Dancing with Black Holes

You've all heard of dancing with the stars. You know, grabbing a big mirror, dragging it outside in the dark, and waltzing while looking down to look up. It's a mirrored mindmelt.

I'm here to tell you to avoid dancing with black holes.

You know who I'm talking to. It's you, the guy who puts on 5 pounds of made up charisma to impress the pants off of every breathing thing. Except on this particular night, you aren't able to waltz across the universe. You can't seem to get past the first roadbump. Why? Because you hit a black hole.

You know who I'm talking about. It's them, black holes who put on 5 pounds of makeup to cover up their need to be ground-on beef through each boom and bump of the amped speakers. Black holes are the ladies that don't let you move on; once you cross their event horizon, you're with them for life. Or at least their life for the next 15 songs.

Happen to step off the dance floor for a breather, and you can feel her vision elevate to match your distance from her eyes. She isn't finished with you. Try to redock in the previously safe harbor of lights and music and you're out of real estate in a hurry. Such privileges as "personal space" are torn up like white elephants at a velociraptor's birthday party. She's back on you, attached like a turret shooting down all potential double-breasted approachers.

Learn who to avoid, just look for these warning signals:

Bulge in the left hip pocket - This is an obvious give away for a real-time communications device. She's got her phone with her; if she needs to text, she sure as hell isn't leaving the dance floor and her spot next to you.

Obsession with cleanliness - If you originally caught eyes with her when she was dancing with the janitor, she's probably not at a good place in her life.

She's got a clear drink - You really think she's going to risk spilling something dark on her JC Penney's blouse and having to step away to clean it for even one second?

Wearing a woven belt with rings in it - Better to attach you on, my dear.

A whiff of cologne - She's already had a 45-minute session with another man and acquired his scent. You will be biologically unable to enjoy anything else from this point in the night, pheromonically speaking. 

Plans for the future - Has she just told you she can't wait to dance to an Usher song with you? Hate to say it, but you've just run into a practiced black hole... and those are the most unstable.

I hope you don't need instructions for the avoidance portion.Well okay, fine:

Rub razor scent on your wrists - I'm not talking about the kind you put on after you cut your scraggly attempt at Caveman face-fur, I'm talking about that mixed smell of steel, oil and an unworn anti-suicide shirt.
Ask her to do something ridiculous - Have her request a Coldplay song from the DJ, ask the bouncer if he has an extra condom, or try on your wingman's new Crocs.
Stop moving entirely - It isn't clear whether or not black holes can detect inanimate objects, so become one.
Call her Brenda - Ain't nobody named Brenda anymore.
Redefine "grind" - Sometimes the best defense is being offensive. Pretend that the purpose of your life is to knock her to the ground in 10 minutes or less.