Salvation Day IV!
HAPPY SALVATION DAY!
Ahhhh. It's Salvation Day once again. It seems to come sooner and sooner every year, doesn't it. Where does the time go? Now, I know what you're thinking: What is Salvation Day? Why have I never heard of it? How does one celebrate Salvation Day? Should I send my checking account # to this guy in Nigeria so he can transfer a huge part of the Nigerian Treasury into my account? Well, I'm not one to keep you hanging, so let's go:
1. It's a holiday.
2. Becuase I made it up in high school.
3. See the next paragraph.
4. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
Salvation Day is the holiday that lets us reflect back on our past and the journey we've made. And when I say "the journey we've made", I mean the embarrassing experiences you've had with the opposite sex. Come on, we've all got them. ("Wow, that was weird." "It's pretty desolate, too." The one-armed hug. etc.) So instead of being ashamed of them, we should actively celebrate the mistakes we've made and the fact that we don't make them again. Or, we do make them again and again, and therefore the stories get exponentially better. So how does one celebrate Salvation Day exactly? It's easy. There's no football games, turkey, fireworks, trees, enormous rabbits breaking into your house to hide your stuff required. (On a side note, I'm sure this has been said before by lots of people, but the concept of the "Easter Bunny" is downright creepy. I know little kids believe anything, but even that seems like a bit of a stretch.) Here's how to have the perfect Salvation Day:
1. Get some friends together.
2a. If you're over 21, go buy some beer.
2b. If you're under 21, get someone else who's 21 to go buy some beer.
3. Open said beers.
4. Share your funny stores about your TRUE experiences with the opposite sex. Start small, and then end with the most awesome story you have in your arsenal.
See, that's pretty easy, isn't it. Exactly. So now you know how to celebrate - go and do so. But perhaps you're interested in the origins of Salvation Day. Hopefully, because I wrote the entire story below. That's actually the 3'rd step of the Salvation Day celebration:
3'. Read outloud "The Story of Salvation Day" in a dramatic, storytelling voice. Have a good, hearty laugh.
3''. Drink a toast to Aaron.
Salvation Day began on Jan. 24, 2004, when I, perpetual nerd Aaron Johnson, was asked to a dance by a female. An attractive female. Yes! I figured that this was the turning point in my life. I would now become immensely popular, have women on the street just throwing themselves at me, and grow up to save the world. If you know me, you know that I really didn't hit this mark (I'm not popular, and I haven't saved the world yet.) But at the time, my friends and I were *convinced* that things would start looking up. So we christened the day "Salvation Day" and decided to celebrate our collective good fortune with women every year. But, that didn't happen, so we just decided to celebrate something else. There you have Salvation Day.
The turning point of our holiday's focus was really at that first dance I went to. I went in having so much promise, and came out, well, knowing that I'd probably be single for a bit longer. What happened at that dance so many years ago that discouraged me, changed a newly-created holiday, and gave me a great story? Well . . .
THE STORY OF SALVATION DAY
"January 24, 2004 was the first time I made plans to attend a high school dance. It was the annual MORP girls-ask-guys dance, and someone had asked me. Now, it was pointed out to me last night that the fact that my friends and I chose the moniker "Salvation Day" to celebrate the first time a girl asked me out is extremely pitiful. True, true. But remember, this was high school. To fully grasp the concept of how big of a deal this was, you need to understand my dance history up until senior year. It went something like this:
FRESHMAN YEAR
Homecoming: Backpacking trip, planned the night before. A most enjoyable time spent out in the woods with my friend and his dad. We made S'Mores, had our camp visited by a bear in the middle of the night, and didn't have to worry about STDs one single bit.
Semi-formal: No clue. Probabaly stayed home and watched "Back to the Future"
SOPHOMORE YEAR
Homecoming: I had about 6 or so friends over to my house, and we decided to piece together costumes from things in my closet and make our own movie, which involved hitting each other with golf clubs while running around in my backyard, dancing around in a gorilla mask, and a main antagonist named "Osama bin Funkey" (played by myself). It was an amazing video, and we actually had a small sidebar in that year's yearbook (on the Homecoming page, nonetheless), just to prove to everyone else that we were, in fact, huge losers. But we had fun doing it, and we didn't have to get dressed up. Take that, popular kids!
Semi-formal: Probably another showing of "Back to the Future."
JUNIOR YEAR
Homecoming: By this time, I had finally become too old for making my own movies. So I probably just sat around the house.
Junior prom: This is the one instance when I am almost fairly certain I watched "Back to the Future."
SENIOR YEAR
Homecoming: Actually, now that I think about it, maybe this was the time I watched "Back to the Future."
So, come senior year MORP, I actually had something to do instead of sit at home and watch movies about nerds going to dances and rescuing the woman of their dreams and thinking, "Man . . ." Although the tone of the entire dance should have been set from the initial phone call. We were having dinner for my youngest brother's birthday, when the phone rang. It was the girl, who we'll call Amelia (not her real name.) She asked me if I would like to go to the dance with her and I said, "Yes." And then, she told me it would be on the Feb. Somethingth, and I responded with, "Oh. I have science bowl that day. But I should be done in time for the dance." No, seriously. I did. This attractive girl whom I had actually somewhat liked had asked me to a dance, my first high school dance, and the first thing that came to my mind was . . . science bowl. We talked about the dance, perhaps, I'm not really sure. I hung up the phone and then realized that I knew two girls named Amelia, and the one of the phone had failed to mention her last name. So, I spent the next few days (it was a three-day weekend, too) wondering with whom I had really agreed to go to the dance. But, Tuesday came and I confirmed that I was right. And I got all psyched up, for I was going to a dance. Hoo-yah!
In order to get to know Amelia before the dance, I suggested we go to Starbucks together. This went alright, for we were there approximately three hours. I remember talking about church. Um . . . that's about it. This part of the story isn't really that exciting. So, we'll continue on.
Finally, to the day of science bowl / the dance. The science bowl team, consiting of me and some of my fellow nerds, met at the high school that morning to travel to the competition. I remember looking around at the decorations in the cafeteria and thinking, "I'll be coming back to this place later on, with a female in my company!" It was a small victory. I would actually get to see what went on at a dance. Maybe it would be nothing like I thought. Maybe everyone just sat around and played Scrabble. I didn't know. But I would find out. We traveled to the science bowl, and I actually had a great time. It was a blast. I was our team's astronomy expert, and cleaned house on those questions. We made third place or so in our division. But this story's not about science bowl successes, it's about dance failures. So we continue on. The victorious nerds arrived home and I showered, shaved, and mentally prepared myself for the coming evening. (I got dressed somewhere in there, too.) I left to pick Amelia up and drove really slowly to her house, for I was about a half hour early. I got there, and she came out. We got in the car and drove to her friend's house to meet the rest of our group. There was a minimum of conversation on the way, I probably brought up science bowl or something. I distinctly remember telling her she looked nice about 5 minutes into the ride, after I worked up the courage. It was as if I hadn't notice she was in the car with me until we got out of her neighborhood, and then all of a sudden I looked over to see this girl in a hot pink dress sitting beside me, to whom I turned and said, "You . . . um . . . . er . . . well, you . . . look . . . you . . . look . . . nice. You look nice . . . tonight. Yeah. . . . Eeee . . . So I was at science bowl today..." We arrived at her friend's house, and there was no one else around. Just me, Amelia, Amelia's friend, Amelia's friend's mom, and Amelia's friend's little sister. Amelia and her friend ran upstairs to get ready, and I stayed in the living room and talked with the sister, whom I didn't know at all. So this is how my first dance experience began - sitting in the living room of someone I didn't know at all, talking with this elementary-aged girl about the various Valentines she received from members of her class, and the romantic messages they contained (Roses are red / Jigglypuff is pink / You're a great friend / That's what I think). I should have probably given up here, and gone home to watch "Back to the Future." But I stumbled onward.
With dinner, things continued their downward spiral, and I became more and more convinced that dances were not for my kind. We ate at the Outback Steakhouse at the baseball stadium downtown, with a whole group of people who (surprise!) I had no clue existed, let alone went to my school. When we arrived, they informed us that they were out of hamburgers. Doctors don't run out of medicine, libraries don't run out of books, schools don't run out of paper (ha . . . ha), Democrats don't run out of lies (zing!), Jay Z doesn't run out of problems, and Outback Steakhouse just shouldn't run out of hamburgers. Seriously. So, I sat at dinner, not really talking to anyone, staring a my hamburger-less meal. I would try and initiate conversation with Amelia (non-science bowl conversation, even), and she would turn away and talk with someone who I didn't know. We finished our meals, and the waiter came back over to explain that there was a problem with our checks, and we would have to wait a half hour by the door until the chopped down a tree to use for recepit paper. I'm pretty sure they were all hanging in the kitchen saying something like, "Dude, check out that guy in the green shirt. Yeah. The one who's date is wearing the hot pink dress. Man does he ever look awkward. Think he's ever been to a dance before? Hahaha. $20 bucks for you, John, if you can keep him here for another half hour so we can keep having fun." The checks finally paid, and Amelia paid with a sigh and a look that said, "Can I kill him and get away with it." I felt bad that the evening was going to pot, so I offered to pay for my meal. She refused, however. (So, Amelia, if you are reading this, that's kind of weird. Actually, that's pretty weird. I mean, I know we're Facebook friends and all, but I would think you'd have much better things to do with your life. Well, I know that my LiveJournal is amazingly funny, so I don't blame you. Bet you're sorry about what you did next in the story, eh? But the point is, I'll gladly pay you back for that meal. Just let me know and I'll send a check. Sorry again.) Finally, we were on our way back to the dance. Could the evening desintegrate any further into typical Aaron Johnson female relations, or would I be able to salvage the evening and end it King of the World? Bet on the first.
We arrived at the dance and decided it would be time to dance. I ran into my AP European History teacher who was our student council advisor. He greeted me with an, "Aaron Johnson! What are you doing here?!", kind of an "Aaron Johnson! How'd you get past our defenses?!" Amelia and I headed to the dance floor where we began to dance. Well, I attempted to dance. (At this point in the remembering of the story, I actually laughed out loud, something that I never do. So if you don't, my retelling of it is obviously flawed.) Picture a dark dance floor, lit by several of those DJ towers of colored lights, all spinning around. Now picture this dance floor filled with multiple hot, sweaty teenage couples grinding each other with animal lust to the beat of "Baby Got Back." Now picture me in the middle of the fray, by myself, staring at everyone around me. Amelia would drift away and then wander back, as if maybe my dancing had improved in the past minute and I would finally be ready to touch her. But that was not the case, and so she finally decided that she had to "go to the bathroom". She left, and I was left to fend for myself in the middle of a giant high school mating ritual. A slow song began, and I was now in the midst of multiple couples, all with someone to share this special moment with. The song ended, and there were some more fast bump-and-grind, and then another slow song. Amelia was still in the midst of the longest pee of her life, so I kept myself company a bit longer. The boyfriend of Amelia's friend (the one with the sister) was off talking with some people, so she came to me and, out of complete pity, said, "Would you like to dance?" I very much did, and so I got at least one slow dance that night. Her boyfriend returned and they had one of those understanding looks that said, "This isn't a slow dance - it's a service project." (But, Amelia's friend, thank you very much for that dance.) The dance ended, Amelia returned ("I ran into some people.") and we finally gave up dancing after her simple pronouncement, "You really don't like dancing, do you?" We meandered over to the food table, where we ran into a guy from our English class. We'll call him Matt, because that's his name. (He doesn't need to be protected, though.) We talked with Matt for a while, by which I mean Amelia talked to Matt, and I talked to Matt. Our triangle was missing a leg, and so it was no longer a triangle, for you can't make a shape with just two lines. I spent the next period of time alternately eating Swedish fish from the food table, talking with male friends of mine who all seemed surprised to see me there, and checking my watch. The song "Toxic" came on, and with a "I love this song!", I was once again alone. Eventually another slow song came on (Damn you DJ, for all that pressure!), and the two guys with whom I was talking went to find their dates. It was then, or never. Bite the bullet time. Determined to have my one slow dance, I found Amelia. She turned to me and asked, "Do you want to slow dance?" I replied, "Sure, if you want to." And she replied, to the best of my recollection, "I don't want to. I think it's boring."
Thus ended the dance.
But not the evening! No, there was still the afterparty. The evening had ended multiple times beforehand in most spectacular ways, but Fate just wouldn't let me go home and get away. Perhaps I was the big entertainment of the evening for the Universe. Amelia and I drove to some kid's house (I didn't know him at all, either.) And we changed out of our dress clothes. I changed in a room full of guys, who were all talking to each other about various popular-kid subjects. Me, I looked at all the pictures of this random kid on the walls of his bedroom, all while getting half-naked in front of virtual strangers. Everyone traveled to the basement where they chatted about more popular-kid subjects, while I sat in a corner by myself and watched SNL. Adding insult to injury was the fact that in front of me was another kid (one who I did know!) and his date, who I had also had a fancy for. Damn you, Fate; I bet you were getting great ratings for this one. I eventually had a conversation with someone about colleges I think, and then I convinced someone to take me to my car. I arrived home (after getting lost, imagine that) and crawled into bed, with the knowledge that I had enjoyed science bowl more than my first high school dance.
And thus ends the epic saga of my first high-school dance. There is so much more than I can even write here, but I have attempted to give you a feeling of what went on the first time I attempted social contact with a girl I was interested in. It failed. Miserably. I crashed and burned. No survivors. And for that reason, we celebrate Salvation Day every January 24. Well, I don't actually *celebrate* it any way; there's no "Salvation Tree" and I don't eat a special meal of hamburgers or anything. But I do think of it as a good opportunity to think about where I've came from, how much I've improved (the last dance I went to was quite the opposite of the first one), and where I'm going. There is hope for us nerds out there. We are capable of having a good relationship with a female. Granted, you have to go through Hell before you get to Heaven, but that just makes things interesting along the way. I was glad I went to the dance that day, despite the fact that I worried through science bowl, messed up more times than I could count, had a date with minimal interest in me (if any), and didn't even get a hug at the dance. I had already seen "Back to the Future" enough.
I leave you with this though. In the middle of the dance, I remember being on the dance floor by myself, looking up at the large, glowing digital clock behind the DJ, thinking, "How much time until I can go home?" This thought stayed with me for the rest of the evening, until it was replaced with a new one. That new thought was, "At least this will make a good story some day."
And it has, hasn't it?
Happy Salvation Day."
At the end here, I like to share a little tidbit about my embarrassing moments with women. Recently, I haven't had many, for I actually have a girlfriend - a really amazing girlfriend. So that kind-of tends to cut down on the stories. (As my friend Jared tells me, I need to break up with said girlfriend and start embarrassing myself in the dating world again so I can revel my friends with good stories. No thanks.) But, on the night that Gretchen and I decided to be "official" (put it on Facebook), the conversation was something like this:
G: "So, um, should we make this official?"
(Now, I liked her, so I should have said something to the effect of, "YES!" and then immediately kissed her. But instead. . .)
A: "Um, if you want to."
(Nice work!)
G: "Yeah, I do."
A: "OK."
[Pause]
A: "So, um, what does 'official' mean?"
(Because apparently there's these relationship levels like "dating but not boyfriend / girlfriend" and "going out" and "boyfriend / girlfriend" that I don't understand, but the previous girls I had dated understood completely, so I was just "dating" them but not their "boyfriend" or something like that. (Maybe because they had other boyfriends at the same time. . .))
G: "Like boyfriend and girlfriend."
A: "Ok. Should we put it on Facebook?"
G: "I guess."
And that was how Aaron finally got a girlfriend. In true Aaron Johnson form.
See you next year.
Ahhhh. It's Salvation Day once again. It seems to come sooner and sooner every year, doesn't it. Where does the time go? Now, I know what you're thinking: What is Salvation Day? Why have I never heard of it? How does one celebrate Salvation Day? Should I send my checking account # to this guy in Nigeria so he can transfer a huge part of the Nigerian Treasury into my account? Well, I'm not one to keep you hanging, so let's go:
1. It's a holiday.
2. Becuase I made it up in high school.
3. See the next paragraph.
4. Yeah, that sounds like a good idea.
Salvation Day is the holiday that lets us reflect back on our past and the journey we've made. And when I say "the journey we've made", I mean the embarrassing experiences you've had with the opposite sex. Come on, we've all got them. ("Wow, that was weird." "It's pretty desolate, too." The one-armed hug. etc.) So instead of being ashamed of them, we should actively celebrate the mistakes we've made and the fact that we don't make them again. Or, we do make them again and again, and therefore the stories get exponentially better. So how does one celebrate Salvation Day exactly? It's easy. There's no football games, turkey, fireworks, trees, enormous rabbits breaking into your house to hide your stuff required. (On a side note, I'm sure this has been said before by lots of people, but the concept of the "Easter Bunny" is downright creepy. I know little kids believe anything, but even that seems like a bit of a stretch.) Here's how to have the perfect Salvation Day:
1. Get some friends together.
2a. If you're over 21, go buy some beer.
2b. If you're under 21, get someone else who's 21 to go buy some beer.
3. Open said beers.
4. Share your funny stores about your TRUE experiences with the opposite sex. Start small, and then end with the most awesome story you have in your arsenal.
See, that's pretty easy, isn't it. Exactly. So now you know how to celebrate - go and do so. But perhaps you're interested in the origins of Salvation Day. Hopefully, because I wrote the entire story below. That's actually the 3'rd step of the Salvation Day celebration:
3'. Read outloud "The Story of Salvation Day" in a dramatic, storytelling voice. Have a good, hearty laugh.
3''. Drink a toast to Aaron.
Salvation Day began on Jan. 24, 2004, when I, perpetual nerd Aaron Johnson, was asked to a dance by a female. An attractive female. Yes! I figured that this was the turning point in my life. I would now become immensely popular, have women on the street just throwing themselves at me, and grow up to save the world. If you know me, you know that I really didn't hit this mark (I'm not popular, and I haven't saved the world yet.) But at the time, my friends and I were *convinced* that things would start looking up. So we christened the day "Salvation Day" and decided to celebrate our collective good fortune with women every year. But, that didn't happen, so we just decided to celebrate something else. There you have Salvation Day.
The turning point of our holiday's focus was really at that first dance I went to. I went in having so much promise, and came out, well, knowing that I'd probably be single for a bit longer. What happened at that dance so many years ago that discouraged me, changed a newly-created holiday, and gave me a great story? Well . . .
THE STORY OF SALVATION DAY
"January 24, 2004 was the first time I made plans to attend a high school dance. It was the annual MORP girls-ask-guys dance, and someone had asked me. Now, it was pointed out to me last night that the fact that my friends and I chose the moniker "Salvation Day" to celebrate the first time a girl asked me out is extremely pitiful. True, true. But remember, this was high school. To fully grasp the concept of how big of a deal this was, you need to understand my dance history up until senior year. It went something like this:
FRESHMAN YEAR
Homecoming: Backpacking trip, planned the night before. A most enjoyable time spent out in the woods with my friend and his dad. We made S'Mores, had our camp visited by a bear in the middle of the night, and didn't have to worry about STDs one single bit.
Semi-formal: No clue. Probabaly stayed home and watched "Back to the Future"
SOPHOMORE YEAR
Homecoming: I had about 6 or so friends over to my house, and we decided to piece together costumes from things in my closet and make our own movie, which involved hitting each other with golf clubs while running around in my backyard, dancing around in a gorilla mask, and a main antagonist named "Osama bin Funkey" (played by myself). It was an amazing video, and we actually had a small sidebar in that year's yearbook (on the Homecoming page, nonetheless), just to prove to everyone else that we were, in fact, huge losers. But we had fun doing it, and we didn't have to get dressed up. Take that, popular kids!
Semi-formal: Probably another showing of "Back to the Future."
JUNIOR YEAR
Homecoming: By this time, I had finally become too old for making my own movies. So I probably just sat around the house.
Junior prom: This is the one instance when I am almost fairly certain I watched "Back to the Future."
SENIOR YEAR
Homecoming: Actually, now that I think about it, maybe this was the time I watched "Back to the Future."
So, come senior year MORP, I actually had something to do instead of sit at home and watch movies about nerds going to dances and rescuing the woman of their dreams and thinking, "Man . . ." Although the tone of the entire dance should have been set from the initial phone call. We were having dinner for my youngest brother's birthday, when the phone rang. It was the girl, who we'll call Amelia (not her real name.) She asked me if I would like to go to the dance with her and I said, "Yes." And then, she told me it would be on the Feb. Somethingth, and I responded with, "Oh. I have science bowl that day. But I should be done in time for the dance." No, seriously. I did. This attractive girl whom I had actually somewhat liked had asked me to a dance, my first high school dance, and the first thing that came to my mind was . . . science bowl. We talked about the dance, perhaps, I'm not really sure. I hung up the phone and then realized that I knew two girls named Amelia, and the one of the phone had failed to mention her last name. So, I spent the next few days (it was a three-day weekend, too) wondering with whom I had really agreed to go to the dance. But, Tuesday came and I confirmed that I was right. And I got all psyched up, for I was going to a dance. Hoo-yah!
In order to get to know Amelia before the dance, I suggested we go to Starbucks together. This went alright, for we were there approximately three hours. I remember talking about church. Um . . . that's about it. This part of the story isn't really that exciting. So, we'll continue on.
Finally, to the day of science bowl / the dance. The science bowl team, consiting of me and some of my fellow nerds, met at the high school that morning to travel to the competition. I remember looking around at the decorations in the cafeteria and thinking, "I'll be coming back to this place later on, with a female in my company!" It was a small victory. I would actually get to see what went on at a dance. Maybe it would be nothing like I thought. Maybe everyone just sat around and played Scrabble. I didn't know. But I would find out. We traveled to the science bowl, and I actually had a great time. It was a blast. I was our team's astronomy expert, and cleaned house on those questions. We made third place or so in our division. But this story's not about science bowl successes, it's about dance failures. So we continue on. The victorious nerds arrived home and I showered, shaved, and mentally prepared myself for the coming evening. (I got dressed somewhere in there, too.) I left to pick Amelia up and drove really slowly to her house, for I was about a half hour early. I got there, and she came out. We got in the car and drove to her friend's house to meet the rest of our group. There was a minimum of conversation on the way, I probably brought up science bowl or something. I distinctly remember telling her she looked nice about 5 minutes into the ride, after I worked up the courage. It was as if I hadn't notice she was in the car with me until we got out of her neighborhood, and then all of a sudden I looked over to see this girl in a hot pink dress sitting beside me, to whom I turned and said, "You . . . um . . . . er . . . well, you . . . look . . . you . . . look . . . nice. You look nice . . . tonight. Yeah. . . . Eeee . . . So I was at science bowl today..." We arrived at her friend's house, and there was no one else around. Just me, Amelia, Amelia's friend, Amelia's friend's mom, and Amelia's friend's little sister. Amelia and her friend ran upstairs to get ready, and I stayed in the living room and talked with the sister, whom I didn't know at all. So this is how my first dance experience began - sitting in the living room of someone I didn't know at all, talking with this elementary-aged girl about the various Valentines she received from members of her class, and the romantic messages they contained (Roses are red / Jigglypuff is pink / You're a great friend / That's what I think). I should have probably given up here, and gone home to watch "Back to the Future." But I stumbled onward.
With dinner, things continued their downward spiral, and I became more and more convinced that dances were not for my kind. We ate at the Outback Steakhouse at the baseball stadium downtown, with a whole group of people who (surprise!) I had no clue existed, let alone went to my school. When we arrived, they informed us that they were out of hamburgers. Doctors don't run out of medicine, libraries don't run out of books, schools don't run out of paper (ha . . . ha), Democrats don't run out of lies (zing!), Jay Z doesn't run out of problems, and Outback Steakhouse just shouldn't run out of hamburgers. Seriously. So, I sat at dinner, not really talking to anyone, staring a my hamburger-less meal. I would try and initiate conversation with Amelia (non-science bowl conversation, even), and she would turn away and talk with someone who I didn't know. We finished our meals, and the waiter came back over to explain that there was a problem with our checks, and we would have to wait a half hour by the door until the chopped down a tree to use for recepit paper. I'm pretty sure they were all hanging in the kitchen saying something like, "Dude, check out that guy in the green shirt. Yeah. The one who's date is wearing the hot pink dress. Man does he ever look awkward. Think he's ever been to a dance before? Hahaha. $20 bucks for you, John, if you can keep him here for another half hour so we can keep having fun." The checks finally paid, and Amelia paid with a sigh and a look that said, "Can I kill him and get away with it." I felt bad that the evening was going to pot, so I offered to pay for my meal. She refused, however. (So, Amelia, if you are reading this, that's kind of weird. Actually, that's pretty weird. I mean, I know we're Facebook friends and all, but I would think you'd have much better things to do with your life. Well, I know that my LiveJournal is amazingly funny, so I don't blame you. Bet you're sorry about what you did next in the story, eh? But the point is, I'll gladly pay you back for that meal. Just let me know and I'll send a check. Sorry again.) Finally, we were on our way back to the dance. Could the evening desintegrate any further into typical Aaron Johnson female relations, or would I be able to salvage the evening and end it King of the World? Bet on the first.
We arrived at the dance and decided it would be time to dance. I ran into my AP European History teacher who was our student council advisor. He greeted me with an, "Aaron Johnson! What are you doing here?!", kind of an "Aaron Johnson! How'd you get past our defenses?!" Amelia and I headed to the dance floor where we began to dance. Well, I attempted to dance. (At this point in the remembering of the story, I actually laughed out loud, something that I never do. So if you don't, my retelling of it is obviously flawed.) Picture a dark dance floor, lit by several of those DJ towers of colored lights, all spinning around. Now picture this dance floor filled with multiple hot, sweaty teenage couples grinding each other with animal lust to the beat of "Baby Got Back." Now picture me in the middle of the fray, by myself, staring at everyone around me. Amelia would drift away and then wander back, as if maybe my dancing had improved in the past minute and I would finally be ready to touch her. But that was not the case, and so she finally decided that she had to "go to the bathroom". She left, and I was left to fend for myself in the middle of a giant high school mating ritual. A slow song began, and I was now in the midst of multiple couples, all with someone to share this special moment with. The song ended, and there were some more fast bump-and-grind, and then another slow song. Amelia was still in the midst of the longest pee of her life, so I kept myself company a bit longer. The boyfriend of Amelia's friend (the one with the sister) was off talking with some people, so she came to me and, out of complete pity, said, "Would you like to dance?" I very much did, and so I got at least one slow dance that night. Her boyfriend returned and they had one of those understanding looks that said, "This isn't a slow dance - it's a service project." (But, Amelia's friend, thank you very much for that dance.) The dance ended, Amelia returned ("I ran into some people.") and we finally gave up dancing after her simple pronouncement, "You really don't like dancing, do you?" We meandered over to the food table, where we ran into a guy from our English class. We'll call him Matt, because that's his name. (He doesn't need to be protected, though.) We talked with Matt for a while, by which I mean Amelia talked to Matt, and I talked to Matt. Our triangle was missing a leg, and so it was no longer a triangle, for you can't make a shape with just two lines. I spent the next period of time alternately eating Swedish fish from the food table, talking with male friends of mine who all seemed surprised to see me there, and checking my watch. The song "Toxic" came on, and with a "I love this song!", I was once again alone. Eventually another slow song came on (Damn you DJ, for all that pressure!), and the two guys with whom I was talking went to find their dates. It was then, or never. Bite the bullet time. Determined to have my one slow dance, I found Amelia. She turned to me and asked, "Do you want to slow dance?" I replied, "Sure, if you want to." And she replied, to the best of my recollection, "I don't want to. I think it's boring."
Thus ended the dance.
But not the evening! No, there was still the afterparty. The evening had ended multiple times beforehand in most spectacular ways, but Fate just wouldn't let me go home and get away. Perhaps I was the big entertainment of the evening for the Universe. Amelia and I drove to some kid's house (I didn't know him at all, either.) And we changed out of our dress clothes. I changed in a room full of guys, who were all talking to each other about various popular-kid subjects. Me, I looked at all the pictures of this random kid on the walls of his bedroom, all while getting half-naked in front of virtual strangers. Everyone traveled to the basement where they chatted about more popular-kid subjects, while I sat in a corner by myself and watched SNL. Adding insult to injury was the fact that in front of me was another kid (one who I did know!) and his date, who I had also had a fancy for. Damn you, Fate; I bet you were getting great ratings for this one. I eventually had a conversation with someone about colleges I think, and then I convinced someone to take me to my car. I arrived home (after getting lost, imagine that) and crawled into bed, with the knowledge that I had enjoyed science bowl more than my first high school dance.
And thus ends the epic saga of my first high-school dance. There is so much more than I can even write here, but I have attempted to give you a feeling of what went on the first time I attempted social contact with a girl I was interested in. It failed. Miserably. I crashed and burned. No survivors. And for that reason, we celebrate Salvation Day every January 24. Well, I don't actually *celebrate* it any way; there's no "Salvation Tree" and I don't eat a special meal of hamburgers or anything. But I do think of it as a good opportunity to think about where I've came from, how much I've improved (the last dance I went to was quite the opposite of the first one), and where I'm going. There is hope for us nerds out there. We are capable of having a good relationship with a female. Granted, you have to go through Hell before you get to Heaven, but that just makes things interesting along the way. I was glad I went to the dance that day, despite the fact that I worried through science bowl, messed up more times than I could count, had a date with minimal interest in me (if any), and didn't even get a hug at the dance. I had already seen "Back to the Future" enough.
I leave you with this though. In the middle of the dance, I remember being on the dance floor by myself, looking up at the large, glowing digital clock behind the DJ, thinking, "How much time until I can go home?" This thought stayed with me for the rest of the evening, until it was replaced with a new one. That new thought was, "At least this will make a good story some day."
And it has, hasn't it?
Happy Salvation Day."
At the end here, I like to share a little tidbit about my embarrassing moments with women. Recently, I haven't had many, for I actually have a girlfriend - a really amazing girlfriend. So that kind-of tends to cut down on the stories. (As my friend Jared tells me, I need to break up with said girlfriend and start embarrassing myself in the dating world again so I can revel my friends with good stories. No thanks.) But, on the night that Gretchen and I decided to be "official" (put it on Facebook), the conversation was something like this:
G: "So, um, should we make this official?"
(Now, I liked her, so I should have said something to the effect of, "YES!" and then immediately kissed her. But instead. . .)
A: "Um, if you want to."
(Nice work!)
G: "Yeah, I do."
A: "OK."
[Pause]
A: "So, um, what does 'official' mean?"
(Because apparently there's these relationship levels like "dating but not boyfriend / girlfriend" and "going out" and "boyfriend / girlfriend" that I don't understand, but the previous girls I had dated understood completely, so I was just "dating" them but not their "boyfriend" or something like that. (Maybe because they had other boyfriends at the same time. . .))
G: "Like boyfriend and girlfriend."
A: "Ok. Should we put it on Facebook?"
G: "I guess."
And that was how Aaron finally got a girlfriend. In true Aaron Johnson form.
See you next year.