Standing in the middle of a busy coffee shop waiting to order my lunch I hear the familiar ping of an inbound text message and the comforting vibration in my pocket.

I was pretty chuffed, here was an excuse to pull this shiny new bit of hardware out in public.

Now this was not about showing off or anything but just to casually look loved, needed and connected with a very sexy new phone.

Sliding the phone open and selecting the message I noticed the stunning girl with olive skin and green eyes behind the counter catch my eye and give a little nod approval at my phone selection.

Then it all went wrong.

I bumped a button on the key pad while eye fucking the chick.

I still am not sure which one. Which button, not which chick that is...anyhow.

The phone started to speak in a crazy, slightly English but very robotic female voice.

And a very, fucking, loud, voice at that.

Heads started to turn.

At first I did not realise that the noise was coming from my phone. Like everyone else I was wondering if there were ever female Darleks and if Captain Jack and the Doctor were going to turn up and start snogging.

By the time it registered that it was my phone, reading out my text message, it was too late. People had stopped to listen in.

I fumbled for the right key to shut it up - not realising that sliding the phone shut only locked the key pad and added another 4 seconds of torment before I got another go at shutting it up.

I never got there. The entire message was played to a captive and disturbingly quiet audience.

I now know, down to the very last second how long it takes to make a great flat white.

The barista was true pro. Not a smirk or a role of the eyes, not an opening to explain or a hint that even she had heard it above the pumping heart of the espresso machine. Until I reached for my coffee.

The corner of her lips curled up, just enough to say that she heard and more than enough to say that there was not point trying to explain.

I hope you enjoy the message as much as my fellow caffeine addicts did today.

Identity crisis

I had an odd text message exchange yesterday with my dance partner.

"Hey, you wanna come to superdance with me tomorrow"

"I am working on Friday until 1:30 and WTF is superdance?"

"Cool, it opens at 2 - I was not going to spend all day there.."

"So what is it?"

"A shoe shop silly :)"

"WTF makes you think I want to go shoe shopping with you? I have never even gone shoe shopping with a GF before let alone a mate!"

"They are dance shoes!"

"Uh ok, count me in."

And there it is folks, with five little words I have been relegated to the roll of a straight man playing the gay shopping partner for a 21 year old hottie.

Here is hoping I find some new dance shoes, get laid or both...