Loving Lover

You already know we're doing a breakdown of the 7th studio album from Taylor Alison Swift. As much as I want to do a deep dive into the lyrics, I'm afraid we have more important matters to discuss. Two of my most favorite things. Taylor Swift and Harry Potter.

I know a lot of people are talking about how Lover is largely inspired by Joe Alwyn. And I'm sure that's true. But there's one love song that I think is about something else. In this essay I will explain why London Boy is actually about Harry Potter's Neville Longbottom AND Dean Thomas. And I have receipts.

Let's start with the intro. Riding on a scooter. Or in British, a scootah. Now when I first heard the song I hoped that was Joe talking. A quick Google search revealed it was actually "the unmistakable voice of Idris Elba" but I mistook it anyway. And if you click this link you will see an article that shows how Alfred Enoch and Idris Elba are acquainted. Obviously Alfred got his pal Idris involved in this project. London boyz 4 lyfe.

Then she mentions dimples and an accent. Both Matthew Lewis and Alfred Enoch have British accents. And I think we can agree that these are some dimples.


Look. At this. Mans. It's like looking at the sun if the sun had dimples and a hot accent. You could serve salsa out of those dimples.


Then we have mentions of Camden Market and Highgate. Not sure what Camden Market is but market must be shopping. And if you'll look at this photo...


...you will see our good friend Matthew, Math as I like to call him, sporting a nice black outfit and what appears to be an Apple watch. And where does one buy Apple watches? That's right. Apple stores. They have stores in markets. Probably in this Camden Market whatever it is.

I'm also not sure what Highgate is thanks to 1776, but the internet tells me Matthew Lewis is 6 feet tall. He could step over a high gate. Look at those long legs.


Still need more proof? She loves stories from uni, which is what British people call college, and the West End, which is what British people call Broadway. Guess who went to college? This guy! He's got stories from uni!


And you know who has been in a play in West End? MATTHEW.


Then she mentions watching rugby in a pub. Tbh who knows what rugby even is? Matthew Lewis that's who. He's actually the vice president of rugby. See here.

Next up in the London name drops is Brixton. Brixton has a windmill. Windmills kill around 300,000 birds every year. And what do we have here?


That's right. Matthew has a feather tattoo. Likely in memory of all the innocent birds harmed by windmills. Which he knows about because he's been to Brixton. Coincidence? I don't think so.

And then we have Shoreditch. Shoreditch is in Middlesex county.


I think you'll agree that this Instagram post proves that Alfred Enoch can read. So who's to say he hasn't read Jeffrey Eugenides's magnum opus? A book called...wait for it...Middlesex! I know. She makes it so obvious.

Taylor likes drinking in the afternoon. Not sure why this is a decidedly London thing but I think Matthew would be on board based on this tweet.


And in the final verse, Taylor mentions the Louis Vuitton store on Bond Street. You know what Louis Vuitton sells? Dog carriers.


You know who has dogs? Matthew! I rest my case.


ALSO in the chorus Taylor says she met all of his best mates. So maybe she met Matthew first and then he introduced her to his friend Alfred. Or vice versa. And now she's in love with both of them. Can't blame her. We stan an indecisive queen.

I've laid out all the evidence, now you do the math.

Dancing the Blues

Despite me continually declaring each new year as the year of no, I keep saying yes to things. Last Friday I said yes to blues dancing. This is completely out of character as it is considered physical activity. I ended up with well over 8,000 steps that day and if you read last week's post you know that that is WAY beyond my normal allotment.

My friend Sarah has been asking me to go Blues dancing for over a year and I keep saying no because why add one more arena for rejection and/or failure into my life? I also kind of thought Blues dancing would be dancing to that blue babade babada song repeatedly and that is so not my idea of a fun Friday night. Once she explained that that song isn't even in the Blues genre (I KNOW), I agreed to join her.

Let me give you a crash course on Blues. Once upon a time humans were the worst and they thought slavery was cool. Spoiler alert. It wasn't. When Abraham Lincoln had finally had enough of that crap, a lot of newly freed slaves still had trouble finding work because of discrimination and a guy named Jim Crow. One way to earn extra money was playing Blues music for tips after working a regular job.

Blues dance refers to the dances that go with Blues music. But it's a specific style developed around that specific genre of music. You can't just put on some B.B. King, do they hokey pokey, turn yourself around and call it Blues.

Apparently Blues dancers interpret the music and come up with extemporaneous (like an improv group but less annoying) moves that match. I have been dancing for years (Dance Marathon, hello), and I SWEAR I thought dance was just repeating the sprinkler and jazz hands until you needed a water break. Who knew? Blues isn't steps you memorize. Which makes it terrifying for me. There are Blues moves and a Blues aesthetic but this ain't the Macarena.


My Blues instructor, Sarah, told me that Blues dancing is like a conversation between the music, the dancers and the ground. But she doesn't mean falling. Blues is centered on something called grounding which is NOT the same as grinding. Grounding means that your motions are angled or connected downwards which marks Blues as an African-derived dance unlike more European upward lifts. I am in no shape to be lifted so this was a relief.

As much as I was tempted to wear a skirt or dress that would flare out dramatically when I spun, I put on some leggings (because chaffing) and a top and we headed out. When we first got to the Triangle Dance Studio that RDU Blues takes over every Friday night from 8 to midnight, I began phase 1: Recon. I sat with Sarah and watched the other dancers while she explained some simple things I could do to not look like a complete idiot.

She also assured me that I could say no at any time if someone asked me to dance and I felt uncomfortable. Has she met me? I am physically incapable of rejecting someone in this manner. Luckily I didn't have to because not many people asked me to dance.

I did have a contingency plan in place. I imagined that should someone ask me to dance I would either calmly explain that it was my first time and I was nervous or frantically shout that I had tuberculosis, and we shouldn't risk it. I was feeling almost ready to ask Sarah to dance with me when someone else asked her to dance. It was a real Blues triangle, but I let her go. Now I was a sitting duck. Immediately the DJ asked me to dance, and he seemed so nice so before I could think of an excuse I said yes. I think I did pretty solid that first dance, and I asked Sarah for some critiques after, and she said that I could stand to relax a bit.

I could stand to relax a bit in all aspects of life, so I decided I was crushing it. I danced with someone else, and then finally it was my turn with the studio owner. An absolutely precious older gentleman who is in way better shape than me. He was spinning gals around the floor with the gusto of a young Patrick Swayze. I felt the need to explain that it was my first time so I wouldn't embarrass myself in front of this Blues aficionado. He asked why I had never come before, and the only response I could give was that I'm type A.

We ended the night with minimal casualties, and I really think I will go back. Especially if they give me the aux cord. Blues isn't my fave, but I could play some Hadestown and Delta Rae. Local bands get local dances.

Throwing a Fitbit

I used to be like you. Moving through life freely, unencumbered by a cuff of metal and rubber that would track my every move. But those days are long gone now. It all started in college when I noticed that it seemed like every girl I knew started wearing the same bulky black bracelet. All the time. And at first I figured it was just another trend that I didn't get. Like when I started college and saw everyone wearing what I would later learn were Jack Rogers. I just assumed that all the girls happened to get the same pair of cheap flip flops to use as shower shoes and wore them on move in weekend. The bracelets had to be another fad I wasn't into like crop tops or pants not made out of spandex.

Imagine my surprise when I realized that those tight cuffs every sorority girl was sporting were like the updated version of the pedometers we used to get in gym class. The Fitbit craze had begun. I was completely uninterested. I have never really been a watch person. When I was like 6 I had 2 watches I was into. One was a pink Winnie the Pooh watch featuring Piglet and the other was a silver keychain shaped like a ladybug. When you squeezed the antennae the wings opened to reveal a little analog watch face that I had no idea how to read. It was adorable.

The sophistication level of my watches was rivaled only by my fear of learning to tell time. I thought that when my first grade teacher said we would learn to tell time, that meant that we always had to know what time it was. I imagined I would have to learn not only how to read a clock, but also how to keep track of the time when I saw a clock and then estimate how much time had passed since if someone were to jump out from behind a tree and ask me. So imagine my disappointment when both of those watches were sent to a watery grave within a week of each other. Most watches do not do well with a spin cycle, even in the comfort of your overall pocket. Corduroy overalls  can keep a lot of things out (friends, love interests...thanks mom) but not water.

I swore off watches for quite some time after that. Figured it just wasn't God's plan for me to know the time. But then a new mania hit the jewelry scene. Suddenly there were watches with changeable ribbon bands. My aunt got me one for my birthday and I was unstoppable. I could wear a watch with any outfit! Need the time? I got you! Am I wearing green? Because there's a band for that. How about pink pinstripes? There's a band for that. I rode that watch phase all through middle school until I decided in high school that having any sort of band around my wrist made my arm look fat. Clearly this is the musing of a teenage girl with a healthy self-concept. I would go on to do great things when I wasn't tied up in copious amounts of therapy.

So for years I banned bangles and I shunned stringy BFF bracelets. I suffered in silence. Who would understand? "I'm sorry I'm late for work, watches make me look fat." And I stuck to that for a long time. I stopped buying any form of bracelet. The beauty of accessories is that they're supposed to be one size fits all. Fitbits and Fitbit-adjacent products became more and more popular. Then came the smartwatches. I didn't want to partake in the fitness tracking due to my complicated relationship with my own wrists, but I also thought they looked truly awful with anything besides athleisure. I would cringe seeing photos of women at formal events wearing them. Ladies. There's a reason Nike doesn't have an evening gown line.

Then one day, on a lark and an addiction to online shopping, I decided to order some cheap fitness tracker on Amazon Prime Day. How many of my stories begin with "One time...on Amazon Prime Day..."? I planned to just wear it during exercise to track my heart rate. My period app already tracks the distance I walk for reasons I don't understand. I wouldn't be one of those people. This was to be a strictly part-time relationship.

And now I totally get it. Within 24 hours I was hooked. After that first night, I woke up wondering how people lived without knowing EXACTLY how much sleep they got the night before. And walking! There are people out there walking for free! Taking steps they ain't even getting credit for. Ya hate to see it. That's why women were leaving them on when they attended proms and weddings and balls. Dancing is just stepping but different!

I think the biggest eye opener of this experience was realizing just how hard (read: impossible) it is to get 10,000 steps in a day. A week? Sure! Probably. But a day? Either I'm a literal potato or 10,000 steps is harder than it looks. I mean I'm a teacher on summer break. So in 14 waking hours I am expected to walk 10,000 steps? I doubt it. Although I have found ways to increase my step count.


I have decided to buy an actual Fitbit as a reward once I hit some milestone. Maybe once I walk 10,000 cumulative steps. I offered my current fitness tracker to my brother once I get the Fitbit. He's like actually into fitness and as far as I know doesn't have any hangups about arm fat. I figured he could get just as addicted as me, if not more. He passed up the opportunity because he already has an app that tracks how far he walks. Not Flo, like me, but Pokemon Go. So apparently being late to trends runs in the family.

Bumblin' Around

For a long time I thought I was just too ugly for Bumble but as of late it is the app I am having the most success* with. (Let that sink in.) And way better than Hinge. I put in age preferences of 26 - 38 and every day Hinge wants me to meet a new 24 year old named Matt. I'm sure Matt is a nice guy, he's just not the guy for me. Actually...I take that back. Guys named Matt and Ryan are (I think I legally have to say almost here) always jerks.

The main advantage of Bumble is that women have to message first. The other main advantage of Bumble is that matches & conversations expire after 24 hours if no one makes a move so if a guy doesn't reply to me I can pretend it was a case of temporary thumb paralysis and not a lack of interest.

That's the thing about Bumble. It's like immersion therapy for fear of rejection. At least for me. Rejection used to be my biggest fear. But after years and years of practice I can assure you that it is survivable.

BUT...it's not all bad news. Since I have to decide to send a message, I often beg friends and family members to swipe for me. My youngest brother is pretty good at this. If he wants to swipe he takes it seriously. My oldest brother isn't interested (fake friend) but his girlfriend is a big help. Maybe because her name is Rachel and I’ve told my brother he can’t get married before me because I don’t think the world is ready for TWO Rachel Daniels. So she has a vested interest. My cousins are also game to help. And then I can review their matches before deciding to send a killer opening message like this one.



After that it's a waiting game. Will they respond within the next 24 hours so we can begin a multidimensional courtship that I can complain about on Twitter, brag about on Instagram and joke about on Snapchat? Or will they let our brief window of opportunity lapse because they're busy in solitary confinement like this gentleman who is obviously in prison. Orange may be the new black but it's not my new boo.


Now sometimes I use apps where the men have to message first, but they can be poor sports about the whole thing.


That experience taught me that sometimes it's best to actually read the profiles, or at least the names, and personalize your message.


Guys don't always get my jokes. Which is why my first memoir will be titled Laughing Alone and my last memoir will probably be titled Dying Alone.


A lot of things that sound good in my head don't really translate that well.


But in between all the grammatical errors and emojis (them) and all the typos and corny pickup lines (me) I have managed to get some dates, get somewhat over my fear of rejection and get some new blog readers I hope. I must say I think I'm improving. I honestly might be ready for the big leagues like a Match.com or eharmony even. What's the worst that could happen? I get ghosted? Get stood up? Get a friend request from the guy's mom during our first date? Find out the guy I'm interested in has a wife? Get left in the middle of the date? Because check, check, check, check and check. I'm indestructible.

*Just to clarify, by success I mean like 2 first dates a month. Will report back on what a so-called "second date" is as soon as I experience one.