Why do people, in particular, men, want to put me into a box? They want me to be this person that suits them, makes them feel comfortable and in turn makes me crazy!
I'm not going to say I'm a free spirit. But I'd have to say more of a roaming gnome. I like what I like. I may not always have the exact words to describe what I'm talking about. I may have my head in the clouds sometimes, but that's just me! I love to have a laugh and enjoy life. I'm also pretty open to trying new things. I tend to go with the flow. I'd say I lean far into the 'type B' territory. I understand there is a need for 'type A's' but I just can't make myself into that regimented militant commander. I take life as it comes. I'm not a terribly messy slob, but I'm also not a neatnik. Don't get me wrong, I like to know what is on the radar, but I don't find it necessary to plan out every minute detail.
I enjoy going out for a night with friends to listen to a band play. I don't have to pick them apart and decide what their next move should be in 'the business.' I can just enjoy the fact that they are there to do what they enjoy doing and they get to make people happy in the process. We should all have the opportunity to share that feeling. Enjoying life isn't necessarily about the final product, but about the process. I think if we can't be aware of the process, we lose sight of how sweet the final product can be.
Having been in my current job for 12 years now, I feel I pretty much know what I'm doing at work. Management tend to have their own ideas about how things are done. This is really the only place I feel I may have some 'type A' tendencies. It would be one thing if we were an independent, but we are run by a corporation with rules and regulations in place for a reason. If only those rules and regulations were followed the way they are meant to be, things would be so much smoother and employees would be so much happier.
I make mistakes throughout the course of a day. I am aware of this. I take full responsibility for my faux pas. Usually, as soon as I open my mouth, I am aware that my size 7 1/2 has involuntarily kicked it's way into my pie hole. You don't need to berate me 9,000 times in lots of big words to make you feel better. You won. I'm not going to yell and scream. I'm not a fighter so much. I get it, I'm wrong. End of story. I don't need a 20 minute oration on why I am wrong and you are right. If I find that I am right, I don't spend an extraordinary amount of time making sure you are aware.
George Carlin was right. Men are dumb and women are crazy, because men are dumb! Haha. I am not trying to bash men in this blog. I do believe there are some great guys out there, incredible guys even. I may even know a few of them on a first name basis. I hope to get to know you better. I hope you want to know me better. Just realize this: I am me, I may not be you're ideal and I never will be. Let me be me and enjoy all my quirks and intricacies. Don't put me in your tidy little box or you'd better put the lid on extra tight, cause it won't be pretty when I spring out!
I have loved to dance for most of my life. I remember doing "the bump" and "the YMCA" at a fairly young age. Then there was my tenure as a choreographer with my cousin. We totally made the coolest dances ever in her bedroom to the limited music in her collection. We had the best times. I'm sure the folks on the floor down below wondered what the heck we were up to, but we stayed out of their hair. In third grade there was "the Uni-Fa-Fa" dance in Mrs. Arenella's class. I still remember it, because I love to dance! "Is, Are, Was, Were, Has-Have-Had!"
In middle school, I finally got to go to my first dance! I think it was 7th grade. I had never been to a dance before. It wasn't really formal, but I still remember getting an outfit and being really excited about going. In the same gym where we had aerobics, gymnastics and basketball, we danced, to a garage band of kids my own age, called Infinity. They were actually quite awesome. Doing covers of Mony, Mony and other great dance songs. Then there was also a DJ. I was in my element. Music and dancing! Was there ever a more fitting combination??? I would find a few friends and go out and we would dance the entire time. And then came the slow songs... to this day, I still get anxiety when I hear Journey's "Open Arms." I became a wallflower. Who wants that? I wished there was some way to ban slow songs from dances. It was really a downer to a chubby chick who had no hope of ever getting to slow dance with a boy. As soon as the last note of that Sheriff song ended, I was right back out there ready to go!
High school came with a whole new opportunity with the sock hops after every home football game. There were so many more dances to go to! LOVED IT! There was Homecoming and Thanksgiving and Christmas...every holiday had it's own dance. It was in high school when people would compliment my dancing abilities, I guess that's a good way to put it. People were so shocked that quiet, mousy Jenn could go out onto that floor and not give a crap what people thought. I'd just let go! Little did they know that every afternoon, my TV was on Dance Party USA learning all the latest moves and dancing in front of all the regulars including a George Michael look-alike, a girl called "Princess" and this unknown chick named Kelly Rippa. Still there were the slow songs, but I tried not to dwell on it. I picked those times to get a drink and refuel for the real music! My first slow dance with a boy (who wasn't related to me) was in 11th grade! Yeah, I was 16 1/2. I think it was the Thanksgiving Dance. It was actually my first date. Jim was white knuckled the whole time, but I think Mary Kay told him he couldn't keep me reigned in forever. When my date came flying up our dirt driveway and knocked on the door, I don't think Dad was expecting a guy with piercings and his own car to be my first date. I could read the fear in his eyes. I also noticed his tone when he told my date when I needed to be home. It makes me laugh today. They were so nervous to let me go. You see, I'm the oldest. I was the test-run. There was no prior experience to fall back on before me. My sister and brother have no idea how much easier they had things than I. But that's another story for another day.
My first love came later that year. He was someone who was in a school-related group with me. He was a jokester and kinda cute in a goofy sort of way. I really really liked him. A lot. I used to take the long way to my fourth period class just to get to see him in the hall. One day, in the spring, close to the prom, I passed him a note in the hallway. I told him how I felt about him. He asked me to the prom. I had the best time at my junior prom. I got to dance to all those measly slow songs as well as the fast ones. I remember a few guys from our group stripping down to boxers and socks! What a night! My date was a senior. He would be graduating in a few days and was going into the army. I might never see him again after that. I was in a million teenage drama depressions. I did end up seeing him again. I had to pick up our pictures and deliver them to him. I ended up going for a swim in his pool. And then, the day before he left for basic training, he came to my house. It was dark. My family had cleaned up from a cookout and gone inside. We stayed out in the back yard talking (ha ha, right!) I didn't want the night to end. I didn't want to say goodbye. What did we do? We danced under the stars! Again, a million depressions at having to let him go when at 2am, my dad yelled out the window "time to call it a night." We kept in touch with letters and calls. He returned home around the end of October in time for Halloween and Homecoming. We went to a few of the sock hops after football games. When the time came for him to go back, I'd invited him over for homemade lasagna for dinner. I set up a fancy little card table in our rec room so that we could have a private dinner. I made the lasagna and served it up. I was so dreading letting him go again, because I was pretty sure this would be it for us. I put on Richard Marx's "Right Here Waiting" and we danced. I cried my eyes out. And he was gone. I sent him letters, but they were never answered. My broken heart was left on the floor of our rec room where we had our last dance.
The older men get, I'm noticing the more fear they have of dancing. And I'm not saying I'm expecting Maksim Chmerkovsky, just a slow dance now and then! (Though, I certainly wouldn't turn Maks away!) I didn't get to dance at my wedding. That should have been another clue. Only one guy I ever dated past high school has ever been OK with dancing. And he was the young whipper-snapper. We danced under the stars every time he came to visit. If only he had an older brother or cousin, I'd be set! I guess I'll have to add that to my list of things I want in a man. Someone who's not afraid to dance with me, whether it's just the 2 of us under the stars or in a ballroom full of people. Until then...I guess I'll just be Dancing with myself.
