dancing. walking.

it's 3am on Friday night/Saturday morn, and i just got home.
i'm WIDE awake.

i just bought my first pair of high heels in five years.
i hated high heels. i thought of them as somewhat degrading and ridiculous. why the hell should women have to titter tip-toe around on those tiny little spikes? plus, i've got notoriously bad balance, so i found them downright dangerous. but women abound attest that 'you just get used to them'.  PSHAW. i shouldn't have to "get used to" pain and hazardous missteps for the sake of sex appeal.

however, i can admit the problematic nature of my unwillingness to see outside of my perspective at times.
my friend R__n has got the sweetest face and disposition, and it's hard not to get pulled into every earnest word that passes her lips. she had a pair of dancing heels custom made for her and asked me to go pick them up with her. i shrugged, giggled at her exuberant enthusiasm, and agreed to meet her on the cusp of this monsoon season.

and then: sigh. what can i say? i'm a bit of a sucker for shoes. i generally go for comfort with a little flare, but when i was surrounded by hundreds of pretty, strappy heels and everyone was buying a pair, i couldn't help but examine the electric blue ones. and the red ones.
i tried them on. and fingered the suede base. and oohed and aah-ed over my friend's custom made ones.

"they'll totally help me on the dance floor!" she exclaimed.
i examined my feet in those sexy heels in the mirror, "i don't know, R__n. i can hardly walk a straight line."
"they're half the price of the all the other ones we've been looking at!"
i gingerly tested my weight against those spikes. i was shocked to hear very little complaint from my toes. i did a quick inside turn and realized how balanced i felt.
"i'm sold."

so, tonight was my first test run of them. i actually danced with more balance than i do in my flats. and i suppose i looked sexier--which was strange.
i'm feeling pretty bad about myself these days, so i find it mysterious that guy'll still hit on me in this sea of skinny frilly beautiful easy women. albeit, the men hitting on me are generally pretty gross, but hey--sometimes superficial affirmation can get you to the next gas station.

plus, there was this British guy who insisted on buying me a drink... we like the same music/books/movies and have the same philosophies about traveling. which is important. and he was pretty cute. and i'm a sucker for European accents. (shame on me!!--it's so fucking cliche.)
and then there was this Korean guy, who got really cute with sharing his sweet ideas about... everything. we danced and talked and shared a smoke. and talked some more. and he was quite liberal about being friendly about being inside my personal space.
we talked about culture. and language.
he shared about his grandparents.
and Love. of course.
these Koreans!!

here's the problem. they both played it exactly right. though i was clearly a tad standoffish, they led the conversations to reveal where they might likely find me this weekend and beyond. i was definitely sending the "no-go" signals about giving out my number--and they abided by my unspoken request.
(thank goodness. i would've been creeped out.)
but damnit, this made me curious about both of them. why couldn't they both have been overbearing and creepy? now i'm inclined to flirt.

while we were in the middle of some talk about *something*, Seong-ju randomly grabbed me and twirled
me into a bachata number. i laughed in delight.
this is fun. i have no responsibilities to anyone. i can just enjoy the music. and moving my body. and our sweat.

here's the reality: i don't want a relationship. i don't even think sex is a good idea for me at this point...
but i did like his hands pulling and turning me into the beat of the bongo drum.