So I went home this weekend and got me some bangs. Yup, I went to get my hair did and opted to have Staci whack off the top of my hair into fringy, bitchin' bangs. This may not seem important to anyone in particular, but to me it is a life changing event. I have been considering this change of 'do for awhile now and, after the deed was done, was left to wonder how it would change my life. Turns out I didn't have long to wait.
Directly after my haircut, I went to my grandparents' house to visit. I walked in the door unannounced (as I always do) and surprised the ever-livin' crap out of my grandma. Once she pulled herself together (and picked the oyster crackers she was getting ready to bake to save them from staleness off the floor) she goes, "Chrissy! I didn't even recognize you!" This left me confused because I didn't think that my transformation was all that severe. As she sat across the table from me and we visited, she just shook her head and stated that I looked like a teeny-bopper. What does that even mean?? If it means that I look like Demi Lovato or Selena Gomez, then I will take that. If I look like every other 14 year old with bangs, then please push me off the nearest bridge.
When I thought about making the change, I was inundated with pictures of cute celebs with bangs- J-Lo, that girl from that one show, that other girl from that other commercial, and thought "This is a good direction for me and my hair to go." At this point, the jury is still out. It is going to take me a bit to figure out how to rock this new look, but the saving grace is that these appendages of hair are still long enough to push over to one side to create the "bang swoop" which I have sported for some time. I can't believe all of my options!
To take us all back to the title of this post, I have been struggling to come up with the Big Bangs Theory. In my short experience, I have realized that having bangs make old people forget that you are an adult. Example number one is my grandma. Examples number 2, 3, and 4 come from this morning's church experience. If you've read this blog before, you have heard me explain that my Mom and Dad's church could easily double for a nursing home intake center. Everyone there is OLD. I say that with a lot of love- these are people that I have known for MY WHOLE LIFE. They were old when I was 5 and they are still old, God love them. When I walked into church today, we were running late so I was spared the usual, "Oh, Chrisanne! What are you doing home?" and "Where's that husband of yours? We are starting to think he doesn't exist!" and I was able to slip right into our usual back row pew. After the service was over, I was approached by many of the church patrons that I hadn't seen in awhile. One of our good family friends game me the usual, "You look just as pretty as always. You never get any older. You are eternally 18 to me." Now, ladies, you know that any compliment like this is a great thing. I am hoping that as long as he lives, this particular gentleman will tell me the same exact thing. The next person I ran into is a particularly funny man that just happens to be our former senator. I have known him for my whole life and he still neglects to remember that I am a) out of college, b) married, and c) employed. This encounter isn't even worth regaling. Finally, one of our most distinguished congressional members approached me and my grandfather to say hello. He says to me, "Are you finished with school for the year?" to which I reply, "Nope, we still have a few weeks left, but I am ready!" to which he says, "I bet you're ready to graduate this year" to which I reply "No, I already graduated" to which he says "Oh, do you have a job lined up?" I just hang my head, wondering what about me looks like I am still 22. Then I realize- IT'S THE BANGS. My grandpa looked at him like he was crazy and says, "Chrissy has been out of school for 5 years. She's almost 30." Thanks Gramps...I appreciate the support.
So, although I feel this blog is pointless, it is all I have at this point on a Sunday night. Take it or leave it.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
When Times Get Rough, I Ask Myself "WWSPD"?
I love me some Jesus. I really do. I try to live my life in a way that He would want me to- I am kind to others, I try not to hurt peoples' feelings- but there are times when I need to look to another source to measure my moral compass. When such events try to derail me and I need to step back and take a moment, all I do is ask myself "What would Spencer Pratt do?" After some quick meditation and consulting my magic crystals, I usually know the answer.
This becomes a fun game and I am now going to toss out some training scenarios so you at home can also employ the "WWSPD" method to solve all of life's problems. Play along and see if your reactions would measure up to the usually sane, calm methods that Spencer Pratt and I resort to when life throws us lemons. Make lemonade? Yeah right. We'd take those lemons, throw them at cyclists, steal their bikes, and then sell them off for some fat cash so that we could buy our honey plastic surgery or ourselves some new shades. 'Cuz that's how me and Spencer roll.
Let's begin...
Scenario #1: You are trying desperately to prove to your significant other that you are a sane, kind person who is worthy of their love. You must convince him or her that your motives are pure and not to use that significant other to become famous, alienate all of his/her best friends, or that you will eventually paint grafitti all over his/her apartment walls and pass it off as art. Hmmmm...WWSPD?
Answer: This scenario is right up Spencer's ally. First of all, you bring your significant other flowers but make sure that they are the leftover flowers that your last conquest politely declined. That way you're not wasting money on more than one person while keeping your options open. Next, spread really vicious rumors about your girl or boy's best friends and pass it off like their other friends tipped them off. This will drive a big fat wedge between your honey and all of their friends and right into your waiting arms. Once you have that person's trust, ultimatum them into moving in with you, use the promise of lots of fame to trick them into signing a lease, and get ready to buy paint colors- you have sealed the deal! While your out shopping for paint, pick up another cell phone so that your boys still have a "homeboy phone" to hit up when those random playmates want to hang at Les Deux...this step is integral in the WWSPD handbook of solutions. If all of this doesn't work, your significant other is not worth it in Spencer's eyes because they are not dumb enough to play along with all of your awesomeness.
Are we having fun? Let's try another...
Scenario #2: You and your wife have differing opinions on starting a family. She wants kids even though she is still a child herself and you do not. You are afraid that she will shut you out both emotionally and sexually if you voice your opinion. WWSPD?
Answer: Well, dude, you're in luck! Spencer has actually been in this very situation and handled it like a real pro. When your wife/girlfriend/potential babymama pressures you for the pitter-patter of little feet and all the pitter-pattering you want to hear are those associated with the feet of the other chick who's sneaking out the back door, all you have to do is pay a little visit to your local practitioner. A vasectomy isn't that big a deal, right? Totally reversible! Discuss it with your significant other? What's the point?! Let her think that her junk is all messed up and it's her fault that you can't conceive while you secretly pat yourselves on the proverbial balls knowing that you have taken care of any chance of having a little Spencer. Bonus? You can totally tell if she's cheating on you if she actually does get pregnant. Genius. And, in the words of Becky Hoyle, BONUS!!
We're getting good at this! Why not try one or two more, just to get the hang of it...
Scenario #3:
You seem to have a lot of trouble with people in general. Your friends have all turned against you, your own sister won't speak to you, your mother-in-law and sister-in-law are wishing you were an illegal alien so they could deport you and you are, for all intensive purposes, the butt of every joke and blog under the sun. Hmmm...WWSPD???
Answer: This is a tough one, but I think that Spencer is probably up for it! You should definitely go out in public wearing whatever you feel like wearing...flannel and a cowboy hat in 80 degree weather, army fatigues, remnants of Jerry Garcia's closet- just to show all those haters that you and your flesh-colored beard are relevant to this world and the perfect match for your wife. While on the subject of your wife, make sure that you have worn her down so that she is a mere shell of her former self. Maybe tell her how ugly she is and offer her 10 or 12 plastic surgery procedures to make her feel better. Since your goal is to further alienate people (who needs friends when your SP??), you should also pay the paparazzi to follow you around doing totally insane things. Finally, make sure you hire a totally unnecessary entourage of people to schedule your fake appointments and to deflect the random ninjas that may try to attack you on your way to Target or Pinkberry. A homeboy always has to have all of his bases covered.
I think you are almost fully schooled in the methods of WWSPD. Just to be sure, we better hit one more topic to fully integrate you into the ways of The Pratt.
Scenario #4: You have totally lost your mind. People tell you to your face that you are crazy. Totally random chicks in Munster, Indiana see your behavior and wonder what the F is wrong with you. Your wife looks like she could have spare car parts as appendages. She also no longer knows how to smile, laugh, or blink. For some reason, you don't feel like your world is spiraling out of control even though EVERY SINGLE PERSON AROUND YOU sees it happening and points it out in rude and inappropriate ways. Although you don't see what they see, you still wonder: WWSPD?
Answer: Whoo boy. This is a toughie. But, because you are thinking like a true Pratt, the answer is simple. First, spend as much money as you can on spiritual crystals. Wear as many crystals as possible on you at all times. Heck, hang crystals from your balls if you have to- they will get you through. Definitely don't shave your awesome scraggly beard or cut your hair. You can shower at will, which probably won't be very often. When people tell you you're crazy, yell back at them even louder that THEY'RE crazy and that THEY are the ones that are wrong. That seems to work every time. Finally, make sure that you make crazy allegations about co-workers sexually harassing your wife so that she is further alienated from any chances the both of you still have to make any money ever. If none of this works, take your crystals, your fake wife, and all of your bountiful knowledge and start a home for wayward children. Since they are easily influenced, you can start to hone your army of Spencers in the hopes of one day forcing the world to see the light.
I have to admit, this way of thinking may seem a little extreme. Give it a try- once you have seen the err of your ways and start doing things Pratt-style you will see a plethora of opportunities fall at your crystal-laden feet. If you ever need any advice, hit me up on the homeboy phone and don't buy any fake cubic zirconia engagement rings before asking yourself "Would Spencer buy this?" It's a way of life, my friends. Embrace it.
This becomes a fun game and I am now going to toss out some training scenarios so you at home can also employ the "WWSPD" method to solve all of life's problems. Play along and see if your reactions would measure up to the usually sane, calm methods that Spencer Pratt and I resort to when life throws us lemons. Make lemonade? Yeah right. We'd take those lemons, throw them at cyclists, steal their bikes, and then sell them off for some fat cash so that we could buy our honey plastic surgery or ourselves some new shades. 'Cuz that's how me and Spencer roll.
Let's begin...
Scenario #1: You are trying desperately to prove to your significant other that you are a sane, kind person who is worthy of their love. You must convince him or her that your motives are pure and not to use that significant other to become famous, alienate all of his/her best friends, or that you will eventually paint grafitti all over his/her apartment walls and pass it off as art. Hmmmm...WWSPD?
Answer: This scenario is right up Spencer's ally. First of all, you bring your significant other flowers but make sure that they are the leftover flowers that your last conquest politely declined. That way you're not wasting money on more than one person while keeping your options open. Next, spread really vicious rumors about your girl or boy's best friends and pass it off like their other friends tipped them off. This will drive a big fat wedge between your honey and all of their friends and right into your waiting arms. Once you have that person's trust, ultimatum them into moving in with you, use the promise of lots of fame to trick them into signing a lease, and get ready to buy paint colors- you have sealed the deal! While your out shopping for paint, pick up another cell phone so that your boys still have a "homeboy phone" to hit up when those random playmates want to hang at Les Deux...this step is integral in the WWSPD handbook of solutions. If all of this doesn't work, your significant other is not worth it in Spencer's eyes because they are not dumb enough to play along with all of your awesomeness.
Are we having fun? Let's try another...
Scenario #2: You and your wife have differing opinions on starting a family. She wants kids even though she is still a child herself and you do not. You are afraid that she will shut you out both emotionally and sexually if you voice your opinion. WWSPD?
Answer: Well, dude, you're in luck! Spencer has actually been in this very situation and handled it like a real pro. When your wife/girlfriend/potential babymama pressures you for the pitter-patter of little feet and all the pitter-pattering you want to hear are those associated with the feet of the other chick who's sneaking out the back door, all you have to do is pay a little visit to your local practitioner. A vasectomy isn't that big a deal, right? Totally reversible! Discuss it with your significant other? What's the point?! Let her think that her junk is all messed up and it's her fault that you can't conceive while you secretly pat yourselves on the proverbial balls knowing that you have taken care of any chance of having a little Spencer. Bonus? You can totally tell if she's cheating on you if she actually does get pregnant. Genius. And, in the words of Becky Hoyle, BONUS!!
We're getting good at this! Why not try one or two more, just to get the hang of it...
Scenario #3:
You seem to have a lot of trouble with people in general. Your friends have all turned against you, your own sister won't speak to you, your mother-in-law and sister-in-law are wishing you were an illegal alien so they could deport you and you are, for all intensive purposes, the butt of every joke and blog under the sun. Hmmm...WWSPD???
Answer: This is a tough one, but I think that Spencer is probably up for it! You should definitely go out in public wearing whatever you feel like wearing...flannel and a cowboy hat in 80 degree weather, army fatigues, remnants of Jerry Garcia's closet- just to show all those haters that you and your flesh-colored beard are relevant to this world and the perfect match for your wife. While on the subject of your wife, make sure that you have worn her down so that she is a mere shell of her former self. Maybe tell her how ugly she is and offer her 10 or 12 plastic surgery procedures to make her feel better. Since your goal is to further alienate people (who needs friends when your SP??), you should also pay the paparazzi to follow you around doing totally insane things. Finally, make sure you hire a totally unnecessary entourage of people to schedule your fake appointments and to deflect the random ninjas that may try to attack you on your way to Target or Pinkberry. A homeboy always has to have all of his bases covered.
I think you are almost fully schooled in the methods of WWSPD. Just to be sure, we better hit one more topic to fully integrate you into the ways of The Pratt.
Scenario #4: You have totally lost your mind. People tell you to your face that you are crazy. Totally random chicks in Munster, Indiana see your behavior and wonder what the F is wrong with you. Your wife looks like she could have spare car parts as appendages. She also no longer knows how to smile, laugh, or blink. For some reason, you don't feel like your world is spiraling out of control even though EVERY SINGLE PERSON AROUND YOU sees it happening and points it out in rude and inappropriate ways. Although you don't see what they see, you still wonder: WWSPD?
Answer: Whoo boy. This is a toughie. But, because you are thinking like a true Pratt, the answer is simple. First, spend as much money as you can on spiritual crystals. Wear as many crystals as possible on you at all times. Heck, hang crystals from your balls if you have to- they will get you through. Definitely don't shave your awesome scraggly beard or cut your hair. You can shower at will, which probably won't be very often. When people tell you you're crazy, yell back at them even louder that THEY'RE crazy and that THEY are the ones that are wrong. That seems to work every time. Finally, make sure that you make crazy allegations about co-workers sexually harassing your wife so that she is further alienated from any chances the both of you still have to make any money ever. If none of this works, take your crystals, your fake wife, and all of your bountiful knowledge and start a home for wayward children. Since they are easily influenced, you can start to hone your army of Spencers in the hopes of one day forcing the world to see the light.
I have to admit, this way of thinking may seem a little extreme. Give it a try- once you have seen the err of your ways and start doing things Pratt-style you will see a plethora of opportunities fall at your crystal-laden feet. If you ever need any advice, hit me up on the homeboy phone and don't buy any fake cubic zirconia engagement rings before asking yourself "Would Spencer buy this?" It's a way of life, my friends. Embrace it.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I've Lost My Motivation...and Wish I Could Hire Someone to Find It For Me
I suck. I'm just putting that out there. I have lost all motivation to do anything worthwhile. Before you go and think that this is some half-assed attempt at a suicide note, let me assure you that I don't even have the energy for that. I don't know what my problem is but I do not want to do anything but lay in bed, watch TV, and eat. If my life consisted of those three things and only those three things I think I would be in my own personal version of heaven. I may be 100 pounds heavier, never shower, and have chocolate stained clothes, but no one in Heaven would care. Instead, I have to get up, go to work, try to find a way to make myself exercise, and do other mundane things like feed my dogs so that they don't die and call my family members so that they know I'm still alive. Not a real rough life, I know, but just not all that exciting.
I blame my lack of motivation on the approaching end of the school year. I CAN NOT WAIT until this year is over. I can't wait until I can kiss my struggling seniors, rotten attitudes, and Gold Star goodbye for two blissful months and concentrate on the people and the things I love for awhile. All of the negativity surrounding work is really bringing me down and it is so close to the end that I can almost taste it. And it tastes like a big, fat chocolate Dairy Belle cone with chocolate sprinkles. The best taste imaginable.
Until this year ends, I am going to cling to the things that I love. Those things include my husband (who can usually cheer me up with ice cream or rap lyrics), my dogs, my friends, and, best of all, any one of the following: Chelsea Handler, Gossip Girl, Gia from the Real Housewives of New Jersey, Glee, 90210, Lost, The Hills, The City, America's Next Top Model (not including any part where Tyra shows her face), The Office, The Vampire DIaries, The Soup, and Kendra. If those aren't reasons to keep on living, I don't know what are.
Sorry for the lame post. I am wasting time until John is ready to watch Lost. After which I must turn out the lights, catch some sleep, and roll out of bed to yet another blissful day at MHS proctoring yet another AP exam and delivering bad news to seniors about grades and test scores. Booooo.
I blame my lack of motivation on the approaching end of the school year. I CAN NOT WAIT until this year is over. I can't wait until I can kiss my struggling seniors, rotten attitudes, and Gold Star goodbye for two blissful months and concentrate on the people and the things I love for awhile. All of the negativity surrounding work is really bringing me down and it is so close to the end that I can almost taste it. And it tastes like a big, fat chocolate Dairy Belle cone with chocolate sprinkles. The best taste imaginable.
Until this year ends, I am going to cling to the things that I love. Those things include my husband (who can usually cheer me up with ice cream or rap lyrics), my dogs, my friends, and, best of all, any one of the following: Chelsea Handler, Gossip Girl, Gia from the Real Housewives of New Jersey, Glee, 90210, Lost, The Hills, The City, America's Next Top Model (not including any part where Tyra shows her face), The Office, The Vampire DIaries, The Soup, and Kendra. If those aren't reasons to keep on living, I don't know what are.
Sorry for the lame post. I am wasting time until John is ready to watch Lost. After which I must turn out the lights, catch some sleep, and roll out of bed to yet another blissful day at MHS proctoring yet another AP exam and delivering bad news to seniors about grades and test scores. Booooo.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
"I Have Never Met More Women Who Have More F-in' Issues"
This awesome line was just uttered by the new Housewife on the New York block, Jennifer, as another Housewife stormed out of yet another hoity-toity party. Yes my friends, if you are a fan of Bravo TV, I am talking about The Real Housewives of New York City. I don't know why I watch this show, but I am completely and totally hooked on watching the drama implode on this series that I tune in diligently every Thursday at 9:00. I feel like this group of Housewives is miles apart from the other franchises because of their complete sense of entitlement and their no-holds-barred bitchiness. If this group of women were catapulted in to a current day prep school, it would be a real life version of Gossip Girl. Every snipe, every fight, every cocktail-laden boozy event makes for TV gold.
Why does America thrive on drama? I have noticed this a lot since moving into the "real world." Sure there were tiffs with friends in high school and falling outs with other friends in college, but in the back of my mind I thought that this petty dramatic fodder was something that stayed in those pre-grownup years so it didn't bother me as much when it was happening. Now that I am pushing THIRTY YEARS OLD, I can't believe the amount of drama that I still find myself involved in even though I feel that I am a "drama-free person." And what does that mean? "Drama-free person?" I feel that this term is used by people who like to perpetuate drama and try to escape the blame by saying "I'm just trying to stay out of it" while talking about it behind someone else's back. Whatever the infatuation with drama is, I would be happy if I would never have to deal with it again.
A lot of the drama I deal with is at work. My students are always coming to me with "she-said-she-said" stories that I have to sit through and be empathetic about. Every time I hear about someone having a fight with one of their friends, I wish I could tell them that it stops once you leave high school or it gets better as you grow up. It doesn't. As I listened to someone this week describe their ended friendship with their former "best friend" I couldn't help but be taken back to the many identical situations I have been in over the years and how important it seemed at the time. In the end, you have to have good friends that you can surround yourself with and can count on all the time. Good friends are hard to find and I am happy to say that although we have our ups and downs, I have many, many good friends that I love dearly. That's what makes life worth living.
Back to the Housewives- my words to new housewife Jennifer are this: Turn around, grab your Fendi clutch, and run those Blahnik heels as fast as you can in the other direction. If the first words out of your mouth on this show are, "I have never met more women who have more f-in' issues" then your gut is trying to tell you something. Follow it. Being the 6th wheel on a D list reality show on an off cable station is not worth all the pain, suffering, and damage to your liver that this show will do to you. If you choose to say, may the force be with you...consider yourself warned. It won't be long before you have a table flipped all over you and your Gucci attire while being called a prostitution whore- whatever that means.
Why does America thrive on drama? I have noticed this a lot since moving into the "real world." Sure there were tiffs with friends in high school and falling outs with other friends in college, but in the back of my mind I thought that this petty dramatic fodder was something that stayed in those pre-grownup years so it didn't bother me as much when it was happening. Now that I am pushing THIRTY YEARS OLD, I can't believe the amount of drama that I still find myself involved in even though I feel that I am a "drama-free person." And what does that mean? "Drama-free person?" I feel that this term is used by people who like to perpetuate drama and try to escape the blame by saying "I'm just trying to stay out of it" while talking about it behind someone else's back. Whatever the infatuation with drama is, I would be happy if I would never have to deal with it again.
A lot of the drama I deal with is at work. My students are always coming to me with "she-said-she-said" stories that I have to sit through and be empathetic about. Every time I hear about someone having a fight with one of their friends, I wish I could tell them that it stops once you leave high school or it gets better as you grow up. It doesn't. As I listened to someone this week describe their ended friendship with their former "best friend" I couldn't help but be taken back to the many identical situations I have been in over the years and how important it seemed at the time. In the end, you have to have good friends that you can surround yourself with and can count on all the time. Good friends are hard to find and I am happy to say that although we have our ups and downs, I have many, many good friends that I love dearly. That's what makes life worth living.
Back to the Housewives- my words to new housewife Jennifer are this: Turn around, grab your Fendi clutch, and run those Blahnik heels as fast as you can in the other direction. If the first words out of your mouth on this show are, "I have never met more women who have more f-in' issues" then your gut is trying to tell you something. Follow it. Being the 6th wheel on a D list reality show on an off cable station is not worth all the pain, suffering, and damage to your liver that this show will do to you. If you choose to say, may the force be with you...consider yourself warned. It won't be long before you have a table flipped all over you and your Gucci attire while being called a prostitution whore- whatever that means.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
To Strip or Not to Strip? I Had No Choice.
Before you get all bent out of shape and imagine that I "work hard for the money," let me just get something straight- the particular experience that involved the title of this blog only included hypothetical stripping, not the real thing. Thankfully I did not have to peel off any layers of clothing, but it was touch and go there for awhile. Let me start at the beginning.
I have a group of wonderful friends. The biggest problem we have is that we don't get to spend a lot of quality time together. So, my friend Beth who is the resident workout nut of the group (Beth, I hope you don't take offense to that title) decided that nothing would be better on a Friday night than a little female bonding through a XXX Cardio Strip class. You know, the norm for four married gals just looking to get out for the night. Beth found a fitness club downtown called Flirty Girl Fitness which is a gym that caters to racy workouts. We had our choice between the Cardio Strip class, Pole Dancing, a Video Vixen class (which I can only imagine would have us gyrating in ways my body has not even thought about attempting even in my J-Lo/ Ja Rule loving days)...you get the idea. Beth thought that the Cardio Strip class was the way to go and signed us all up. With my fee already paid on B's card, there was nothing to say but "Sure" and hope for the best. I was not disappointed.
Becky and I had a lot of misgivings about this class before leaving for it on Friday afternoon. I am not necessarily the queen of the dance floor unless I have had about ten drinks and the dance floor is in the middle of a wedding reception. Put me in a "club" and I flail like a fish out of water until some thug comes up and tries to grind on me. Then I silently weep while he figures out that I have no idea how to move my hips the way he wants them and leaves me deserted and dejected in the middle of the floor. Becky and I knew that we were going with two much more awesome dancers (believe me, I know- I've seen Beth's moves and Betty can cut a mean rug whether it be in a club, at a wedding, or in the living room). My biggest hope was that I could fade into the background and draw as little attention to myself as possible.
When we arrived at Flirty Girl, I have to say that the place was AWESOME. What other gym can you walk in to where the first thing you see is a full bar stocked with alcohol and the option of yummy smoothies? Whomever created Flirty Girl must have known that many people would not be able to attempt classes of this nature without consuming at least one or two strong drinks. We made our way into our aerobics room and it was complete with a full wall of mirrors and a disco ball. We knew we were in trouble when our instructor walked in and she was a beautiful six foot tall beanpole with legs for miles wearing booty shorts and high-heeled boots. She could do the mashed potato and guys would take off their pants for her. Sheesh.
As she started to teach us the routine, I was surprised to see that I could actually follow what she wanted us to do. There was a lot of "sexy walking" and hair flipping and hip gyrating. Here's the thing I have come to know about myself: I am never going to be a sexy dancer. When God created me, he forgot to include the synapsis that need to fire to connect my bottom half to my shoulders and arms when I dance. Usually I can get my bottom half to do what needs to be done, but the top half just kind of hangs there. And when I try to put the top half and bottom half together? It just looks like I am either having a seizure or am in toxic shock. And forget trying to look sexy. Our instructor kept encouraging us to "make eye contact with ourselves in the mirror" and "look seductive." Every time I looked at myself in the mirror my face was either screwed up in concentration or looked like I had just passed gas. The men of America should breathe a sigh of relief that I won't be gracing Big Al's stage at any point in the near future.
The culmination of the "routine" was a crazy-ass flip that started out with us on our backs and rolling over backwards-summersault-style into a "sexy crawl." This made the whole thing worth it. I vowed to myself that I was going to get the hang of this ninja-stripper-roll if it was the last thing I did. I ended up getting it and have a sore neck to prove it. I don't know how strippers do it, man. My neck is still sore, my hamstrings are still screaming from dropping it like it was hot (or, in my case, lukewarm at best), and my knees hurt from crawling around on the floor. I am a stripping failure.
Once the class was over, Betty, Beth, Becky and I headed over to the Billy Goat Tavern to process what we had just been through. We all really enjoyed the class regardless of the complaints before, sheepish looks during, and aches and pains after. The valid point that Beck made was that if we were ever to do the dance that we had just learned for our respective men, there would be some tweaking needed. Mainly because by the time you get to that killer ninja-stripper-roll, you are hypothetically supposed to be devoid of both your shirt and your skirt/pants and doing that roll in your skivvies would be both painful and unattractive. Unless you look like our instructor, in which case I GET IT.
Although Friday's class was super fun and I would totally go back to Flirty Girl for another provocative class, I don't think I will be taking my skills publicly (or even privately) any time soon. I think all parties involved will probably be happier that way. To anyone reading this, I highly recommend a Flirty Girl class- even if you feel stupid it is a good workout and a challenging undertaking. Just be prepared to ache like an eighty year old the next day and to find a new appreciation for the ladies on the main stage at a strip club near you- they do indeed work hard for the money.
I have a group of wonderful friends. The biggest problem we have is that we don't get to spend a lot of quality time together. So, my friend Beth who is the resident workout nut of the group (Beth, I hope you don't take offense to that title) decided that nothing would be better on a Friday night than a little female bonding through a XXX Cardio Strip class. You know, the norm for four married gals just looking to get out for the night. Beth found a fitness club downtown called Flirty Girl Fitness which is a gym that caters to racy workouts. We had our choice between the Cardio Strip class, Pole Dancing, a Video Vixen class (which I can only imagine would have us gyrating in ways my body has not even thought about attempting even in my J-Lo/ Ja Rule loving days)...you get the idea. Beth thought that the Cardio Strip class was the way to go and signed us all up. With my fee already paid on B's card, there was nothing to say but "Sure" and hope for the best. I was not disappointed.
Becky and I had a lot of misgivings about this class before leaving for it on Friday afternoon. I am not necessarily the queen of the dance floor unless I have had about ten drinks and the dance floor is in the middle of a wedding reception. Put me in a "club" and I flail like a fish out of water until some thug comes up and tries to grind on me. Then I silently weep while he figures out that I have no idea how to move my hips the way he wants them and leaves me deserted and dejected in the middle of the floor. Becky and I knew that we were going with two much more awesome dancers (believe me, I know- I've seen Beth's moves and Betty can cut a mean rug whether it be in a club, at a wedding, or in the living room). My biggest hope was that I could fade into the background and draw as little attention to myself as possible.
When we arrived at Flirty Girl, I have to say that the place was AWESOME. What other gym can you walk in to where the first thing you see is a full bar stocked with alcohol and the option of yummy smoothies? Whomever created Flirty Girl must have known that many people would not be able to attempt classes of this nature without consuming at least one or two strong drinks. We made our way into our aerobics room and it was complete with a full wall of mirrors and a disco ball. We knew we were in trouble when our instructor walked in and she was a beautiful six foot tall beanpole with legs for miles wearing booty shorts and high-heeled boots. She could do the mashed potato and guys would take off their pants for her. Sheesh.
As she started to teach us the routine, I was surprised to see that I could actually follow what she wanted us to do. There was a lot of "sexy walking" and hair flipping and hip gyrating. Here's the thing I have come to know about myself: I am never going to be a sexy dancer. When God created me, he forgot to include the synapsis that need to fire to connect my bottom half to my shoulders and arms when I dance. Usually I can get my bottom half to do what needs to be done, but the top half just kind of hangs there. And when I try to put the top half and bottom half together? It just looks like I am either having a seizure or am in toxic shock. And forget trying to look sexy. Our instructor kept encouraging us to "make eye contact with ourselves in the mirror" and "look seductive." Every time I looked at myself in the mirror my face was either screwed up in concentration or looked like I had just passed gas. The men of America should breathe a sigh of relief that I won't be gracing Big Al's stage at any point in the near future.
The culmination of the "routine" was a crazy-ass flip that started out with us on our backs and rolling over backwards-summersault-style into a "sexy crawl." This made the whole thing worth it. I vowed to myself that I was going to get the hang of this ninja-stripper-roll if it was the last thing I did. I ended up getting it and have a sore neck to prove it. I don't know how strippers do it, man. My neck is still sore, my hamstrings are still screaming from dropping it like it was hot (or, in my case, lukewarm at best), and my knees hurt from crawling around on the floor. I am a stripping failure.
Once the class was over, Betty, Beth, Becky and I headed over to the Billy Goat Tavern to process what we had just been through. We all really enjoyed the class regardless of the complaints before, sheepish looks during, and aches and pains after. The valid point that Beck made was that if we were ever to do the dance that we had just learned for our respective men, there would be some tweaking needed. Mainly because by the time you get to that killer ninja-stripper-roll, you are hypothetically supposed to be devoid of both your shirt and your skirt/pants and doing that roll in your skivvies would be both painful and unattractive. Unless you look like our instructor, in which case I GET IT.
Although Friday's class was super fun and I would totally go back to Flirty Girl for another provocative class, I don't think I will be taking my skills publicly (or even privately) any time soon. I think all parties involved will probably be happier that way. To anyone reading this, I highly recommend a Flirty Girl class- even if you feel stupid it is a good workout and a challenging undertaking. Just be prepared to ache like an eighty year old the next day and to find a new appreciation for the ladies on the main stage at a strip club near you- they do indeed work hard for the money.
If I Trip Your Kid in Church...
...they probably deserved it. I know that I am not a parent, but that is not going to stop me from going apeshit on the parents of the kids in church who run around like they own the place. Um, bratty kids? GOD owns the place and as you are running amuck while the pastor is preaching, he is busy phoning the devil and creating a special place in Hell for you. Oh, and when you end up there? He's making sure you have no legs to run around and no voice box to drive the rest of Hell's patrons nuts. Consider yourself warned.
Let me back up because I feel like I am getting ahead of myself. John and I joined a great church with a PHENOMENAL pastor right after we got engaged. At first glance, I thought that this church would be perfect for us (and still do aside from what comes next). There were tons of partitioners, just the right mix of geriatrics vs youngins, and a good number of kids. In my naive eyes, the perfect family-friendly congregation. Kids in a congregation is what my home church had been missing. A few years ago, I went to my childhood church with my mom, dad, and brother and, upon glancing around the 46 people present for worship that Sunday I came to realize that my 24 year old brother was the youngest person present, me at 27 was the second youngest, and my Mom at almost 50 was the third. The average age of that congregation is 91.6 (or somewhere around there). I always knew that when I got married and found a church of my own, a range of ages was particularly important. I feel like I may eat my words.
The children in our congregation are cute on the surface, but absolutely INTOLERABLE during the service. A few months back, John and I arrived in church late and had to sit towards the back. Don't even ask me what was to be had from that service. All I heard were pee-wee voices whining about wanting snacks, kicking the back of our pews, and crying incessantly through the entire sermon. My blood was absolutely boiling by the time we left that day. The kids were old enough to know better, but what really gets me is the parents. Where in the world did they learn social manners that makes it acceptable to let your child cry through the entire sermon (when it is dead quiet aside from the pastor preaching) and not take them outside?? I understand that God may not mind that much and he loves us all whether we are quiet through The Message or not, but us common citizens are not so forgiving and may want to drown your child in the holy water before we are granted reprieve with the ending of the sermon.
This brings us to today. Church started off innocently enough. We had snagged a seat in the front third of the sanctuary and I had claimed a seat by the side aisle. We got through the confession and opening hymn when a whole gaggle of late-comers arrived with three young-ish girls. I would estimate their ages at 8, 6, and 5. I am not kidding when I say that not even five minutes after their caretakers had them situated, they were crawling up and down the side aisles distracting everyone who was sitting within five feet of their horseplay. And do you think whomever was supposed to be watching them said anything?? Nooooooo. They just let. them. go. Later, it was time for the sermon and the three of them were standing up (while everyone else in the congregation was sitting down) trading pencils back and forth and talking up a storm. Seriously? Their parents were RIGHT THERE. Finally, after the offering was taken, they were dancing up and down the side aisle and kept going back and forth by our pew, grabbing the sides to keep their balance. That is when this thought went through my head, "If I just stick out my foot and trip one of them, it will give them a shock and they will stop. If they're smart, it only takes one time and they'll learn." Good think Communion was right after this particular thought went through my head so I could ask for a little forgiveness. I have a feeling God knows where I am coming from.
So, again, I know I am not a parent and I will now probably be granted with truly intolerable children with no manners and a penchant for annoying everyone around them. But, before all of this happens, I am entering a plea to all parents who take their children to church:
1. Please take your kids out of the sanctuary if they are being obnoxious or crying, especially during the sermon. Some of us are actually trying to pay attention to what is going on and those old people do not appreciate an extra reason for their hearing aids to ring.
2. Make your kids stay in their pews unless a) they are going up for children's sermon or b) they are going out of the sanctuary for some pre-arranged "keep the children entertained during the sermon" program.
3. Teach your kids the art of whispering. The whole world will be happier.
Here ends my rant of proper kid/church etiquette. If you ignore my suggestions from above, then don't be surprised if I discreetly trip your kid as they run up and down the aisle by my pew next week. I'll apologize now, but I'm sure that the Big Guy upstairs won't disagree: they probably deserve it.
Let me back up because I feel like I am getting ahead of myself. John and I joined a great church with a PHENOMENAL pastor right after we got engaged. At first glance, I thought that this church would be perfect for us (and still do aside from what comes next). There were tons of partitioners, just the right mix of geriatrics vs youngins, and a good number of kids. In my naive eyes, the perfect family-friendly congregation. Kids in a congregation is what my home church had been missing. A few years ago, I went to my childhood church with my mom, dad, and brother and, upon glancing around the 46 people present for worship that Sunday I came to realize that my 24 year old brother was the youngest person present, me at 27 was the second youngest, and my Mom at almost 50 was the third. The average age of that congregation is 91.6 (or somewhere around there). I always knew that when I got married and found a church of my own, a range of ages was particularly important. I feel like I may eat my words.
The children in our congregation are cute on the surface, but absolutely INTOLERABLE during the service. A few months back, John and I arrived in church late and had to sit towards the back. Don't even ask me what was to be had from that service. All I heard were pee-wee voices whining about wanting snacks, kicking the back of our pews, and crying incessantly through the entire sermon. My blood was absolutely boiling by the time we left that day. The kids were old enough to know better, but what really gets me is the parents. Where in the world did they learn social manners that makes it acceptable to let your child cry through the entire sermon (when it is dead quiet aside from the pastor preaching) and not take them outside?? I understand that God may not mind that much and he loves us all whether we are quiet through The Message or not, but us common citizens are not so forgiving and may want to drown your child in the holy water before we are granted reprieve with the ending of the sermon.
This brings us to today. Church started off innocently enough. We had snagged a seat in the front third of the sanctuary and I had claimed a seat by the side aisle. We got through the confession and opening hymn when a whole gaggle of late-comers arrived with three young-ish girls. I would estimate their ages at 8, 6, and 5. I am not kidding when I say that not even five minutes after their caretakers had them situated, they were crawling up and down the side aisles distracting everyone who was sitting within five feet of their horseplay. And do you think whomever was supposed to be watching them said anything?? Nooooooo. They just let. them. go. Later, it was time for the sermon and the three of them were standing up (while everyone else in the congregation was sitting down) trading pencils back and forth and talking up a storm. Seriously? Their parents were RIGHT THERE. Finally, after the offering was taken, they were dancing up and down the side aisle and kept going back and forth by our pew, grabbing the sides to keep their balance. That is when this thought went through my head, "If I just stick out my foot and trip one of them, it will give them a shock and they will stop. If they're smart, it only takes one time and they'll learn." Good think Communion was right after this particular thought went through my head so I could ask for a little forgiveness. I have a feeling God knows where I am coming from.
So, again, I know I am not a parent and I will now probably be granted with truly intolerable children with no manners and a penchant for annoying everyone around them. But, before all of this happens, I am entering a plea to all parents who take their children to church:
1. Please take your kids out of the sanctuary if they are being obnoxious or crying, especially during the sermon. Some of us are actually trying to pay attention to what is going on and those old people do not appreciate an extra reason for their hearing aids to ring.
2. Make your kids stay in their pews unless a) they are going up for children's sermon or b) they are going out of the sanctuary for some pre-arranged "keep the children entertained during the sermon" program.
3. Teach your kids the art of whispering. The whole world will be happier.
Here ends my rant of proper kid/church etiquette. If you ignore my suggestions from above, then don't be surprised if I discreetly trip your kid as they run up and down the aisle by my pew next week. I'll apologize now, but I'm sure that the Big Guy upstairs won't disagree: they probably deserve it.
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