I haven’t posted in a while because I’m forgetful like a parrot with amnesia, and I’m just telling the same story about crackers until someone puts a blanket over my cage. True story. I wrote this little nugget a weekend after arriving in NYC. I guess I should wait until a Sunday to post it but then I’ll forget again. *Insert parrot noise* Please continue.
Last night I was invited to a rooftop party. Someone I barely knew invited me to someone I definitely didn’t know’s birthday party.
When I got there I felt like a total dweeb because everyone was salsa dancing like a total pro. I’m not kidding. Half of the invitees were dancers.
When I dance I look like a chicken pecking, just a lot of neck movement back and forth to the beat. If the rest of my body gets involved it’s more aggressive arm movements. My feet tend to stay in the same place.
The party was both magical and intimidating and a woman yelled at me about touching her chair (which I will hold as a grudge for the rest of my days).
Oh, you want to hear about the mean woman and her chair? Let me tell you.
So salsa dancing takes up a lot of space and the dance floor was tiny so I moved a chair an inch, not for me, but for the dancers! I was trying to be helpful! I’m incredibly defensive!
This woman looks at me and says, “Don’t touch the chair.” I smile back at her waiting for her deadpan to break and we’d laugh together, become best friends and braid each other’s hair. No. It wasn’t like that.
Her boyfriend then got involved.
“Yeah, don’t touch the chair. I reserved that chair.”
I am standing there grinning like a madman hoping they will laugh soon because this is a very specific and ridiculous moment. But they continued to stare at me until I moved away from the chair with a look of both “I hate you” and “you’re boring me”.
Did I let it ruin my night?
Of course, I did! Who gets up in arms about a chair! For the rest of the night, I purposely moved around the room to avoid them until they left. Then I went and touched the chair. Because I’m five, apparently.
On a more positive note, the people there were incredibly interesting. The woman who invited us talked about her travels, how she had two different racecar driver friends, how she sips tequila and scotch, she loves a good cigar, and she casually took up tango and salsa dancing later in her life.
Also, she only parties Sunday to Wednesday night because that’s when the locals come out. Who parties on a Sunday? My worldview was flipped.
I am overwhelmed by the coolness level of these people. I hope some of it rubs off on me because right now I’m experiencing serious imposter syndrome.
I just packed up my things and moved to the city on a whim. I’m having a hard time feeling like I deserve to be here.
I guess whether I deserve to be here or not, I’m here and I might as well make the most of it.
Apparently making the most of it means making a hit list for angry chair keepers.
P.S. I might be taking up salsa dancing lessons. Baby steps?