On Being 6'7. And Awkward. And Dancing. I see a lot wrong with a little bump and grind.

Do you remember graduating high school? I do. I remember being irrationally pissed off that my gown didn't reach my ankles and I didn't get to give the farewell speech. I made really funny jokes, I swear, but they gave it to this girl that got in a really serious car accident. I couldn't REALLY be mad, but I actually was. And still am. Don't tell.

But seriously, my favorite part of graduating high school was the fact that I would not EVER have to attend a dance. Ever again. Little did I know, I would be attending High School 3 years later, at Willamette University High School. Where you're cool if you play sports, but you're cooler if you play sports, aim to save the world in the near future, dress like a hipster on occasion, and SHAMELESSLY GRIND YOUR PRIVATES OFF AT EVERY GIVEN OPPORTUNITY.

At Willamette University High, dancing is like breathing. Everyone does it. And when I say "breathing" I mean rhythmic humping, erections at inappropriate times and repeated, vigorous body contact with Young Jeezy in the background. So really it's more like gym class. Which is unfortunately not offered at WUHS.

I never danced. Ever. Like, literally at dances I would stand and do that awkward head-nod, neck-bob where you snap your fingers and tap your toes and every single female organism around you says "oh my god who is that and why is he having a seizure?" To that, her friend would most certainly reply, "I don't know, but that pole has terrible dance moves."

Fortuntately, or unfortunately, depending how you look at it, I have overcome my phobia of moving my hips in rhythm. Or attempting to. Yes, I dance now. I mean, I find girls and rub my crotch up against their bottoms. But just because I partake in this bottom-rubbing does not mean I am not an awful dancer. Quite contrary, I am almost sure that I am an awful dancer. Evidence? Glad you asked.

Things that have happened:

Scenario 1:

Me: (That girl looks like it would be fun to rub my groin-area against her backside. Do I have to ask her to dance? Or do I just go do it? Why do I feel like a 13 year old boy?)

Girl: (After a good three minutes of me awkwardly standing there) "Do you want to dance...??"

Me: Blurfandsghande. Um. Yes. I would like to. If that's okay?

Girl: Sure. (3 minutes of sweaty awkward body-friction pass. "Get Low" is played. I haven't heard that song since 8th grade, which seems fitting.)

(I rap Ludacris's verse. Loudly and obnoxiously. Looking back, I have no idea why I thought this girl would find this remotely enjoyable. "We want a lady in the street but a FREAK in the bed!" I yell, way too loud, probably way too close to her ear.)

Girl: I have to go find my friends.

Scenario 2:

(I learned from previous mistakes. Don't ask, just grind. I approach girl, and begin crotch-knocking in a rhythmic fashion.)

Girl: Why do you look like you just took a bath with all of your clothes on? Me: (slightly out of breath) IT'S...REALLY HOT DOWN...HERE!

Girl: I have to go find my friends. Then take a shower.

Scenario 3: (I finally find a girl who doesn't mind that my shirt is holding the Pacific Ocean. The problem is she is 5 feet tall.)

We dance for a few songs. After twenty minutes of my AREA being level with her middle back, she decides to strike up conversation.

Girl: Are you having fun?

Me: Honestly? Dancing with you is like doing wall sits for a half an hour. I've been in the defensive stance this whole time. I hate defense...

Girl: You have no rhythm.

Scenario 4: One that still troubles me today.

I asked again, because this particular girl was extremely good looking.

Me: Do you wanna dance?

Girl: Where am I? (Rushes outside to vomit. Ego. Crushed.)