I don't Tan, I burn.

It is officially official, Stacey and I have penetrated the inner swing circle at Henry’s, boo yah. No longer do we gawk Wilson from Home Improvement style at the swingers from our designated posts behind the dance floor’s partition. No siree, Bob. Now, when we make the swing scene, we roll patio side with our new, swingterranean chums, and it is glorious. We still look like buffoons on the dance floor, but it’s cool, a work in progress.

The swing dancers who frequent Henry’s Pub are like the cuddliest bunch of people that you will ever meet. They are all a pack of bouncy, saddle shoe wearing, teddy bears.

One such teddy bear stands out from among the crowd. His name is Tan and he is this scrawny, California born stick of energy who used to teach swing dancing lessons at UCSD but now works as a math teacher for rich folks’ kiddies down in Brazil.

Unfortunately, however, Tan was only in San Diego for about a month while his Brazilian school was on vacation. Nevertheless, I still got to get plenty of top-notch dances in with him before he had to fly the coop.

One Tuesday, I had to cut swing night short because I had to rise and shine at the ass crack of dawn the next day for a job interview. My Tancing buddy was not pleased with my early departure plan, so I pinky swore that we would dance together the next night until the sun came up. This was probably one of the more ill-advised phalange contracts that I little fingered my way into, since I’m fairly certain that it is Red Bull, not blood, that streams it’s way through Tan the man’s veins.

The next night was so much fun though. The festivities commenced with a swing dance lesson at UCSD conducted by two of Tan’s old chums and was followed by a trip to the Firehouse where Stacey and I dazzled the masses with our new swingtastic dance moves…and by “dazzled” I mean continued to look like buffoons.

Afterwards, we went downtown to hang out at the condo where Tan was staying while we was in town. Tan’s two Brazilian friends, who accompanied him on his trip back to SD, had us in stitches laughing all night regaling us with tales of their sleep walking adventures and near death experiences. There’s just something about animated broken English that makes me happy.

Anyways, at around 3 my goose was cooked (didn’t quite make it ’til sunrise, but close enough) so Tan drove Stacey and myself back to our apartment, sweet, apartment.

Then, about half an hour later, I got a call from Tan asking me out to lunch with him the next day. Mmm I’ll have the “Oh crap” mixed salad with a side of curly, “I think this is might be a date” fries.

Order up.

Yep, totally was a date. After we finished lunching at the Tai restaurant in Hillcrest, we took a leisurely stroll around the block, where crouching Tan, hidden motive made his move. The gist of the happening was…

Tan: “So I’m in the market for a girlfriend, any takers? …Bueller?”

Actually, if truth be told, Tan the man was out shopping for a wifey (I don’t know what it is about San Diego, but I have met so many early nesters out here!).

Frick on a stick. I felt so bad. I wanted to let the little guy down easy. He is so genuinely sweet, but I was so genuinely uninterested. Therefore, I went into “Ward off unwanted male attention” mode and applied a generous helping of “Let me tell you about my fake boyfriend” cream to the infected situation (Side effects may include: headache, nausea, sad puppy dog eyes, and persistent awkward silences).

After a solid ten minutes of side effect number 4, my dancin’ friend bounced back and we ended the afternoon with pleasantries and a friendly hug.

Thumbs down for date sniping.