elgeeko’s blog

Some brilliant student council member named our seasonal formal dance “Winter Snowball”. Kudos to you.

My sophomore year, I attended a private boarding school. Joining mid-year positioned me on the lowest rung of the social ladder. Top rung was reserved for four-year students - those who started freshman year and stayed through senior year. The lesser cast consisted of those who joined their sophomore year. Then there was me.

I appreciate this period in my life, as it frames every moment of happiness experienced since. Being unpopular, unkempt, and eccentric, my friends were few and far between. Johnny the Irishman was the highlight of my Wasatch Academy experience. Without our cigarette-infused conversations and the infrequent yet potentially expulsionary tequila tastings, I don’t know how I would have survived.

Beat up and ostracized, I had even experienced a modern-day tar-and-feathering: soaked in an inflatable wading pool, only to be later tackled into the sand of the nearby volleyball court. Lost and alone, I share now with you an experience that restored my sense of self and commitment to my friends. It is a hallmark example of a rebellious attitude that has, on rare occasions, saved me.

I used to have a crush on Julie Cordell. My adornment was obvious, and in moments of weakness, her softness towards me surfaced as well. Dating me, however, was out of the question: for the student body representative and spirit squad member, it would have been social suicide to even be seen with me. Her character was demonstrated in her willingness to exploit the torch I carried.

The night of the big dance, I shared a couch with Johnny, Neo, Josh, and other students who successfully evaded a date for the big dance. Our evening, dubbed “Snowball in Hell”, was hosted by a sympathetic professor. The evening was interrupted by a comical outburst from Johnny: “Guys - I’m going to the dance”. He had our attention - how was this even possible, the dance was underway, and all attendees had been paired. “In my BATHROBE,” was the addendum that cracked the joke. A short laugh later, attentions fell to the floor, and I replied “I’m in.”

Johnny, Josh, Neo, and I ran to the dorms. We threw on bathrobes and attitudes that we were to be the life of the party.

Alas, at the door, we were turned away for lack of shirts and pants. Our argument of non-nudity had little sway.

Little did the doorman expect our return following a hurried addition of underclothes. We presented ourselves in plaid shirts, bow-ties, wrinkled slacks, and bathrobes. We passed the test and were admitted into the dance.

Julie Cordell could not have been more pissed. She had envisioned the perfect dance, theme, and royalty. We were a clog in these plans. We didn’t care - we found what friends we had and danced. We got down and dirty, sensual and sexual, careless of what others thought.

And we were a hit.

The DJ called us to the stage, where we lead the congregation in the quintessential “YMCA”, followed by “Mungo Jerry - Summertime”. We danced and laughed and had fun.

In a change of heart, Julie Cordell approached me, wrapped her arms around me, and with her beautiful brown eyes invited me to a slow dance. We moved closer together, her breasts pressing against my chest, her arms caressing my lower back. She leaned to my side, pressing her lips against my ear. The wetness of her kiss was apparent only after she had whispered the words “Jeff, if you were to come back with your suit on, I would dance with you all night.”

Lured and caught, I responded with equal suggestiveness. “Julie,” I whispered as I softly kissed her ear, “there is nothing I would love more.”

In a passionate expression of wanton and lust, I pressed my hands to her sides and thrust her away from me as her eyes fell eagerly to mine: “but I’m here with my friends.”

She pushed me away and a frustrated growl escaped her throat. I returned to my friends to dance through the night. Despite any social stigma that followed us, that night, we were the stars of the show.

For your enjoyment, the Winter Snowball:

Johnny the Irishman and Jeff C. Jensen

Freaking with Shelly

First of two formal photographs

Second of two formal photographs

Up and Close with Amy