So I’ve been signed up for Hungarian Folk Dance lessons.
I didn’t sign myself up, but here I am anyway, about to learn what Hungarian Folk Dance even looks like. It’s going to be a shitshow on my part because I can’t take life seriously, much less cultural lessons.
You know the truly fucked up part of this situation? This is not the first time I’ve been taught a folk dance style from Eastern Europe against my will. In fact, learning German Folk Dance was how I spent my 18th birthday.
My parents were out of town on my birthday, so my friend Lindsay took me to her family’s German Cultural Club for the evening. She promised me great food, cute boys, and lots of beer. In.
I knew, at that point, very little about German culture. I knew about Hitler and the Wall and so forth, but I felt that it probably wasn’t greatly representative of Germany as a whole and their ideas about life. Good news, I was right! There was not so much Holocaust, but there was so much booze. Booze is a good culture to have.
Germans are the fucking best. They have pretzels goddamn everywhere, all the beer, and men hot enough to cancel out the ridiculousness of Lederhosen. Imagine a weird sweaty American dude wearing leather shorts and suspenders and top his bald head off with a Robin Hood hat. It’s not a pretty sight. Now add a drunken Australian-Hot man in those same shorts. Suddenly, leather shorts are a great idea.
Here’s the thing about Germans though–as demonstrated with the whole Hitler and Wall thing, they’re sort of an all-in culture. You don’t get to pick and choose what you want from Germany. Which means that if I wanted the pretzels and the beer and the men, I must learn to polka and folk-dance first.
Luckily, my friend Lindsay was Miss Edelweiss that year (a literal and very real title that comes with a crown and pageant), and we had a quick lesson in the front hallway of the converted bowling alley. “Just hold on. That’s literally all it is. Just hold on to the men and they’ll put you where you’re supposed to be.”
That’s it. That’s the whole lesson.
And thank God for even that bit of advice, because she was fucking right. Had I been on a full stomach, I would have thrown up because German folk dance and even polka is just a lot of spinning really really fast. After 20 minutes of spinning with non-english speaking men in leather outfits I thought I was going to pass out, and then they handed me a monstrous beer. And another. And a pretzel. And a single guy.
And you know what? I kept dancing all night because that is how you fucking live life. Germany has that shit down. Just spin around as fast as you can to loud music, then drink and eat and eye-fuck gorgeous men. It was the best birthday.
Not for nothing, but they also had the Jaegermeister girls there, which is like if the Miller Lite Girls went through a grinder and handed you alcoholic motor oil. One of them was 8 months pregnant. Still, best birthday.– Favorite Comment From The Last Post: From Chooplah: The one plum cheated.