Confessions of a Street Dancer

There was certainly a lot to be pondered this weekend. It was my typical Nebraska weekend, which I can not ever help but be overjoyed with. I’m talking about things that simply cannot occur in New York City. Things like bonfires, golfing, pool drinking, and street dancing. I know what you’re thinking: bonfires? Like ‘em, golfing? Like it. Pool drinking? Love it. Street Dancing? What are you some kind of cowboy hat wearing hooligan? Perhaps you’re thinking “they’re fires, golfing, pools, and dancing in NYC and it’s much cooler than Nebraska” to which you’d also be more or less correct.
In any event, I do not own a cowboy hat…and in hindsight, street dancing may not be for me.

But I will tell you what is for me, and that is margaritas and 7&7’s regardless of obscene price ($4? Get out of here with that). And drunk women who dance provocatively to marginal house bands on a hot summer night. (Note: These women do not have last names, and in most cases I forget if they have first names).

I can never decipher whether this is where I belong, or whether I awake everyday to a fish out of water scenario. For this I have been a tad bit confused, and although I try not to get to “deep” on this thing, I find it only fair that I beg the 3 questions I actually questioned this weekend.

1. Does any person that wears business attire (i.e. a shirt and tie) have a pass to be “that drunk guy” at the pool? Me and some friends often find our way to the pool at my place on Saturdays, Southern Comfort in hand, where we pretty much make fun of the college guys doing stupid stuff, and ogle the cute bikini-clad women that lay out. I am far too young to think that I don’t belong, but I also can’t help but think that I’m out of my element. I only think this on Monday’s…because while I’m going back to work from my lunch I notice all the same people out at the pool…without me…because I’m the only one with a job.

2. What’s with the country music/cowboy hat lifestyle in Lincoln? I haven’t seen this the entire time I’ve lived here, but suddenly you put a party outside, include alcohol, and everybody is rummaging through their closet for the gayest double-breast pocketed shirt and cowboy hat. Do guys really think this is proper anywhere in the country? I know that people think there are hicks in Nebraska but there is a time and a place, and that time is never, and the place is maybe in Alabama… jeez, and for a while there I actually defended Nebraska against the stereotypes…

3. I told you I was going to be honest with the questions I asked myself…and because I’m as honest with you as I am with my ex-girlfriends…which is very honest…seriously, I have no idea who that girl was, I have never met her in my life. Anyway….who decided that they were going to start serving Marinara sauce with things? Breadsticks, cheeseballs, mozzarella sticks, etc. That’s a poor man’s way out. I know you’ve got ranch back there, why put spaghetti sauce in a dish and expect me to be satisfied? This is fried…full of cheese…there is no room in this equation for tomato substances…give me the ranch and step away from the table: lest you get deershanked.

Obviously it was an interesting weekend. With so much inner-philosophy being begged. I made the $100 bet with my buddy Bo over the fall that the Celtics would win the NBA Championship and I’ve got a couple ideas of what to do with it.

1. Frame the check: this would put my great sports predicting genius on display for all to see…

2. Buy 52 stupid things for roughly $1.85/per. And mail them to Bo on a weekly basis, thus constantly reminding him to never bet against my genius and to suffer the incredibly ridiculous spending of his money.

3. Spend the 100 at a strip club while wearing a Larry Bird throwback Indiana State jersey.

4. Gamble the 100 on Big Brown to be euthanized before Flag Day.

5. Invest the money in a high risk bond, wait it out for 20 years and find myself in a 4 story beach home in the year 2028, resting comfortably on the beach with a beer in my hand and a Kevin Garnett Minnesota Timberwolves jersey on my back.

I’ve got a few weeks to think about it, they’re stringing out the NBA Finals longer than William Hung’s celebrity status. Any advice on the matter would be quite appreciated.