I love all the old “throwback” pictures posted on Thursdays.  Although it’s not as exciting as awkward high school photos, I’m going to start bringing back old blog posts I wrote on some Thursdays.  In other words, I didn’t have time to write a new blog post last night.  The below was a post named “B-U-S-T-E-D” that I wrote in December 2009.  A lot has changed since then, so please don’t judge me.

Here we go...

Throwback -  B-U-S-T-E-D

“I suppose it had to happen eventually.  I’m usually a pretty conservative guy, but have grown increasingly liberal since making the move to Arlington.  Nope, I’m not talking politics.  I’m talking about dancing in my apartment.

It’s probably no surprise that I’ve always been a big fan of the bedroom dance floor.  I will never forget one bitterly painful 9th grade morning when I could barely move my right arm because I had air guitared myself silly while listening to It’s All About the Benjamins” (the rock remix, duh) twenty times straight the night before.  (I had an accomplice, but I’ll keep his name secret. For now.)

Amanda and I still have the occasional dance party when an old school rap song comes across the iTunes playlist.  Or, in her case, when the newest Miley hit starts playing. Okay, who am I kidding?  I obviously have no qualms about getting down to a Miley or Britney tune, as well as all the cheesy boy band songs that clutter our playlists. Although these mini-parties used to go down in a room with closed blinds, our view from Pentagon City is too beautiful for closed shades.  But no one is actually going to be creepily looking into our 8th floor apartment, right?


While getting dressed before going out to dinner last Friday, I had the music blaring in our apartment.  And then it happened: the annoyingly catchy song, “I’ve Got a Feeling,” started playing.  Look, I’m no Black Eyed Peas fan, but it’s impossible not to dance to that song.  At a minimum, you have to bob your head a little.  And so, as I put away some freshly-cleaned clothes, I started to dance around our bedroom.

While breaking it down in true white dude style, I looked out the window and saw a guy staring right at me.  Heart.  Attack.  Sort of like when you get caught looking at someone and you suspiciously jerk your eyes away all too quickly, when our eyes met, I hit the floor.  In retrospect, I wish I could have made it look like I was just aggressively stretching to help play it off.  Nope.  I would have loved to know what he thought as he saw a grown man dancing around his apartment.  Alone.

Whatever he thought, he must have really enjoyed it, because he kept staring.  I snuck into the living room, hid behind a lamp, and looked out the window.  His eyes were still lurking in my direction.  I turned off the lights and went back to the bedroom to get a better view.  He was still staring.  It felt like two snipers dueling it out, as they repeatedly shot, moved, and sought new cover.  Or at least I did.  He just kept creepily staring into our apartment.  I was REALLY hoping he wasn’t counting floors and apartments to figure out where I lived.  I figured I should just play it cool and so I sat at the computer and pretended to do some work as I scoped him out with my peripheral vision.  He ducked out of view every few minutes, but he kept coming back.  And he kept staring.

And then I closed our blinds.  For the next five days.”

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