Got candy in my heels for the last time

Mustang Marathon. Can I get a “What, what?” How much did we raise, guys? Like a LOT of money for children? Like whoa. Numerous props to everyone, from members of the steering committee to all dancers, volunteers and moralers. It was brutal, but it was fun. We made it.

I can’t dance, but I make an effort. Some people are just too cool to dance, so they either stand there with their arms crossed or in their pockets, watching everyone else having a good time. In some cases, I understand it requires alcohol to break that barrier, but you’re not completely free until you can make a fool of yourself on the dance floor completely sober.

Dance Dance Revolution. I think I’m addicted to it now, but for someone who is as uncoordinated as I am, moving, multi-directional arrows aren’t going to help me. In fact, they confuse me even more.

We had the traditional line dance this year, which featured a portion of the infamous Napoleon Dynamite dance. I think everyone is now determined to learn the entire dance, myself included.

There are people whose talents render them the ability to dance to just about anything. When you can find rhythm in something that sounds like an unending fire alarm and dance to it, you’ve got talent. When you can dance to songs about Texas and exes, you’ve got talent. But for people like me whose dancing capabilities are limited to about three movements that we saw in a Missy Elliot video, it is essential that the DJ sticks to the booty music. I’ve finally gotten comfortable with backing the ass up and running from the window to the wall, so when the DJ puts on “Jesse’s Girl,” I have no idea what to do. I just stand there, swaying and singing along.

Maybe it’s because I march to the beat of my own drummer that I have no rhythm.

I’m also one of those people who like to sing along with the song and act out the motions of the song in my dancing. For instance, when the song refers to a “you,” I’ll point to somebody I’m dancing with; when there’s an “I’m,” a “my,” or “me,” I point to myself. If the song gets a little complicated, I have to improvise a little. Example: “So gimme that toot toot, beep beep; runnin’ her hands through my fro, bouncin’ on 24s” entails me going through the following motions: honking a trucker’s horn, honking a regular horn, running my hands through my hair and steering a wheel with one hand. But I’ve found that this method doesn’t always work with artists like Twista who rap incredibly fast and songs that don’t have many actions, so now I have to find a new method of dancing.

I found out this weekend that the c-walk does not stand for the “chicken walk.” So congratulations to whoever told me that, because you’ve managed to buy me for a sucker. I’ve been going around this whole time telling people that I can do the chicken walk. It’s not the chicken walk. It’s the crypt walk.

I must come to the embarrassing admission that I am terrified of boys, especially cute boys. I can only talk to them under two circumstances: after I’ve thrown down a couple or if delirium has set in due to some irregular factor, like medication or, in this case, lack of sleep. So if you’re a cute boy, and I talked to you during the event, I’m terribly sorry. I’m not sure what I may have said, but I certainly do apologize.

Thomas Kincaid and I have racked up more hours on that dance floor than anyone else, having done this for four years. We’ve officially obtained Mustang Marathon Baller Status. We even considered coming back for a fifth year just for kicks and giggles, but by the end of the event, the idea wasn’t so hot. It wasn’t even funny.

Let me tell you about commitment. Thomas Kincaid is the epitome of commitment. After injuring himself in an intense game of Duck, Duck, Goose, requiring 11 stitches on his chin, TK came back to finish off our four-year streak immediately after getting his stitches. That, Ladies and Gentlemen, is dedication.

My year is never complete without Mustang Corral and Mustang Marathon. Now that Marathon is over, I guess that makes my year complete. From now until May, I’ll just be riding it out.