The photographer and the basement dancer

By special request I’m doing another odd one today.

I didn’t see but one picture of this guy before agreeing to meet him. We actually talked for about a month and a half before finally meeting. That’s because he doesn’t like coming into the city, doesn’t like bars, doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t like smoke— ok well I guess we aren’t going to a bar for drinks.

But his photography……damn. I just wanted to have some of his creativity rub off on me. And I’ve always wanted to do be in a photo shoot and be “making love to the camera” or some bullshit to the point that the photographer just puts his camera down and takes me on the set.

He not only did beautiful old pictures of little towns around Atlanta, an abandoned house with a damanged piano- he did models. Not DID them. He shot them. Not SHOT- god you know what I mean.

But the models were crazy stunning. Tons of tattoos, piercings, hot rockabilly look in all of them. Like who I’d want my alter ego to be.

 We met at Flat Iron in EAV for dinner. He is much more of a ginger than I realize. And super skinny. Fine whatever let’s just talk creativity. He tells the bartender after I order a PBR that he’d like  a beer. She says which? He says I don’t care whatever. She’s like well what do you like? He says just surprise me. She says well we have a ton of beers…light, dark- what do you want? He says just pour me something- god I don’t know!


I was like ok….this is an awkward start. She picks one she says most people like. I had never heard of it but whatever- we order burgers.

He is kind, yes. Genuinley interested in my art and music. Says he wants to take me on top of buildings to shoot the Atlanta skyline after dinner but that I didn’t wear the right clothes to be climbing things. GOOD I’m thinking.

He is name dropping a ton of photo jargon I cannot keep up with. He starts talking about that most of the models he shoots are stippers or drug addicts and that they aren’t really beautiful at all, that he photo shops them to look like that. That he’d never be with someone he shoots.

Oh ho then he starts talking about how he actually recently decided to be celebate. Ok… I can respect that. Do you mean FOREVER? He says no probably not forever but that sexual desire is a distraction from art. That masturbation is unnatural and is keeping people blind to what they need to take care of and be productive in life. Yes, you heard me. He said masturbation is unnatural. He said that Netflix is basically a sing too because it distracts people from getting things done and using their life to their fullest. And Netflix and sexual things are the same in that way. It takes people away from what they should actually be doing in their lives. And for him, that’s photography.

Welp! Okey Dokey!


I tell him I’m tired and we wrap up dinner. Awkward butt out hug at the car. I get home and I’m like…umm I did NOT get in this dress for my night to be done at 10:00 on a Saturday.

I get on tinder- get matched with the basement dancer. He is at The Basement below The Graveyard where I literally just pulled my car away from. Fuck it- I’m going dancing. I’m gonna meet this guy I just got matched with two minutes ago.

I go to the graveyard. He says he’s the guy with glasses and a tie at the far end of the bar. Spend my last dollar in cash to get in- $7 to the graveyard. Hmm it’s really ghetto in here I’m thinking. Not my style of music but ok…

As I’m squeezing in between the masses of people, multiple guys put their hand through my hair saying Hey Girl, or grab my ass or try to say something to me. I’m like this is not right. I should just leave- I can’t even find him. I keep asking- how do I get down to the basement?!!? No one knows what I’m talking about.

WELLLLLL the basement is actually UNDER The Graveyard Tavern, you leave the building, go around and downstairs— oh and get this- pay another cover!

So I grab two shots, down them, go downstairs and talk a girl in line into paying for me in cash and I’ll buy us shots at the bar with my car. THANK GOD she agrees.

I finally meet him after AN HOUR of confusion. Short, cute guy. We dance our asses off and have a blast. He’s lost his friends. He helps me get up on the stage and dance with the other girls up on these boxes dancing go-g0 style to 1960s and 70s music that a bunch of white hipster assholes and I are screaming at the top of our lungs.


He joins me on stage, brave I thought, gets a text and says SHIT my friends are leaving, they’re my ride, huge me and bolts.

I’m like screw it, I went through too much to get in here and all- I’m staying at least another hour. And I do. Meet some girls dancing. Laugh, talk about gross guys staring at us etc.

I text him the next day thanking him for inviting me and he says he had fun and loves showing people that event that I guess is a monthly thing that happens– yes, I’m going this Saturday to it, alone or not, I don’t care—- And I never hear from him again.


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