Sunday, August 7, 2011

In Honor of Shark Week, I give you: Minnowed

Went out to the U Street corridor last night with some friends from college.  The last time I hung out with the majority of these people (nearly a year ago) I drank so much that I blacked out and cracked a front tooth on my parents door step and woke up in weird pajamas with a fat lip and a Top Five Worst hangover.

As I was not anxious to repeat that incident (although it's pretty funny now, especially because my tooth is still firmly in my gums) I only had two beers last night and was content with a persistent and enjoyable buzz.  I shook my booty as hard as I could to many suggestive songs; Top Booty-Shakin' Tunes for me right now would be Rowland/Guetta's "Commander" and DUH Rihanna's "S&M".  Local Sixteen obliged with all of these songs and more and by the time we actually got to the floor, which was the majority of the second story of an old row house, I spent the evening what Kate and I have dubbed "Minnowed".

Minnowed:  when the men around you have suddenly sensed your feminine presence. Maybe they smell your pheromones, maybe they hear girlish laughter, but they definitely see skirts moving and hair being tossed and thus they must move closer.  Instinct tells them that due to the influence of alcohol on both parties, mating could be a possibility and they circle their prey.  They care not for other predators in their midst, they hone in on their target.  They gesticulate with their pelvis, they flail their arms and bobble their heads up and down, they spill their precious alcoholic nectar on your rear end and shoes.  They move close enough to actually inspect their prey, throwing elbows at the predators.  WEEEEEEOOOOOO NOT UGLY!!!!!  Now they get even closer, they breathe on your neck and they put a hand on your back, or back side if you're unlucky, and then they screech in your ear as they try to wiggle their hips in the same rhythm as your own, "HEY UH YA WANNA DANCE?!"

Maybe it's that I am never allowed to deny requests at work.  Maybe it's that I know and love my friends and family so I rarely turn them down.  But in the presence of males with sweat pouring down their entire selves and beer stank on their breath, trying to gyrate in time with my reluctant body simply because I have breasts, I will not.  I will not and I enjoy the act of denying.  I will not succumb to their minnow tactics, I will not be coerced into dancing with an insanely tall rugby player (or the whole damn team, as it were last night) and I whip my hair as hard as I can into their faces and smirk "No".   It does not matter that with so many guys the height of pro-basketball players pressing up against me I feel that I'm in a rather claustrophobic forest.  ABSOLUTELY NOT!!!!

They are rarely embarrassed at their rejection.  Nor are they nonplussed at the rejection of those around them.  It's almost like they think "MY TURN SHE'S BEEN WAITING FOR MEEEEE!!!"  Frequently, they try and hang on anyway, but that's a real mistake because they end up with my elbow anywhere that seems vulnerable and I'm not particularly tall.

I don't really understand how dancing like that is supposed to be fun.  I mean, obviously a dude thinks he can just lean against a while and you'll shove your butt into their crouch and rub it around, but who wants to do that?  Who's self esteem is so low that they're going to get dressed up like a prostitute, act like a prostitute, but not not receive monetary compensation for their acts?

I like to jump around, generally as energetically as I can, scream along to the lyrics of good/ridiculous songs and whip my long hair, yes, back and forth.  Thanks, Willow Smith.  I like to jump up and down next to someone I think is fun and attractive.  I do not want to simulate sex on the dance floor while wearing small clothes in front of my friends.

You know what's not sexy?  Having someone pour beer down your new fun dress and then scream in your face that you're "hot" while they grope around for your sex organs.  I have parents, and they taught me that I am not meat.  Also, being called "hot" when you're sweating the contents of a bottle of liquor is not so much a compliment as an observation of the state of affairs.  You should really take off that goddamn polo shirt and those idiotic boat shoes (ARE WE ON A BOAT??!?!!  THIS PARTY COULD BE SO MUCH MORE TERRIFYING IF THERE'S NO WAY TO ESCAPE YOU OTHER THAN LEAPING INTO THE GARBAGE FILLED DEPTHS OF THE POTOMAC!!!) and present yourself as something other than a frat boy bitch that's going to give me some sort of shitty rash.

However, never be naked.  That would be worse.

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