Born to Dunce

My status update from Facebook, Friday 20th March 2015 (yesterday night):

Dramatically tripped over my own feet in the car park this evening (after dance class, no less). A lady walked pass and, clearly convinced that I was drunk and about to drive legless, tutted and gave me the evils. Nope, not drunk, lady- I just have a constantly faulty internal gyroscope.

Forever Alone

It was the kind of occasion where somewhere, deep down, you know heard other person correctly: but it was just so damned weird that you didn't believe your own ears.

"Sorry, what?" I asked the barista.

"I said, 'do you dance like black women?'" he said, quirking a suggestive eyebrow at me.

My problem is that I'm immune to flirting, which has two main downsides. If a nice guy flirts with me, I only see it as "banter" and banter right back, but not in the right way- causing the nice guy to "take the hint" (that wasn't even there because I was so clueless) and give up, and me to kick myself about five hours later when I realise I was being flirted with. That's the first downside. The second downside is that a not-so-nice guy will take it too far, and I won't realise what's happening until it gets to that point- resulting in time being wasted and me being marginally ticked off.

I walked into the coffee shop this morning and asked for a flat white.

"Alright," he said. "But I gotta warn ya... it's either going to be in this cup, or this one." He indicated to a large cup and an espresso shot cup.

"Uh, aren't flat whites just regular? I'm pretty sure you don't shoot one, either" I grinned, assuming he was just trying to be funny.

"Just kidding, large it is. Wait, what did you order? Oh, a flat white. That'd be regular then."

I smiled and handed the change over, while the barista got to work.

"You look kind of stressed, you having a bad day?"

I blinked. (Here we go, I thought, we have a conversation artist... alright, just be polite, Tash). "No..? I'm quite happy, actually."

"It's just that you look sort of tired."

(Wait a minute, I thought, is he trying to 'neg'* me??)

"Then I've come to the right place," I laughed, brushing it off.

"So, do you work around here?"

"Oh... no. Just passing through the area."

"Don't you have work today?" He asked.

"No, no work for me on Sundays. I'm just on my way to dance class."

"Oh, what kind of dance do you do?"

"K-Pop. Korean pop, that is."

 And then he said it.

"So do you dance like black women, then?"

Honestly my brain just switched off when I asked him to repeat what he'd just said. It was clear he didn't have a clue what K-pop was (which is fair enough), but that statement literally just came out of the blue. It was a particularly random statement to make– especially since I'm as pale as milk. The worst thing about it was the appraising up-and-down look he was giving me. I pretended not to notice.

"I'm not sure what you mean. Um, it's more street-style?" I added, helpfully.

"Right, right," he said. He then proceeded to hand me my coffee, holding it out of my reach for a few seconds while asking me to try the coffee there and then on the spot. He tried to make me promise that if he'd made a bad coffee he'd make me another one for free.

I made a wild grab at the hovering coffee cup. "I'm sure it'll be fine, thank you!" I more or less ran off.

The coffee was terrible: I threw it away. I didn't go back.




*Negging: the practice of giving someone a very mild insult while acting friendly, sometimes in the hope that they'll subconsciously want your approval.

Fake it 'till you Break it

Sunsets are such an enchanting cocktail of colours. Burnt oranges, warm reds, majestic purples... it's such a shame that this display of colour isn't quite as attractive on my knees.

If you'd have told me a few years ago that I'd go to dance lessons, I'd have laughed at you; if you'd have told me just one year ago that I'd be breakdancing, I'd have bought you a nice white jacket with extra-long sleeves. Regardless of who's sanity is in question right now, breakdancing is exactly what I found myself doing this Wednesday. Hence the knees.

No, I didn't spin on my head- does spinning on one's head seem like a good way to break (ahem) into it? It was only about six seconds of "light" breakdancing within a whole three to four-minute routine, but it still required strong enough leg, arm and core muscles to defy gravity for a few nail-biting moments. It was tricky. Failed moves were painful. I loved it.

Do you love baking, but don't consider yourself a baker? Love playing the piano, but don't consider yourself a pianist? Love superheroes and pop culture but don't consider yourself a real geek? I dance up to three times a week, not counting at-home practice (in the kitchen where nobody can see me) and I'm going to be performing in a dance show in April, but I still don't consider myself a dancer. Odd, isn't it? Where does one cross over the bridge of affirmation? I am a baker. I am a pianist. I am a geek. I'm not a dancer.

I dance, but I'm not a dancer.

It's not important, though: what's important is that, whatever I am, I have a great time dancing. During those years ago that I would have laughed at the very idea of me dancing, my permanent state of internal being seemed to be a foetal ball of pre-emptive embarrassment. Yes, I performed many times in front of hundreds of people when playing the piano, but music was always the one fantastically strange exception to my painful awkwardness. I've long since taken a few leaves out of the honey badger's* book (apart from the eating cobras and biting people parts), and now if there is something I want to do, I'll give it my best shot, not worrying about if I'll fail miserably or not. And you know what? I may not feel like I'm a dancer, but I can dance just fine after all.

(Although let's see if I say the same thing after the show in April.)

~ ~ ~

* Link included in case this blog entry is found in a hundred years' time** and the meme has long been forgotten

**Not probable but not impossible, seeing as once something's on the internet it's on there for good. Permanently. Forever. Including all of those drunken picture you upload. Sweet dreams.

I don't Like Sarcastic People

"It's food," said the guy (a friend of a friend), seeing me dither at the snacks table. I had already eaten before getting to the party, not knowing that there would be food, so I didn't really need anything- I just wanted to be a gracious guest and accept the host's generosity.

"Awesome, I like food," I said a little foolishly, not knowing what to say in reply to that, but feeling like I should say something under his mildly inquisitive gaze. I put a small handful of chips onto my paper plate and moved away to make room for other party-goers.

"Well that looks filling," said the guy, quirking an eyebrow at my meagre portion.

"Haha," I said weakly, and joined the others.

I love sarcasm. Used at the right times it's hilarious, clever and makes people bond.

However, I do not like sarcastic people. Not people that use sarcasm (or I'd be in trouble with myself)- just people that seem to live in a natural state of constant sarcasm. It's like they live to make try to make others feel uncomfortable or stupid.

One of the things that makes me not get on with sarcastic people is that I'm a very literal person. Puns are often wasted on me- and even though as a writer I can make (apparently good) ones up, I don't really find them laugh-out-loud funny. My friends love teasing me because I apparently become indignant really easily, even though I know they're only teasing. It's not as if I have a thin skin; it's just that it takes me one or two beats longer to pick up on social cues than other people.

"Don't worry," my friend said, "he's always really sarcastic." This was after first being introduced to him as her friend from dance- he asked me very seriously what time I was on, and I looked at my watch (I told you I'm really literal).

It made me think of how I have (had?) this old friend who had a razor-sharp tongue. I used to admire her for how forthright she was and how acidic her humour was- but after a few too many years of her using me as a whetstone every now and again, I decided that she wasn't just naturally talented in the art of sarcasm- she was just a bit of an arsehole.

So with this new revelation, perhaps I'll become more sensitive to the way people might interpret the things I'm saying. I believe that when I'm being sarcastic, I'm being so obvious about it that there is no question that I'm joking about something- but maybe there are times I'm not obvious enough and end up hurting someone's feelings. Perhaps we should all use sarcasm a bit less, especially as a way to cover up our own insecurities. Perhaps we should all be more open with each other, so the world will become a better place.

As if.

Hey, I Just Met You, and I Am Crazy (Part 2)

 I really wonder what on Earth is wrong with me, sometimes.

On Wednesday we were split into small groups during dance class to learn the next part of the choreography. I was hyper from dancing, as usual, and was chatting to another class member with whom I've never spoken with before. At the the end of the class...

"Well it was nice chatting to you!" they said, smiling.

"Whee!!" I skipped off at high speed.

... Told you I fail at meeting new people.

Hey, I Just Met You, and I Am Crazy

"Sometimes, when I have a little left, I like to spray my hands and pretend I'm a robot." - Me talking about decorating cake with edible metallic spray about ten minutes into encountering a new human being.

I'm really bad at meeting new people.

No no, let me rephrase this: I'm really good at pretending like I know what I'm doing when I'm meeting new people at first, but I'm terrible at maintaining any sense of normality throughout the social situation. For instance, I'll start off seeming like a nice, normal person, and then only a few minutes in of talking to someone, sporadic flashes of crazy suddenly burst through the façade, like some sort of nervous reflex.

I visited a friend's house to play my first ever game of Dungeons and Dragons a few evenings ago- my character was a new addition to the campaign, and the group had already had two sessions of play. I already knew my friend of course, and I had already met her husband. It was the rest of the group I had to try to convince that I was 'cool'.

I had been talking like a nice, normal person to my friend's brother-in-law when the subject of what I'd used to make the cakes I brought silver came up (I'd sprayed them silver and gold like loot). Like a nice, normal person I explained how I'd done it. My friend's brother in law joked that he might end up looking like the tin man if he got any silver on him. And then, not at all like a nice, normal person, I cracked that remark about pretending like I'm a robot out.

At another point, we started discussing about how strictly we have to stick to our character's alliances and personality, and then ended up with a philosophical statement about how the inevitability of how our characters can and can't act could be a metaphor for life. And hastily and awkwardly added "Or not..."

During the actual game, I was absent-mindedly stacking the die up in a colourful tower. Another member of the group and pointed this out, amused. I felt a silly crooked grin appear on my face. "I like stacking things, stacking things is fun."

*Facepalm*

There were plenty of other moments like these throughout the evening, made worse by the fact that I was also trying to learn the rules of the game on the fly, stay in character and remember everyone's real and in-game names at the same time; and as the game commenced, I felt myself getting quieter and quieter. The group was fantastic- everyone was very welcoming and had the same cheeky, slightly avante-garde sense of humour as I did- but I was terrified of accidentally taking the joke too far, or stepping over the mark as the newbie. I started out being super friendly and slightly hyperactive, but by the end of the evening I must have seem very subdued, and perhaps even a little aloof in my awkwardness.

I used to be so painfully shy I wouldn't be able to talk to new people at all. Now I'm much better at pretending that I'm confident and at toning down my eccentricity to begin with, but this sort of suppression results in my eccentricity forcing its way out like water spewing from a cracking dam. Honestly, I'm not sure which one is worse.

Thankfully, the people that have stuck by me after these awkward first moments are both awesome and just as nuts to boot, so I needn't worry too much. After all, life is all about finding people with the same type of crazy as you, and those people become your friends.