Last weekend, my friends and I went to a bar called the Market, which, in retrospect, should have been an indication of the guys that we'd meet there. There was a dance floor, much to my relief, which we quickly made good use of. We were having a great time, just us girls, when I looked over my shoulder and saw that one of us was airborne. A guy had my friend high over his head, swinging her above the crowd.
"Put her down!" I yelled. "I saw you with that Long Island Iced Tea. You are way to intoxicated to be throwing people in the air like that!" Of course, he was also too drunk to hear a word I was saying, so I said a little prayer for my friend and went back to dancing. I had no choice! "Just Dance" was playing and I had to abide. Don't judge me.
No sooner had I just sung "what's goin' on on the floor?" along with the genius that is Lady Gaga, when a guy started dancing with me. He was cute, but short. He kind of reminded me of Little Mac, the boxer from that old Nintendo game, Punch Out:
In any case, I didn't have much of a choice but to dance with him--the guy was super strong (obviously all those matches with King Hippo had paid off for the little guy) and had a good grip around my waist. I shrugged and went with it for a while. He was actually a good dancer. He dipped and twirled me around like a pro. I was just about to tell him I needed to take a break and get a drink, when I felt myself being lifted off my feet and suddenly rocketed up over the masses.
"Shitballs!" I screamed. No, I am not making this up. Apparently, under extreme duress, I take to screaming like a ten-year-old playing dodge ball at recess.
No sooner had the strange choice of swear word left my lips, when I was thrown back down, so that my head was inches from the floor, and then violently lifted upright again, feet finally back on the floor where they belonged. Obviously these guys had been watching way too much Dirty Dancing.
"What the hell was that?" I yelled.
"My signature move."
"Yeah? Well, this is mine," I said as I started to walk away. I'd gotten maybe a step away when I felt myself being lifted off the ground again. Son of a ...
"Aah! Put me down! Put me down!" But it was too late. I was airborne once again. And I hate flying. Despite being scared out of my mind, I was pretty impressed that he could lift me so high. I'm not exactly the 100-pound lightweight I used to be--in fact, I'm not sure I ever was. I think I must've been born with a slice of birthday cake already in hand.
Despite my protests, I ended up dancing with this guy for a good hour or so, getting lifted off my feet no less than six times throughout. Afterward, he got my number and I went home, thankful to be off the Market.
I had just settled in for the night when my phone buzzed. It was Little Mac. "Come out to Marlborough St. There's an after hours going on and I want to see you," he'd texted.
It was 2 am and I was on the couch watching Zoolander with a huge bacon and pineapple pizza, some of which had landed on my nightie. There was a less-than-zero chance I'd be making it out for a party in my condition, so I ignored him.
Now what happened next I can only describe as pure booty call desperation, a move so strange I couldn't make it up if I tried. I received a text that I will never erase, for on my darkest of days, I will be able to look at this text ... and laugh my ass off:
"Every once in a while you run into the potential for greatness. Tonight is the realization of the greatness. You should be a part of it."
Not only is this text remarkable for what it's saying--whatever the hell that is; I still haven't cracked the code--but it was also perfectly spelled and punctuated. None of this "2nite is the reelzashen of gr8nes" crap--at two in the morning! And after who-knows-how-many Red Bulls and vodkas. What can I say? The copy editor in me was astounded.
Needless to say, I ignored the text, but I have to say--I appreciated the effort. I mean, how many girls can honestly say they had once run into the potential for greatness? Sure, I didn't realize the greatness, nor was I a part of it, but I'd had the chance, damn it, I'd had the chance.