freaking friday

hello, again. after a sort of hilarious IM conversation with a fellow uniblogger, i have decided to share with you some advice that might help your weekend be filled with more making out and awesomeness. but first you must listen to a story.

when i was in high school, my friends and i frequented many underage dance clubs. those included illusions, the soul kitchen, bounce and a few others. we would go to at least one of these almost every weekend from the summer before we were sophomores until mid-way through our junior year when our jeans got really baggy and we discovered "shows." i'm getting carried away on my attention to detail here. anyway, during these formative years of drunken dancing with strange, sweaty, hormonal dudes, we created many rules and bits of vocabulary that would help us communicate more clearly with one another and made for hilarious stories we'd share the next day when we'd stay in bed until our moms would make us do chores.

one of these special bits was called, "don't look him in the eye." see, when you're sixteen, wearing a highly questionable outfit (it was 1993), tan because you live in orange county and tipsy on zima, dudes want to dance with you. they usually want to grind their privates on you, too. if you look him in the eye, he's going to french you. it's human nature. in this situation, you're either going to want it to happen or not want it to happen. because you're a silly teenager, you might want it to happen, but you're going to pretend that you don't...so you don't look him in the eye until you really want him to.

my challenge for you this weekend is to get ahold of yourself and effing look him (or her) in the eye. own that shit. you're older now. you can do it. so, go to madrone on saturday night, follow my instructions from this time last month, find a sweaty other to dance with and stare hard. then french away.

special thanks to laurin for providing an awesome soundtrack for this post. happy weekending.