This will be me in roughly a week. My girlfriend, the greatest baseball girlfriend ever, has talked me in to taking some sort of latin dance class with her. I have always loved to dance but never had the confidence to actually learn how to properly do it. I also figure this will be a good way for me to erode away at my inherant white-guy awkwardness. At the very least, it should provide me with some good potentially embarassing fodder for blog writing. So you have that to look forward to.
I remember when you and I would dace the night away together. The sweat, the tears, the brief moments when our lips would quiver with the anticipation of a fleeting kiss. You were my pale Lord of the awkward dance. And I was your curly haired Prince of the...other awkward dance. All in the name of progressive male theater. The production fell under rave reviews, asking it be shut down immediately. But I'll never forget those nights we had of intense rehearsing. Yours forever, Ryan.
Ah the troubles we do put ourselves through for the sake of "the art." I have a poster on my wall commemerating our opening and closing night performance. I still consider it to be a defining moment in my decision to quit dance. I must call you so that we can reminisce.
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