Much To Do List

Well, well. Haven't I been a poor blogger lately. I recently returned from my week-and-a-half visit down to Florida for Rollins' graduation. I had a wonderful time temporarily living with 2/3 of "le pouvoir de trois," as Eric calls us. Now it's a few weeks in the STL and then onto bigger, better things as I high tale it to London and begin my internship at the ad agency. *Let me amend: things definitely won't be bigger, everything over there is quite a bit smaller than it is in the good ole US of A. And as for it being better... let's HOPE it's better; I have high expectations. In fact, I have very high expectations. Of myself. Last spring when I lived in London for 4 months I was very often guilty of being a lazy bum. This should not come as a surprise to those readers who know me well. Looking back on all the time spent in my room at Regent's College I feel as though I did not take full advantage of all the city has to offer. Of course, it was by no means a total waste! I enjoyed a quarter of a year living in my favorite city with a couple of my best friends just a tube ride away. This time I won't have any of my American chums there with me, but this is no crisis. I do have some great friends there (some meaning two, but hey, quality, not quantity) whom I am looking forward to seeing often and I'll be living in a house with three other girls who are sure to become friends if I have any say in the matter. But friends or no friends, I intend to make the absolute best of my summer in London. I WILL get up everyday with intention. Weekends will be cherished and filled with exploration. I intend to leave no borough un-burrowed, no ale untasted, no museum turnstile unturned. (Note: Leaving no ale untasted was simply for effect. I dislike ale very much. I welcome the day that may or may not come when I develop an affinity for it, but there is no ongoing pursuit.) I intend to see the sights I should have seen in my total 9+ months of being a UK resident, such as Bath and Winchester Cathedral to name a couple. It's a freakin' shame I'm going with almost no money because I'd love to do some more Euro-traveling. But my plan is to take full advantage of living in London. If one day you are talking to me on Facebook when it's 2pm on a Saturday in London and I'm not hungover, tell me to get my butt over to Buckingham Palace and have tea with the Queen.

Dirty Dancing

"Due to a disturbing decline in dance lessons, most Americans can't tell a tango from a mango." (groupon.com)

Most of my friends' experiences with dancing began in 7th grade at raunchy Bar/Bat Mitzvahs. We all know the scene: Forty or so 13 year-olds paired off, dancing to songs with lyrics we thought we understood, boys' hands all over regions we young teenage girls didn't know we had until they were being fervently groped by our eager pubescent counterparts. It was heaven for middle school boys. And my fellow females and I got plenty excited for these parties, too. We looked forward to -- and replayed in our minds for weeks after -- dancing with boys we liked; drinking in the smell of their Abercrombie cologne was as intoxicating as the spirits we had not yet experienced. (In my case, anyway.)

When my mother came to pick me up from one such party, she broke the rules of parent-child relations by coming inside instead of waiting in the car like she was supposed to. Later she confessed that she was appalled by what she saw and described it as a scene from "Jungle Fever." (I still haven't seen the movie, but I don't doubt her comparison.) But we were only 13. We weren't expected to dance properly.

Now we're in our twenties. A couple months ago a group of friends and I went to a bar downtown to do what college kids do. When we hit the dance floor I had an immediate flashback to the days of "Who Let the Dogs Out" and it hit me: Nobody knows how to dance these days! Buuut that's not completely true. There are a select number of Generation Y-ers who know how to properly dance with a partner. Unfortunately, the skill is not equally distributed between males and females. To find a man who can dance is like striking oil. That night downtown I did have one friend who could lead me in a dance and keep his hands where they ought to have been. I find this kind of dancing a lot more fun, not to mention those boys a lot more attractive! But come on, I'm not an old fart. I know that when you're out at a club or a bar, that kind of dancing doesn't really fit the mood, and that's fine.

But let it be known that there is somewhere bumping and grinding is NOT appropriate and we all had better get wise, QUICK! Weddings. I am fearful that in the next five years when my friends start to get married, people my age will cause some Baby Boomers to go into cardiac arrest when they dance to Marvin Gaye's "I Heard It Through the Grapevine" like it's Sisqo's "Thong Song." So, ladies, let's pressure our guy friends to watch some "Dirty Dancing" (how ironic) with us and learn how to take us for a spin around the dance floor while also studying the moves ourselves. As for the men, if you ask us to dance and surprise us with your skills, take it from me, you will immediately be 100% better looking.

Class Act

Men (though I use the term loosely) who are involved with married women or women who are involved with married men are by far the lowest of the low. This is the most disgusting, despicable and character-sacrificing thing anyone could possibly do.

I met one of these scumbags a couple nights ago at a karaoke bar. He was/is a friend of a friend and seemed nice enough after talking to him for a few minutes. When we discovered we both have the same go-to karaoke song, Carrie Underwood's "Before He Cheats" (ironic, I know), he proposed we sing it together. I happily agreed and he signed us up, insisting that I let him sing the second verse/chorus. While waiting for our turn, it came up that this guy had recently started seeing a married woman. I've met many people who do stupid things and I usually try to stay out of their business, but I couldn't help but argue with his behavior. When it was clear that he did not have a working moral compass, I dropped the subject. Although I knew he was not the kind of person I wanted as a friend, I wasn't going to cancel our karaoke duet. After a couple beers and some $1 jello shots our names were called and we took the stage. The first verse/chorus went fine (as fine as semi-drunk karaoke can be) and then I backed off and gave him his turn like he had asked. Well. This guy (whom I had just met, let me remind you) started spitting a well-rehearsed rant about how he was "up [there] singing with this platinum blonde bitch" - me. He went on for the entire verse and chorus saying horrible, degrading and incredibly embarrassing things about me, the girl he duped into being his prop. The things he was saying were of course untrue, as we had met just an hour before. And I'm not a platinum blonde. Well, it was obviously attention he was craving and he got it; the majority of the males in the bar got a kick out of his new lyrics. Once he'd finished and left me completely blindsided, he walked off the stage in all his sleazy glory. I should have put down my microphone and eighty-sixed that low-life but I guess my training in the performing arts kept me up there and I finished the song. (Pretty poorly, I have to say, but I doubt people were listening to me after that impromptu lesson in Jackasses 101.)

Well, it's clear, folks, that there are some bona fide gentlemen out there. What happened to being r-e-s-p-e-c-t-ful? As an optimistic person, I won't write off the whole human race or even the half of it to which I don't belong. But with scumbags like Tiger Woods and every other over-publicized celebrity DB out there it's getting harder everyday to believe good, honest men exist. Don't give up hope yet, ladies. And don't settle for losers, either. Being a gentleman will come back in style, I have faith.