The other day she called me up and invite me to this thing called 'No Lights, No Lyrca.'
Let me tell you , this is much harder than it seems. As soon as you walk into the room- everyone is ready to go. I made the mistake of taking the whole dancing thing pretty lightly so was just wearing jeans and a singlet- the rest of the room werent dressed like me. Instead most donned outfits that had that whole centre stage/dirty dancing/girls just wanna have fun ISH feel. But in a less wanky way. I'll describe this one chick and the description of her pretty much speaks for the rest of the room;
There were others who went into MC hammer pants- but did it so subtely and with such grins you just knew instantly they weren't trying too hard. I think my angst lay in the fact - that the people there were lay back- and I clearly wasn't. I mean I was anixous over clothes!
For the first couple of minutes, my friend and I couldn't move- we were literally paralysed- I don't know whether it was because we were in a crowd we didnt know- or we were over thinking- but somehow in our minds- we felt too embarrssed to move. The funny thing was, that in being too nervous to move, we stood out from the crowd, and thereby made ourselves even more self conscious- everyone was moving except for us. So in a funny sort of way- you end up having to throw yourself into the deep end and begin to dance in order to escape standing out. -In your mind - its seems like a contradiction- you remain stagnant to blend in- but the theory itself is turned upside down and you have to do the thing - you dont want to do because you dont want to be obvious- to remain in the background.
In the end my friend and I danced along with the others- whether we really let ourselves go or not I'm not really sure. I guess it might take a little bit more experience of pushing yourself to that level of uncomfortable self consciousness to get there. In thinking about that- its sort of frightening how much control we place over ourselves into our lives. The amount of control we place is surely revealed in how difficult it is to let go of it. Yet at the same time, I'm too cynical to let myself read too deeply into something which occurs to songs like Britney's 'toxic' or some 70s disco beats, but I cant ignore those first terrifying moments when I looked around with a clenched body and felt a sort of helpness in my anxiety.
*The shit kind is the gossip girl kind. I'm sorry, but because of that show a million girls now experience the hallucination their life is like Blair Waldorf . It's like the sex and the city syndrom- where 30 something middle aged hags think the show is like "exactly like their life" and they have friends who are "exactly like samantha". Shut up please.