I Need A New Pair of Lucky Pants

...because my current pair is defective. It was Singles' Night again with the New Jersey Young Professionals and again my exceedingly low expectations were met, but not exceeded, trendy pants notwithstanding. I didn't meet any women — although I didn't get rejected by any women either, so score one for me! — but I did meet a guy who thought he could breakdance but couldn't. You've been to your junior prom; you know who I'm talking about: Kid is like ninety percent legs, ten percent show-off, zero percent shame, bouncing around in this epileptic way that's almost with the beat, "I'm just waiting for someone else to start dancing first so I can get out there and breakdance." Really. Dude, you're not Asian, you're not black, you're not in a Gap commercial: you can't breakdance.

But there's always someone who's gotta be the first on the dance floor, and tonight it's some girl who's basically the village terpsichorean slut. She's just dragging random, reluctant guys onto the floor to dance with her, and naturally I don't win the male lottery but Breakdancer here does. He makes an ass out of himself and the crowd goes wild because standards are now officially dead, thanks to Napoleon Dynamite and misbegotten nerd-power. I'm all in favor of giving everyone dancing in front of the crowd an "A for Effort!" sticker, but it's one thing to push your boundries and another to leap over them, land on your head, and spin on the floor like you meant to do that.

Maybe I'm a little bitter, but I think I ought to at least get some consolation points for dancing in time to the music — I can pretty much only do a slow-motion variation on the Charlie Brown Christmas dance, which means I fit right in with the idiots on Youtube — and I should get bonus points for being the only guy there who found this annoying the first time, and the twenty or so times I heard it thereafter: "There's only three or four hot girls here, and it sucks that the best-looking chick works here." What's with this being so damn picky? You're at Singles' Night in central New Jersey pretty much because none of the women you know are willing to date you, and it's not like if you weren't here, you'd be hanging out backstage at a Vogue fashion shoot. You'd be home masturbating.

...Well, I'd be home masturbating. You might be home watching repeats of Monk or reading Dear Abby in the local newspaper or whatever it is you do when you're out of socks. Doesn't matter. Point is, you're no adonis either, and if God only intended for the most attractive of us to reproduce, we'd have a lot more music videos and a lot fewer people in this world. Judge not, people, lest ye be judged.