Triangle Open 2008

It was Saturday morning at around 8:45 AM - Partner #2 (HEY, YOU! What do you want for your pseudonym so I can stop referring to you numerically?! And #2 is not the most flattering of numericals!) and I were swing-dancing in our standard outfits in the foyer of the student center, practicing underarm turns, when...

"This is American Waltz. We are missing couple 143. Couple 143, _____ and _____, please make your way to the on-deck area." The DJ's voice echoed through the building.

#2 and I exchanged horrified looks and sprinted for the ballroom. I threw my jacket onto a random table and didn't even bother running all the way around to the on-deck area; I just ran onto the floor with #2 close behind (hahaha, #2 close behind...). Regardless of our fashionably-lateness, we got callbacks for all of our events and placed in swing and foxtrot.

However, my Latin partner (#3), who had infuriated me all day by refusing to practice ("Don't worry, we don't need a routine - I'll just lead you through it, we'll be fine!" and "Look, you've already got ribbons dancing with #2, you don't need any more, right? Har har har, LUNCHTIME!"), choked. I should have insisted on more practice, since I'd already danced with him and discovered that he leads about as firmly as silken tofu... We stood in the on-deck area waiting for the ballroom to clear for our heat, and I attempted my usual high-spirited banter... Nothing. Not a smile, not even a nod or any acknowledgement of my excitement. He looked at me like he was staring down the unpleasant end of a double-barrelled shotgun. I deflated like a helium balloon left too long in an old Volvo station wagon in January. In Siberia.

So while our chachacha wasn't abysmal, our rumba... Just thinking about it makes me want to go to the dollar store, buy about 10 pieces of low-quality china figurines of ugly cherubs, and hurl them systematically at a brick wall. I am an extremely musical person, which proved a huge flaw when my dance partner had us off beat and syncopated. I couldn't even cognitively PRETEND that we were on time because I felt the music so strongly, I couldn't feel where he was at all in his count. I whispered through clenched teeth, "PAUSE for two beats, then start over!" No change, no pause. COULD HE SERIOUSLY NOT HEAR THE 4, 1, 2, 3?! And I lost my temper, on the dance floor, whisper-yelled at him, "WE WERE COMPLETELY OFF!" and admittedly stormed off without him. Yes, I was mean, I was bad, but I WAS MAD - I'm not making excuses, I'm just stating the facts. First, the disrespect and refusal to practice, and the resultant crash-and-burn, which I had tried my darndest to avoid. This experience drove home to me the fact that I will not enjoy dancing if there is not clear rapport between my partner and myself.

Ah, adventures. An apology is probably in order, too, but I'm still smoking slightly - I need to wait until the fire is completely out.

I have a lesson with Inga tonight.