Mission Impossible: Dancing, Dancing in the Dark, Dancing with the Stars

I treated myself to an action movie this weekend and saw "Mission Impossible III". I don't know if I'll ever be able to erase the memory of Tom Cruise dancing in his underwear (from "Risky Business") but I try to impose new imagery whenever possible so as to have more Tom Cruise moments to recall than I can possibly want to. As action movies go, it was pretty good, but I really wish someone in Hollywood would get a clue about countdowns. Going to the last second is boring. It doesn't increase the tension for the audience because we know the good guy will win and that the bomb will be stopped within 1-2 seconds of detonation. Find a new gimmick, guys. This one has been done to death.

So, on my way out of the theater parking lot, I noticed a business card stuck in my driver's side window. I was halfway out of my parking space with vehicles coming down the lane both ways. I don't know why, but I didn't do the sensible thing. I chose not to pull back into the parking space, open the door, and grab the card. Instead, I used my button control to roll down the window.

There is now a business card permanently embedded inside my door.

What if there was a desperate plea for help written on it? What if Linda saw my car, grabbed a business card from some poor hapless stranger whose wife wondered why this beautiful Asian girl was accosting her husband in front of their kids, and scrawled upon it, "Michael, Em Yeu Anh! Let's get married and have lots of babies!!!"??

What if someone who reads my blog just wanted to say, "Dude, nice car. Maybe we'll run into each other at a nice club some time."?

Dudes, if you feel the compulsion to put a business card on someone's car, do not slip it into a movable window. You have no idea of whether the driver will do something stupid like try to roll down the window. I may agonize over this lost moment for another 15 minutes. Do something sensible like, I don't know, keep the stupid thing to yourself and don't bother me. Leave a comment on the blog or something. I'll see it there.

I did like the movie, but the whole effect was spoiled by the business card thing. Maybe the IMF agency was trying to recruit me to buy a t-shirt or somethng. I didn't see business cards on anyone else's car. Was it just a special moment for me? Should I call my friends and family to see if anyone has been kidnapped and is being held for ransom? Can you imagine what the kidnappers are doing about now?

"He's not gonna call. Maybe he didn't see the card."

"Of course he saw the card. I put it right in the driver's side window. He'd have to be stupid enough to try to roll the window down to miss it!"

I can't handle this on a school night.

I did go dancing this weekend. My friends and I went to Club Tropicana, where Grupo Kandente (or La Orquesta Kandente -- guys, pick a name) played live music almost from a decent hour. MCR (that's an anacronym for Miss Cute Reluctant) joined us once again. That's three weeks running. I'm not sure, but I think she may be serious about this dancing thing. Did I mention she drives for over an hour to get to dance class, drives back home to work a part-time job shift, and then comes back to Houston for the evening?

There's some interest there, I think.

I've been trying to enjoy some time with her without making it seem like I'm enjoying time with her. How do you do that? Like Han Solo said to Chewie, "I dunno. Fly casual".

During one of my casual flying moments, actually prior to everyone else arriving at the club, I was speaking with German (pronounced Her-mahn), the gentleman who gives the free dance lessons. He mentioned that he has stopped the free lessons on Tuesday nights for lack of students. He says Saturdays are slowing down, too. He and other teachers complain that "Dancing with the Stars" not only seems to have sucked the life out of Salsa dance classes, it appears people lose interest in dancing when the show goes off the air. I don't know how many dance teachers have said to me, "I can't wait for the Fall television season to start."

Well, a while later, a couple of really cute ladies came in and greeted German. One of them was, in my opinion, a knockout. She looked possibly Asian, possibly Hispanic (some Hispanic women could pass for non-descript Asian -- I'm not sure why). She was dressed in a brown and black lacy dress. Very hot. Very sexy. We could barely take our eyes off each other. I was sitting there hoping she'd get into the free dance lesson (which finally got started about 15 minutes late) so I could see how she danced.

I don't like to dance with strangers any more. It used to be because I all too often picked cute girls who couldn't dance. But sometimes they can dance and you just have to know the right moves. They don't follow. It's not worthwhile, in many cases, to ask a stranger for a dance. So, if you can pick out the ones who follow, you may have a chance to dance with them. Problem is, every other guy who gets to the club early (who knows how to dance) has the same thing on his mind. I usually don't lack for dance partners, so I seldom ask strangers to dance any more. But lately, I've been dancing with a lot of strangers.

Later on, German asked his friend to help him demo a move. Hey! She can dance and follow! I saw potential there.

I was speaking with my friend Geno when I looked over by the restrooms. I saw a cute, curvacious figure leaning back against the wall in a somewhat seductive pose. She was wearing a brown dress. I thought, "this is my chance."

Wrong lady. This was a pretty young girl (I mean, she was gorgeous, but she was young). Well, by the time I was standing there in front of her, and her eyes were roving up and down my frame, I figured I'd better ask her to dance. So we headed out to the floor and as I turned around to face her I noticed someone's body odor wafting our way. I looked around to find a direction to dance into and took her into my arms.

And nearly gagged.

The girl was rank. I mean she was outrageously awful stinky. I know there are some women who don't wear perfume. Some people are allergic to perfumes, but you don't expect to meet them in a night club where everyone is supposedly trying to smell their best (the attendant in the Men's restroom keeps at least a dozen colognes available for desperate men, and I've noticed the Ladies' room attendant takes a case of stuff in there, too).

The dance was almost bearable when I turned the girl and broke away from her for a moment, but politeness (and the dance style) demanded I come back to closed dance position. Nonetheless, I noticed she liked to do a cute sexy pose when she turned, so inspiration hit me like a lightning bolt. I did the only thing any gentleman can do when he wants the girl to stop the dance and think it's her idea.

I leered at her, staring openly at her luscious body. That took all of three seconds before she said, "I have to go to the restroom." As she walked away from me, and the air conditioning wafted clean smoke-laden air my way, I breathed a deep sigh of relief.

A while later, I noticed an older gentleman watching the dancers. He reminded me of my father, who is in his 80s (Dad is quite a bit older than me). I thought, "He looks like Dad."

A while later I noticed the older gentleman leaving the club. He said good-bye to the cute woman in the lacy brown dress (the one for whom I mistook Miss Stinky Brown Dress). She knew him. I felt sorry for the gentleman because he was obviously disappointed. Was no one willing to dance with him? Why? I didn't really pay much attention to him so I don't know if he gropes the girls, can't dance, or does something else.

Nonetheless, that was the moment I realized this cute woman in the lacy brown dress had drifted two tables closer to me as the evening progressed. She ended up sitting right next to me. And I didn't ask her to dance.

Why?

Because I don't dance with strangers when I can avoid doing so. Looks don't matter. Only the experience matters.