Anyone who is hooked on Groupon, stand up and clutch your wallets like an old lady clutches her purse!! I love Groupons, anything that makes me feel like I am getting a deal. So, I bought this Groupon for 5, count 'em, 5, pole-dancing classes. I lovingly refer to them as stripper school. I convinced my dear, sweet, easily persuaded, current partner in crime, friend into going with me. I shall from here on out refer to her as Doug to keep her identity safe, sound, and reputation intact. It was quite the saga just to get signed up for stripper school, but finally last night we had our first class... It went a little something like this....
As I was changing my clothes in the bathroom at work, a touch of anxiety set in. Fine, no problem, to be expected anytime you set out on a new endeavour. Since Doug was meeting me at work, I had a few minutes to kill so I ran across the street to Wal*Mart to grab us a snack, you must be fortified for stripper school. Asian pears and beef jerky it is!!
Doug jumped in my car and off we went. We tried not to talk about what we were about to do because it would have just taken a little hint of "I think we should just go eat ruben's" for us to ditch this thing and go have a beer and a sandwich. We pull into the parking lot and sit there for a second watching the other women get out of their cars. Secretly and silently comparing ourselves to them, imagining all the crazy stunts they can probably do, wondering how long they have been coming, is that the instructor, should we just go? Finally, I turned off the car and said, "we are doing this at least once". It was almost convincing. Then I notice a guy standing in front of the empty office next door, he's watching all these women with a disgusting grin on his face. Gross. We marched inside to be greeted by two ladies and a laptop. I told them to be kind, we were first timers. They giggled and threw waivers at us. As I'm reading my waiver it's the typical stuff, don't sue us if you sustain an injury or die kinda BS, then I get to an interesting part... I, THE UNDERSIGNED, HEREBY UNDERSTAND THAT THERE WILL BE PHYSICAL AND EMOTIONAL EXHAUSTION... Ummm, what the...? Are my daddy issues gonna come out at stripper school? Is there a chance of me crying by my pole? I look to Doug for reassurance, she's no longer making eye contact with me. I look out the door and spot the car and will myself to stay inside. The blond gal with the mustache at the laptop assures me everything will be fine, put your stuff in a cubby and head into the back room. Oh yeah, back room, that doesn't sound creepy at all.
So, the back room is painted a deep rich red and has ten poles hanging it, mirrors lining three walls, and a table with rags in the back and some chairs to change your shoes by the door. I instantly think 50 Shades of Grey. We are greeted by an 8ft tall red head named Emily. She is wearing a hoodie and underwear. Suddenly I'm over dressed and self conscience in my yoga pants. She tells us to go grab a Windex rag for when our poles get slimy and pick any pole we want. Then she swings her ponytail and sashays off to work a pole. Excuse me, there is going to be slime! Pretty sure I didn't pay $29 whole dollars for 5 sessions of slime. Doug and I look at each other with resignation, we are too far in to leave now. I select the only pole that doesn't have a mirror directly behind it so I don't have to watch myself ALL the time. At this point my pole might as well be an anaconda about to cut off my air by strangulation if I get to close to it. I can't touch it. 8ft Emily is leisurely warming up by working several different poles in the room, none of her poles are snakes, what gives? Doug and I are trying to make a little small talk in the form, calm down Funny Fat Chic, its gonna be ok. I even make 8ft Emily tell me she won't kill me. I'm certain at this point she is in cahoots with the anaconda pole before me in some attempt to end my life either through emotional exhaustion, pure humiliation, or a traumatic head injury. Yep, got myself worked up into a good nervous now. The rest of the class starts to drift in. It consisted of 4 women over the age of 50, one young hot girl, and a house wife that was working the pole like her marriage depended on it, and of course Doug and I. So, now I'm thinking, well, this is a mixed bag to say the least. 8ft Emily even had a legitimate conversation with one of the 50+'s about how to paint herself with a base layer, then glitter, and then another base layer for more grip. And here I stand with nothing but a rag sprayed with Windex and an impending anxiety attack to give me grip. Getting a grip is precisely what I need at this point if we don't get to moving around. Finally, 8ft Emily ditches her hoodie, and guess what? You'll never guess what... She is pregnant!! Ok, I'm 97% sure she is pregnant, if not she needs to do more abs. I spend the rest of the class wondering if her pimp knocked her up and is he 8ft tall too or is a midget with a lot of charm??? Burning questions. We do some warm-up stuff and then its to the pole. At this point 8ft Emily put on 6inch heels, which made her 9ft tall, do the math. We did mostly what they call level 1 stuff and one level 2 move. 8ft Emily told us the moves aren't that hard, making them pretty is. She wasn't wrong. Not one single one of my moves was pretty. But I did them all... eventually. Doug on the other hand has rhythm, grace, and timing. She did great!! I have jerky, pause filled, squeaky movements that not one person on the planet would throw a dollar at. I'm not sure how I walk without falling, ok, sometimes I don't. We even did one move where you suspend yourself on the pole. The good news is that the P90X is paying off, I could actually hold myself up there and spin. And 8ft Emily even had to laugh because I got a look on my face like, "Look, look, I'm doing it!!", nothing sexy going on over here, I was more like an elated toddler learning to swing by herself. The class ended with "free dance". They turned out the lights, turned up the music, and turned us loose. This free time consisted of me unlearning everything I just learned. All the stuff I just did I magically blanked out on how to do. I'd catch a break every once in awhile, but it wasn't pretty, or coordinated, or recognizable as anything. My conclusions for the evening where this... I am now blissfully aware of my spare tire in the front and the insides of my thighs. Apparently that is where my extra weight is hanging out. Pole dancing, at least for the dancer, has nothing to do with sex. Level one pole dancing does not make me break a sweat, I, however, will probably never be ready for level 2. Getting outside of your comfort zone is a good thing, something I am striving for these days, and sometimes you can surprise yourself by gripping an anaconda and going for a spin. Doug and I decided we are gonna finish our 5 classes. Its something different to do... and I mean different.
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