MOOP!

So, a theme for me lately has been the idea of types, as in "what are the physical types of humans who are most immediately attractive to you". And the answer is pretty easily "all of them, humans are so fucking hot".

But, in the spirit of a recent post by my samebrain friend, here is (and I quote) "A probably-incomplete and mostly-whimsical list of my types, in no particular order, as determined by having had crushes on or relationships with at least two people who fit each of them:"

( I tried to keep this list non-objectifying, but we are literally talking about bodies for like...three of these and then the rest are conceptual or behavioral or whatever I am so bad at this. Anyways, cut because a few of these are nsfw and kink-adjacent. )

Okay, so I was poking around the movie server, looking for something to watch, and lo and behold there were all the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. It's been a good long while since I saw Black Pearl, and maybe we're cool with Depp again? Whatever, I figured I'd go ahead and watch the first ten minutes or so, because Cap'n Jack Sparrow's entrance remains one of them great cinematic moments.

Holy shit, it turns out this movie holds up!

There's a fully unnecessary dudes-in-dresses bit, and the whole corset drama in the beginning is just painfully inaccurate¹ but the movie is full of swagger, good expressions, flashy swordfights, and grand heroics. I knew that I had the remnants of a desperate crush on Sparrow (and they're still there, mostly buried deep and vestigial at this point), and I'm pleased to report that Will is still way _way_ more boring than his love interest, but uh...when did Barbossa get hot?

(Is it the retrospect of knowing he comes back in the rest of the trilogy and becomes a good guy? Is it just getting old enough to develop a thing for Geoffrey Rush?)

Meanwhilst, Norrington really is the only damn grown-up in this movie, with the exception of him being a total dick to Jack at the beginning. I would like him to get scruffy now plz, and I recognize that I have to wait until the second movie for that. And yes, he is Also Hot Now but I think I've known that.

It is a crime Annamaria didn't get her own movies.

Anywho, it's something kinda neat to rewatch something that was _so_ deeply a part of my childhood but also _so_ totally not in my current zeitgeist anymore. I remembered many of the beats as they happened, but had only a vague recollection of the overall plot. Good times!

And yes, dear slash-happy past Kat, obviously I sniggered when Will declared that his place was between Sparrow and Norrington. Because it so is, you sweet little twink.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Look, like plenty of the movie is historically inaccurate I am sure, but a corset is equivalent to a good bra and ain't no one fainting because their bra was too tight.

I find it interesting my internal classifications of "crush" and "other assorted romantic-sexual-moirailic feelings towards someone". Because you would think that I would apply most recipients of the latter category to the former word --If I feel more than platonic towards you, I have a crush, right? Well...not exactly.

Because part of having a crush involves that fluttery teenaged feeling of "ooo, do they really like me?!" All the traditional teeny-bopper bullshit, and that's part of what makes crushes great! It's fun to feel jittery and curious and interested and spend time over-interpreting every little word and gesture and touch.

But there are some people who I don't have to do that for. There are people who I can know, without doubt, that they like me --maybe just platonically, but they are decidedly interested in hanging out with me and talking to me and touching me. And when I become more-than-platonic interested in those people, I don't get the fluttery "do-they-don't-they?" feeling in the base of my spine. I get a strong dose of just plain joy from being with them. I like hanging out with them, I like talking to them and hugging them and entering gleeful philosophical arguments or getting advice or whatever comes my way. Sure, sometimes I can get that flutter, but if my brain enters "oo, I LIKE like them!" mode, my first instinct is not to overanalyze, but to straight up say "yo, you're a babe, let's shag."

(Or more accurately, to analyze them and their current situation, and whether or not they are poly or polyfriendly, and whether or not they are associated with someone(s), and if I could or could not deal with those associates¹, and where they live, and how often they dance and how well we communicate, and a few other factors that would be a bit too revealing to actually post here. If they meet my Rigorous Testing³, then I toss out a "so, I'm interested, you interested? Let's talk about it lots and lots!", and things go from there. Shagging usually takes much longer to get around to⁴.)

I think a lot of the difference falls into friendship, and how close I am with the person initially, but some of the difference is certainly the difference between relationships that I am playing for endgame, and relationships that I am playing transiently. When I say "playing for endgame", I don't mean Twoo Wuv Everlasting and six kids and a picket fence, necessarily. I just mean that I am fully intending for this brilliant person to be in my life for the rest of time, in some capacity or another. Maybe they will be just a (varying⁵) close friend, maybe they will be a reoccurring sexual partner, maybe they will be a romantic partner, maybe they really will be the coparent of my eventual children.

My transient (more often referred to as "casual") relationships do not carry that weight within them. I would like to know these people for a long time --I am usually pretty good about not being attracted (in the sense of friendship as well as moreship) to jerkasses, and I like keeping nifty people in my life. But they feel more like the secondary characters of my play, something to look back fondly at and say "oh yes, we had that glorious BDSM dynamic our last semester of school" or "he's the only uncut cock I've ever had the pleasure of playing with" or even just "we talked so much in person that our chatlogs were able to be nothing more than pages of entertaining links from Tumblr"⁷.

So when I am interested in a person who I know or suspect will drift away somehow (grad school, awesome new job on the other coast, other relationship turning into The Serious One...in a few more years, I suspect "babies" and "wedding planning" will be pretty thoroughly on this list), my feelings tend to be more ephemeral. And ephemeral, not-so-serious thoughts are just great for crushing on someone, because it gives me a chance to be giddy and get out my newness fetish on them without worrying significantly about how I am going to restructure my life (even subtly) to make sure that person is always in it.

(Plus, my newness fetish -which is totally kinda a thing? Like, I pretty much always and forever have *someone* I've got NewToyEnergy or NewDesire for- works really well with time-limited relationships. Oh, you're mono and just waiting to find the one? Happy to play in the meantime!)

Anyways, I don't have anything else to say really. This is a pretty clear example of writing to suss out my own thoughts. Thanks for joining me.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: It is to my moderate shock that I realize I won't date someone if I find their other partners difficult to deal with. This is a bit depressing --I tend to compartmentalize my relationships-- but I've seen enough variety in the last five years of being some sort of polybeast to note the differences between "you make my partner happy and that makes me happy keep making my partner happy YAY!" and "I hate your stupid face you homewrecking slutcookie"². The latter kinda sucks, and the mutual partner has to work damn hard to make up for that sort of bullshit. I would prefer to save everyone the work by just not getting involved.

2: I thought briefly about putting in some actual (paraphrased) quotes/actions from various metamours in the past, but that would probably turn out mean, and I try not to be bitter or spiteful on livejournal. So these are extremes, neither of which I have actually explicitly heard or reached.

3: Not actually rigorous, certainly not a formal test.

4: Things that entertain me: One of my earlier partners and I were curled up platonic in a bed when they mentioned that they were into me, and I revealed that I was pretty into them. Something on the order of two hours later we actually got around to kissing. Sigh!

5: It pains me to note that, since exiting high school, I have very few people with whom I have enjoyed the same degree of closeness for more than a few years. I have had several very close friends⁶ (some of whom I termed best friend but none of whom quite matched up with Veronica), but I often tend to go for accidental months without communication towards the people I care about. This is a pretty major failing on my part and I don't know how to fix it. It frustrates me that I can have a year where I spend thousands of words on IM with someone, followed by a year where there is...nothing.

6: Since college, jere7my is probably the person who I have had the most consistent friendship with. He is absolutely one of my best friends in the world (because *someone* has to yell at me for not knowing songs that came out before I was born, and MrBelm is busy doing that for He-Who-Will-Not-Be-Ignored, I'm sure) and that's been pretty consistently true since I met him in early aught-eight.

7: Match the relationship to the person! No, do not really. Anyways, all three of these are people who I *love* getting to see again, and truly hope to stay in some touch with for the rest of time. But I'm not always as good as I should be about keeping in touch with them outside of those sporadic meetings, due to distance or time constraints or just plain ol' drift.

...

Dear boys of the universe:

Please stop making me think hard about the fact that my new boots are laced wrong, and I should fix them.

Also, please stop making me giddy that I have new boots.

You are all maddening, luv, Kat.

So, the other day I was going through old 750words posts and stuff, and pulled out a bunch of things that I thought were worth saying in public.

A lot of them are kinda depressing, because I think words often flow better when they've got a pinch of melancholic to them. But here. It's like a sundries post, only just with things I've written.

Author's notes are in italics

---

There is a boy.
Who likes me and other girls.
And likes me more _anyways_.

***

Being loved by someone sweet and devoted to me is nice, and I love them all for it.

But being loved by someone sweet and devoted to me over other girls is just a whole different realm of exciting. And of course, we don't actually have much of a romantic relationship at all, but still.

I've never been the girl who wins before. It's the scariest damn thing, but gods help me, I like it.

Yeah, this was really startling when I realized it for the first time, and I still kinda refuse to believe it's true.

And of course, there is no "winning" in poly (except maybe making everyone involved in your relationship scheme happy) but there's also not quite a word to express what I mean here. I am perfectly content to be right where I am in all the relationships I'm in --hence the reason I'm in them-- but sometimes it's nice to realize all a sudden that someone thinks you're special enough to set aside a girl who is clearly hotter and more interesting than you are.

---

...then it just hurts more and I am tired of it hurting _more_. Things aren't supposed to keep hurting more. Shouldn't pain level out at some point?

Yes. Yes it should. I think this particular pain might've gotten close to level for now, the problem is just that level is a lot of pain, and so I can only lock it away for so long before it rages at me again.

What, no, I'm not emo, nope.

---

I hate because the only other option is to hurt, and this hurts so bad I'm not sure I can deal.

I don't remember who or what I hate here. Very plausibly myself.

---

And really, if you don't have all your words sorted out beforehand, if you don't know what you're going to say, what's the point of trying to say it anyways? I'm a fucking writer, if I can't put a problem into words, there's probably not much of a problem in the first place.

...and even if I can put it into words, I'm a cynic, and a victim and extremely clever. If I can put it into words, I can figure out arguments against the problem until it no longer exists, or boils down to just me being a tiny idiot. And no one but me can fix me being a tiny idiot.

And this is why I am not very good at speaking up when there is something wrong in one of my relationships. If I can sort it out on my own, because I was just being silly, why would I bother my partner?

Yeah, I'm _really_ not good at this relationship thing. Anyone who says otherwise is lying.

---

And when the going gets tough, I am presented with one option -to overwhelm myself in sensation.

Tense certain muscles past any reasonable point, shut my eyes tight, or stare meditatively into something lovely, or run and run until the body runs out of energy, or most used of all, drown my internal monologue in music.

I drown myself in music all the time. Hell, let's be honest here, it's one of the most useful coping mechanisms I currently have in order to fight bottom. I get sad, I pump on the Next to Normal, or s00j, or Vienna, or whatever else I've got, and I make the sad, if not go away, at least have to struggle past the noise to actually get to me.

It's a really really nice coping mechanism. It also means that I'm going to be deaf before I turn thirty.

My made up mind was not put here for you to try and change. Cheers, s00j.

---

But the best part of today is that I've hit upon two separate things that make me incredibly _incredibly_ happy.

The first is pretty logical. Giving Blood. Me donating a pint makes me both incredibly pleased with myself, and punchy as fuck due to the light-headedness. I am okay with this state of affairs, especially if it makes me unlazy enough to go give blood more often than the twice yearly I've been doing.

Speaking of which, I'm almost eligible again. Anyone want to go to the red cross with me this weekend?

---

I am amused by Hyde, protecting me from the ghosts that lurk for hours after I read anything creepytastic, no matter how far I remove myself from the immediate.

"Don't worry dear. There is nothing in this house as scary as I. Except maybe for you."

Oh, excellently played you delightful fucker.

y'all do know who Hyde is, right? He lives in my head and gives me not terribly good advice. Because I am, say it with me folks, a little bit broken.

---

I am, for the first time in my life, willingly sitting out while actively at dance.

I just...don't feel like dancing. I'd say maybe I'm tired, except I know I've danced in physically worse shape before --and that's not even counting on the sprained ankle!

No, I just can't cope with the idea of doing more dances tonight. There is apparently a point where the pain of dance overtakes the pleasure --I know, I didn't realize it could happen either. But there is, and I've finally hit it.

***

I don't want to sob in the middle of the dance hall, in the middle of a waltz. I don't know that I could explain why if I did. I do know that I don't ever want to have to. I hate crying, I hate the pain, and I hate people giving me sympathy, because I hate being weak enough to need other people.

All I want is to just be strong enough to survive independent of outside forces. Maybe that means I need to break up with everyone, not have outside forces that affect me any longer. GO LIVE IN A CAVE AND BE A HERMIT, SOR!

I am such a whiny cunt¹. It is beyond me why anyone at all gives a damn about me in the first place. :P

Cunt explained below. No, you don't get an explanation for the rest of it. But this is a pretty common mental path --emo -> yelling at myself for being emo.

---

Dog and I get along well, and that's really really important.

I need to remember that having friends who I can bitch about the odd parts of my life to are a really crucial thing for me to have. I also need to remember how much I appreciate having friends who will slap me down when I am using inappropriate language, or otherwise being an elitist jerk. (see also, Jesse glaring at me when I used bitch. I want to give him a cookie and a hug for that alone)

Dog is awesome. I really want to hang out with him more this fall, when I'm back in Boston.

---

(I don't know how to feel about the fact that I'm using Amanda right now for a little extra bit of stability. She is a fucking idiot. But her art, when it's good...

It's good. It's the best. Right now I am angry and hurt and sad and scared. And that is the perfect mood for listening to Amanda, because she will reinforce the parts that are okay to be reinforced, and she will eradicate the parts that need to just Go Away.

I use music to blank myself out. She's really really good at that.

Hate the artist, love the art? I don't even know anymore. It is so hard to be a good person sometimes.)

Can we have an Amandadebate-free space in my journal comments? I'd appreciate that.

Yes, this is all just because I handle arguments extremely poorly, and I can't freak out and walk four miles in this state.

---

I find it telling that I've had two boys in a row who were just for sex. And I'm in love with both of them.

Sex is a bit of a misnomer --I have what the Shakers² call an "unsullied cunt", which is apparently terribly valuable and should be protected at all costs. But boys who I am into with the kissing and such, and not the romantics. And...yeah. My traitor of a heart has started to sigh wistfully, and doodle our initials together on my school notebooks.

---

The emotion involved, this is more than sex. Sex is just endorphins and dopamine. Waltzing is...joy.

So, I almost just wrote "fucking _this_" as my author's note. Which means that I just tried to emphatically agree with something I wrote. So, uh, yeah, I'm a bit of an idiot.

---

~Sor
MOOP!

1: This is not a word that I should use. It's a slur, flat and simple, and I should not use it to refer to myself (which I do, occasionally), or any other woman (which I don't.)

That being said, there are a lot of things I call myself that no one else may touch, and yes, cunt is one of them. There's a hardness to it, all edges and corners and sharp, and in some moods, the words I feel that fit best are the words that fit this hardness.

2: See also, Shakesville here, and the specific origin of the term unsullied cunt here.

A bunch of years ago, I had a summer where multiple people admitted to being into me, which was both awesome and more than a bit "what?" But the end result was that I made a comment-screened post on the subject, asking "why?!"

((Sometimes I am unabashed in my need for ego-boosting))

A couple weeks ago, I was having a conversation with a friend in which they mentioned "I have no idea what boys see in you"¹. Because I am the queen of insidiously low self-esteem, my response was the highly rational and very helpful "I don't know either."

It triggered thought though, and so I've spent spare brainwaves from the last few weeks trying to sort out just what it is exactly that makes me That Girl. It remains a very true observation that I am --people, especially boys, like me. I can't help this, nor do I particularly want to, really.

The callous and to my mind logical first thought of "they like me because I put out" is presumably untrue, since as far as I can tell, nothing about my public persona indicates that I do so for strangers, and it's not like I have sex particularly indiscriminately, or really, much at all. Everyone I've shared a bed with over the last four years was a friend first, which means that they liked me *before* we got naked. Furthermore, I have male friends who would probably be quite willing to get sexy with me, but we specifically haven't, and they still find me worth hanging out with. So, whatever it is, it's not the sex thing.

The theory that I've been working on that I feel has the most weight to it is closely related to an essay that was posted on Polyamorous Misanthrope, and brought to my attention by Gabity-Gabe. The essay is about a boy who is extremely well liked by women, and posits that the reason he is so well-liked is because he genuinely enjoys the company of and platonic interaction with women. He doesn't just talk to women in the hopes of pussy, but because of the actual person around it.

Pretty much my whole life, I have had close male friends, often more so than female ones. This is because I really quite like males. I could not tell you what particular quality that leads me to enjoy male company more than female, but there must be some reason that makes it easier for me to make friends with other boys² than with other girls². I really do honestly enjoy the company of males, even when I'm not expecting to sleep with them.

This idea is strengthened by a theory I've had for a good long time now --namely, that someone being attracted to you is a *deeply* attractive trait. So, using that, we get the idea that my enjoying the company of males is something that they enjoy, and makes them more likely to enjoy the company of me.

Going even deeper with the above thought, we reach the idea that I am, for whatever degree of intensity or intimacy, attracted to a noticeable percentage of humanity. I fall just a little bit in love every other time I get on the subway. While I have definite physical types I prefer, none of them matter in the presence of an honest smile. If you're reading these words, I am probably attracted to you, at least a little bit, because you are human and alive and I find that absolutely fascinating. Humanity is beautiful, and each individual uniquely so.³

I've got a few other ideas as to what it is my boys see in me as well (and I haven't even engaged in the highly scientific response of just asking them and seeing if there are any common patterns) but I think that the fact that I really like boys, for who they are, is a pretty good start.

And now I open it up to you guys. What is it that people see in That Person that makes them so bloody attractive? Why do certain people just attract everyone and manage to get all the dates?

And sure, let's be egotistical here. What is it about me specifically that's just so damn attractive? Because I *still* don't see it.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: This made sense in context
2: My mind *insisted* that this wording was correct, and I can't really say I disagree with it.
3: Man, I am such a hippie some days. But it's true!

Often when I am online, I stumble across interesting or awesome or or funny or terrible links. My normal response to such is to scan my IM buddy list, and link as appropriate --"here, I think you need this"

Every once in a while, that just shuts down. Case in point, there's no one awake and online right now who I would believe has enough of a familiarity with Blues Clues to enjoy this quote. So I share it over here instead:

((From TVTropes.org, Prisoners of Pollyanna (ie, people who want to escape their squeaky clean child role with adult roles))

Steve Burns of Blues Clues fame - he has explicitly stated that he has no desire to kill the image of Blue's Clues' Steve by doing anything terribly unseemly (he's even said that he has refused requests to have sex in the Blue's Clues 'Thinking Chair' that he was given, on the grounds that it would feel like a bunch of parents were watching him do it).

First thought: WHO WOULD WANT TO HAVE SEX IN THE GODDAMN THINKING CHAIR!?! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE!!

Second thought: ...oh right, he's cute as hell and covered TMBG, which means he's got good taste.

Third thought: ...and it is a damn good chair. I mean, it's no Dr. Horrible's chair, but it's a nice chair...

Fourth thought: ...wait. No. Just no. WHO WOULD WANT TO HAVE SEX IN THE GODDAMN THINKING CHAIR?!!?

~Sor
MOOP!

((Parallel¹ thought: Holy shit, Steve got a Thinking Chair when he left the show? That is the SECOND GREATEST THING EVER (right after his cover of "Dead", which is pretty good, really))

1: I think on at least two tracks at a time. This is why I can be sobbing into my pillow and lamenting how melodramatic this all is at the same time.

I spent the weekend in New York City with thorog and his girl, Rose. Insert appropriate They Might Be Giants song here.

We...basically had a sinfully good time of things. Saturday, we arrived and went to Surreal Estate, which is the house/commune muzikmaker21 and roughly fifty other hippies live in. We got the grand tour, and learned far too many names --I think I picked up that prettyboy is Quin(t?), and I met an adorably charming girl called Meg, an aussie named Hannah, and a different adorably charming girl called Emma, who was totally flattered when I accidentally called her Meg. We also went and got really good pizza from the sustainable pizza place across the street from Surreal Estate, where Nathen works.

Eventually, we wandered off to Times Square, where we stood in an abysmally long TKTS line¹ and spent much time debating what show to try and see². We were this close to going and seeing ROCK OF AGES³, but there was not seats together, so we decided we'd rather sit in the same place, and see Avenue Q.

After TKTS, we hit up Toys R Us, where we acquired a Brenton/gyrik_22⁴, and bunches of candy. We did not acquire a dinosaur, because it wouldn't fit in my purse, or a stick pony, even though I was tempted. Also, LEGO PIRATES ARE HAPPENING AGAIN! Just so you all know.

Dinner wound up being at a bar a couple blocks up from Times Square (Daltons? I think Daltons) which was good food, very nice to Rose and her pepper-allergy, and did not try to card us when we walked in, which would've resulted in me being kicked out⁵. So they get points! From there to AveQ, which was fairly enjoyable, and pretty much targeted exactly at the four of us --the girl halfway through her undergrad, the girl in the middle of her graduate degree, the boy just out of college and trying to make a living in the big city, and the boy trying to get a doctorate. Musicals written for twenty-somethings are fun!

Wandered for a while in search of ice cream, settled for Jamba Juice at the Port Authority, at least in part because they had bathrooms. Headed back to Surreal Estate, where we learned that drunk hippies really really like delicious oatmeal chocolate chip cookies⁶. Tho and Rose did their own thing for a bit, and I went out on one of the roofs with Nathen and Meg to chill. Oh, and in case I haven't made it clear enough yet, Surreal Estate is very *very* awesome. I may go ahead and take my ten day trial period sometime, were I a New York kind of girl. ((They give you ten days before they figure you've moved in, and should therefore pay rent or teach dancing or give backrubs or something. They are a very chill commune.))

We slept. [I am debating this sentence, someone remind me to ask Tho if I can post it.] Sunday morning we woke up, got dressed, and danced salsa and swing in the common room. Eventually, we managed to wander out for bagels, which were delicious, and thrift storing, which was really quite fun --Nathen managed to find a tie that said "viagra" on it repeatedly, and I got a gorgeous summery dress --doubly good, since it was a billion degrees out, and I had previously been wearing black jeans.

We left Surreal Estate and headed to The Strand, where we again met up with Brenton. I'm not entirely sure what happened between 1:30 and 4, but I think it involved a lot of books, and possibly Forbidden Planet. From there, we walked many many blocks to a tiny little macaroon shop Tho had found out about using the power of the INTERNET! and then a pasta shop for dinner, and a quick look around Macys while waiting for the bus home.

Ended out the trip by sitting on the sidewalk in a light rain, chatting and snuggling. Long, overly hot, ride home with some absolutely smashing conversation, and then to bed, to bed.

...or in my case, to Vera, in order to chat with people and make sure none of you has exploded while I was gone.

And that was my weekend! Origins in three days! Aiee, I've got to pack >.<

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Dear mom, you lied, it's not under the Marriot Marquee anymore. It is in fact, smack in the middle of Times Square
2: NTS: Write "Phantom of Chicago Q...OF AGES!"
3: \m/
4: Okay, yeah, there's a reason I couldn't remember your screenname, Dragon. It is a complicated name, that I'm not totally positive I can pronounce.
5: Not that we ordered any boozahol anyways. But they do sometimes card at the door, and being as I was the only under-21 in the group, it would've been annoying as all hell.
6: Brenton made 'em for us because he's a gentleman or somesuch. They were fekken' delicious, and did not last very long at all.

((This is the essay I've been meaning to post since Flurry --really, more of a narrative. UMYEAH. In the interest of not babbling like an idiot, I don't have any author's notes to preface it with. That's what footnotes are for.))

The Penultimate Waltz
(An essay detailing the happenings of my finest dance this weekend, and a short analysis of the three minute intimate experience.)

In the course of my dance weekend, I had a chance to discuss with a tango instructor the melancholic sensuality of dance. "A three minute deeply intimate experience" he described it, and, catching on to the poetry of the words, stored that thought into my head for later use.

The later use came earlier than expected, the next day, at the end of a contra set. Scouting the hall for someone to dance with, I saw a very vaguely familiar face with a button --"I give hugs".

"Hello, want to dance, and don't I recognize you from NEFFA?" We reintroduced ourselves and joined a set, and I crossed my fingers deep in the back of my mind and prayed, as I always do, that he would be a good partner, and this would be a good set.¹

(In contra, the first is far more important than the second, and indeed, unless you are very lucky, there will almost certainly be those you find distasteful, or at best, merely uninteresting.)

So we begin to travel up the set. It is, in a word, exceptional. He is good and I am good and we are Good together.⁴

That was, unbeknownst to us, the last contra, and after the last contra always comes the Last Waltz. All around us, couples were forming. I waited a polite moment, then went ahead and asked him if he knew how to waltz.

I've danced with many waltzers, some good, some great, some exceptional. He was, perhaps, merely good, slightly on the inexperienced side⁵ but he had an excellent sense of rhythm and as we danced I found myself drawing steadily closer, to press more against him. He did not pull away -our chemistry palpable to us both.⁶

We ended, and he pulled me into a hug. (Or perhaps I pulled him, it matters not.) The dancers around us whooped and cheered the music, but we had a mutual reluctance to let go of one another. As I leaned close to him in our hug, I found courage to go ahead and ask -"Would it be impudent of me to ask to kiss you?"

(I am nothing if not terribly polite)

He answered in a positive manner, and our lips met, sweet and warm and wonderful. We pulled apart as the dance dispersed, a slight blush tinting both our cheeks.

"See you at NEFFA" I called as we trailed off in our separate directions, though I think, even if we did, the world will not be the same. But for that three minute intimate moment, nothing mattered but being there and dancing together.

The Last Waltz is meant to be the important one, the one you save, and Dance Flurry ended with one more set of contras and a truly last waltz. But for this festival, of all the dances I danced, that final festival waltz meant nothing compared to the dance (and the kiss) before it --the penultimate waltz.

((Written 15 February 2009))

~Sor
MOOP!

((Postscript, written 8 May 2009:

I danced with him at NEFFA, but we didn't wind up kissing --I may have been slightly distracted at the time. (*coff*) I danced with him last night, being as he was my ride to Concord and whatnot. Ladies⁷ don't kiss and tell.

He remains probably the best contra dancer I've ever met though. Sorry all the rest of you, 'struth. I've ended a contra with him and been unable to think for a couple minutes --I think the only other person who's ever done that to me just through dancing is Magus, and his glorious waltzing.

...now, to get him into a skirt...>.>))

---

1: Holy run-on, Batman! This is one of the big problems with whenever I try to be prosey --I get a bit ridiculous². Also, the line was originally "prayed to the true goddess of dance, for I am merely demi³" but that's perhaps just a bit obscure.

2: I am -well, ridiculously- proud that I have finally figured out how to spell this word.

3: Long ago, mek had heaps and heaps of assorted titles --four altogether, I think, although I can only remember three of them right now. (Ritzy the Anti-Strag, Fiend of Vile Falsehoods, and Crackers of the Pointy Tortilla Chips) At some point, I complained about the fact that I disdn't have any titles at all. Shortly thereafter, I received a letter addressed to "Sor, the Demi-Goddess of Dance". Whether or not I 'deserve' that title is an essay for later, but at the time, it made me incredibly happy.

4: 'k, I was gonna go verbatim from my notebook, but I'm not sure what the hell I was writing here. Yes, that's partially because I was in a car when I wrote this and so can't really read my handwriting. Just know that it was a really unbelievably amazing dance.

5: Sooo tempted to revise this, but it'd be a lie. He is a perfectly fine waltzer, but between Magus and Larry, I have been completely spoiled for merely "fine."

6: Dear Sor. Never write prose again. No, *seriously*. Love Kat.

7: I am not a lady. I am a gentleman, however.

Original Tags:
bestof, dancing, unfiled people-fen, writings, unfiled people-alsoreal, tagged, i-have-a-crush-on-every-boy, i-love-being-poly, gendersex, sexuality, magus, i-write-good-shit: personal

So, this weekend I went to NEFFA. YAY! I decided to go the entire time without Vera. YA...oh, wait, BOO!

But! Before going, I set up my phone to receive twitter messages, from mom and the people who were gonna be at NEFFA, and more importantly, set it up so I could update my twitter from anywhere I got phone service.

Tweets are in italics, and ( under the cut )

So yes. NEFFA this year felt largely more like a convention than a dance event, but I'm pretty okay with that. I spent several hours doing multiple kinds of dance --I got to do a bit of swing with a really talented lead --he led me through a couple jumps and dips, which was rad.

Volunteering went reasonably well, if dull. Dancing was not enough but quite good what there was. People were utterly amazing --I should really make a point of talking to SpringIsWrath more often, as he is wonderful, plus keeping up with Jesse (known also as Boy-I-Kissed-At-Flurry) and ncarraway.

Soyes! That was my weekend. More posting on more things eventually.

~Sor
MOOP!

POSTSCRIPT: My twitter is here, if you want to actually follow it. Let me know offlist who you are, so I can follow you back!

1: I like boys in skirts, oh yes I do.

2: Tall. Painfully skinny. Long hair. I don't find everyone who fits this trope attractive, and there are certainly other tropes I go for hard (my height, something like twenty or thirty pounds more of curves than I have, dark hair, female -oh yum!) but both my dating track record and my eyecandy track record reeeeally like the gangly ones.

3: Pets, with the capital letter, are different from pets, without. The capital letter denotes ownership of some sort --it's very not my kink, but not to the level where I'd call it an antikink⁴ or anything. I find it a fascinating power dynamic, from both sides.

4: I feel that the most acceptable word for the opposite of a kink is a squick. But the word squick (and its original meaning)...well...squicks me, so I try not to use it. I'm working on finding a better word, expect post on this later.