Hey look! Today’s prompt is probably normal for most people, but I’m not most people and I’m certainly not normal. First kiss/first love.
Since there is no specification of whether or not that love was requited, and those would be different stories, I think I’ll pass on the first love story. To be honest, I don’t remember my first kiss. I imagine it was around the time I was 14 or so (it’s weird to be a late bloomer among older friends), but like I said, I don’t recall for sure.
But, how about I have a Tina Belcher moment and describe a first kiss full of teenage girl angst?
It’s my 14th birthday party and there are lots of people and music and a cake. And my own personal Jimmy Junior is there. I am, as I should be, the center of attention, surrounded by my worshippers friends. The party goes on for hours and I have the best time of my young life. Throughout the night, I look for my Jimmy Junior and I always see him just on the edge of the crowd. While I am having fun, I an’t help but to think about the only present I really want is my first kiss…from Jimmy Junior.
The party is winding down and people are starting to leave. I don’t know where the time has gone. I’ve danced, laughed, ate, drank – all the things one does at a party. Of course, I still am not fulfilled. There is an empty spot in my heart and on my lips. All but a handful of guests are left and I start to help to clean up. As the last of my friends leave, I feel the party was a success. I turn to get back to work and find myself face-to-face with Jimmy Junior. He takes a moment to look into my eyes before he grabs my hand and starts walking towards the door.
He walks us to a nearby bench and sits me down then takes the spot beside me. He places his hands on mine and wishes me a happy birthday. I can barely whisper out my thanks. And then, by the light of the full moon, Jimmy Junior leans in and gives me the best present ever – my first kiss.
Thank you, ladies a gentlemen! This has been a trademark violating probably Tina Belcher production!
The congregation is at a near frenzy. The thought that the good Reverend might be returning today has an excited buzz rolling through the crowd. Electrified whispers start at the front of the room and spread to the back. Suddenly, a hush falls across the room as a solitary figure steps towards the pulpit.
Good morning, my dear friends. You have been missed. Please know that the Reverend MiamiShyner has been itching to get back and speak to you. Let the congregation say ROCO.
Today, this wonderful Friday, let us talk about dancing, dancing safely, and safety meetings. We might also touch on the paranormal, but first things first: dancing. Oh yes, we all do it. Whether you admit it or not, at some point, probably today, you’ve either busted out a dance move, no matter how small. Perhaps you’re doing choreography in your head right now. If so, good on ya. If not and you haven’t even thought about busting a move today, get up and do so. I’ll wait……
Yeah, Tina. Get it.
That’s also about how I look when making attempts at dancing. Yep, I am the anti-stereotype. Black girl that can’t sing or dance and has no ass. I also hate watermelon and fried chicken isn’t high on my list of loves either. On the whole, I haven’t dated within my race (OMG, the horror!) and that’s not how I married. I contributed to the world interracial fund with a daughter and I think everyone else should too. Let the congregation say ROCO. But I digress.
Weekday mornings, I rise from my slumber and head to the yoga dungeon/workout lair/basement to visit with Shaun T. You know, you gotta love a Shaun T workout, unless it’s any of the Insanity ones in which case you can kiss the crack of my black ass. But Hip Hop Abs, Rockin Body, and Cize? Yeah. All day, every day. It’s dancing and dancing is fun. Or, at least, what I call dancing is fun.
Shaun T says everyone/anyone can dance. You know, I hate to call shenanigans on him, but I have to disagree. Everyone/anyone can follow choreography. Not everyone can dance. Like me, for instance. I can follow your choreography and get it down pretty quickly. Does that mean I look like I’m dancing? Nope. People around me might be doing the same thing and looking like they’re dancing, but I’ll look like I’m having a seizure. So, yes, everyone can follow choreography when broken down correctly, but not everyone can dance.
And I can’t dance safely. One might think for the activities in which I participate, that I would be much less of a klutz. But no, guess again. I fall over my own feet in any sort of complicated footwork, and this morning, I managed to strain my side. Dancing. Maybe I should just call what I do spazzing. The harder I try, the worse it looks, lol. You don’t believe me? Go ahead and watch that little clip below and laugh. My left side! It hurts, lol.
There you go. Proof that I can’t dance. And especially not safely.
I can, however, and have been known to in the past, ahem, conduct a safety meeting. What? I’m unapologetically me. I don’t do things to hurt others. And as long as I stay on that path, I’mma do WTF I want. Just like Eric Cartman. And, I live in Colorado, so bite me. Bite me like I’m a weed infused cookie that you’re dying to try.
Anywho, on a completely different topic, do you ever wonder if your house is haunted? When I was a kid and my great-grandfather died, we moved into his house. Now, we’re talking early 80s here. When houses were sturdy but wiring was probably questionable. After we moved in, odd stuff happened. Lights would turn off or come on of their own volition. A few electrical-type things happened, but the adults laughed it off. Once, just once, I heard an adult say that it was Grandpap doing it, but I think they also realized that I overheard that so then it became a full-on force about wiring. Adults, they’re crazy. Kids, they know the paranormal truth.
Jump ahead about 30 years and here we are in this house. We really know nothing of the history of it, and fortunately a Google search doesn’t turn up anything. However, the reality is that this neighborhood is basically a retirement community which means the probability of someone having passed under this roof is probably high. Not anything to be frightened of in my book. Many were the times I went into my grandparents’ house after my grandfather had passed there. I lived in my parents’ house after my father passed there. And now, on occasion, I hear people talking (and I make sure it’s not the landscapers) or I’ll hear music when I know that it isn’t coming from anything I’m doing nor anything my neighbors are doing. Fun, right?? I’m still waiting to experience something definite. I’ll let you know.
In the meantime, however, I’m off to do some Friday-type shit. Wishing you all a good weekend and a better Pittsburgh sports night tonight than last night was. #cutScobee