Let’s Dance…ok, YOU Dance…i’ll watch.

I wish I could dance. But alas my body and my love for music just don’t get along. I can jump around and mosh like no ones business and used to be able to break dance a little (no power moves, but knew some steps and was remotely athletic). But getting my groove on, shaking booty, cutting a rug, burning the floor and looking remotely co-ordinated is pure fantasy. Let alone winning the girl.

My best mate, Ben tells me NEVER to dance with the women I pursue because I just look awkward. He is dead on; I know I look awkward because I feel awkward. Shakira sang ‘Hips don’t lie”…my hips say….BAD WHITE MAN DANCING! My strength is conversation when trying escort the ladies to somewhere private.

I look especially bad with some guy pop-locking a storm next to me on the left and natural talented African guy, dancing with his even more talented girlfriend on my right. I’m waiting for “Stuck in the Middle’ to start up for the pure irony. It’s truly a train wreck.

Nope, this is certainly not me...

I try to keep my movement to an absolute minimum. Although my victory dances aren’t terrible (as I was told by my friend once), that dance pretty much is a shrug and shuffle, similar to something you see from Snoop Dogg in the video to “Beautiful”. You can’t do that for 5 hours to “Bonkers” and “Sexy Bitch” in club.

Drop it...I really should just drop it...

I’m no Justin Timberlake. It’s a true shame too. Because it’s common belief that it (dancing well) shows how good you are in bed. Now for obviously purely selfish reasons…I vehemently disagree. I dance like old people fuck; slow and sloppy (thanks again George Carlin). How I fuck is for you to find out…if you single and female under the age of let’s say 35.

Rocking bodies..till the break of day...apparently

Maybe I should blame Justin for his smooth moves on the dance floor, because now every woman wants a man that can dance. I also blame my hatred of dancing and people who can do it well on my 2^nd long-term girlfriend…who was dance instructor. The woman could move extremely well and tried to teach to me…but to no avail (as I refused her attempts on every occasion). She wants Channing Fuckface from whatever dance flick it was and i’m Bill Hicks but not funny.

Yes, I actually know what film I was talking about...

‘Real men, sit, sweat and curse’ – Bill Hicks (in reference to dancing in nightclubs).

I’m usually the guy in the club in the darkest corner, with a drink in my hand, looking surly. Well that’s when I’m not playing with the strobe light in the booth or hitting on some girl…I digress.

Do you suffer the same as I?  Or do you look cool and dance like someone Natalie Bassingthwaite would talk to on TV? Or do you look the next move will break thy hips and snap thy ankle in two?……….sorry I was watching an adaptation of a Shakespeare play on TV. Titus, I think.

Over-dramatic as this is topical blog is, it is a curse being without any form of rhythm. Gav: the man born with two left feet and the dancing co-ordination of someone on Xanax held by strings being controlled by a puppeteer on Meth.

But who can turn down and an attractive woman, motioning for you to join her on the dance floor for a boogie? Damn well knowing, you’re as useless as tits on a bull on this or ANY dance floor, so you hope to hell you can coax her off the floor and to the bar or a couch somewhere. Or drag into you and let her do the work and mirror her movements. This is my plight.

So i’ll shuffle (badly) through life with my dancing disability, hope to hell the woman is dumb enough to sit down with me and chat about life, herself and the possibility of sexual intercourse later that evening, because on the dance floor I’m doomed to fail miserably.

With Elaine-like moves

Gav