TRUE STORIES FROM THE LIFE OF A WANNABE VIPSTAR☆彡
Chapter One - The Dance Party (´ﾟ'ωﾟ`)
My friend Y. helped organize a dance party. This dance party was poorly advertised, on a Thursday night, and alcohol-free. Thus, only a handful of people trickled in, and only to eat the free food. The uncomfortable atmosphere was compounded by the demeanor of the organizers. For complicated reasons, half of the organizers harbored bad feelings against the other half. Thus they stood silently, arms folded, in opposite corners of the dark, spacious hall, the decor of which was more suited for a haunted mansion than a dance club.
Needless to say, nobody was dancing.
The situation was unbearable, but I fought against my impulse to allow the negative energy to quell my fiery, burning heart. I stopped thinking, and started feeling. I asked the DJ to put on an upbeat dance track that I liked, and when it came on, I bravely dragged Y. and a couple other of the organizers onto the dance floor.
Unfortunately, instead of allowing the beat to simply drop, the terrible amateur DJ began occupying himself with Ableton Live effects. Without any subtlety or finesse, he slammed the music through so much heavy delay and reverb that his painful musings destroyed all sense of a beat. Instead of the upbeat dance music I had expected, banshee-like cries of torment drifted out of the speakers, feeding the oppressive air of the near-empty hall.
We all stood uncomfortably watching each other for a few moments, waiting for the music to start. I hoped that the DJ's FX-binge would soon end and that the actual beat would drop, but with each painful second, hope sank deeper in my fragile heart. Eventually, everybody except Y. and I gave up and retreated to the safety of the wall. Seeing that Y. was soon to be swept away with the rest, I desperately threw a colorful scarf at her to distract her until the beat dropped. Just as planned, she caught the scarf but I held on to the other end, pulling in different directions to keep her limbs in motion before the weight of stillness in the room could anchor her to the ground for eternity. As she struggled to bring the scarf back to balance, our comic struggles resembled schoolgirl jump-roping rituals.
I was making a fool of myself, and my efforts were only making Y. more uncomfortable. By the time the horrid DJ had finally allowed the beat to drop, my inertia was near its end. With my last ounce of power, I grabbed Y.'s hand and energetically began dancing. For a few moments, it was working. But none joined our attempts at merriment, only staring with mild disapproval at this pitiful man's futile attempts to escape the prison of our insulated selves, his meaningless rebellion against reservations imposed by a life of disappointments, his senseless attempt to become VIP.
I could not subject poor Y. to this debacle any longer, so I let go. As soon as I released her hand, she stopped moving and cried, "I'm sorry, but it's just impossible like this after all!" She retreated, and I dejectedly followed suit. Having given up hope, I allowed myself to stop feeling and start thinking. Immediately, unhappy thoughts such as my reputation and my unrequited feelings for Y. began to creep upon my mind.
I still have much to learn on my path to becoming a true VIPSTAR. (´・ω:;.:...