There are some amazing bloggers out there. Last night I ventured out of my hole and into the Freshly Pressed arena and discovered Lily in Canada and The Jiggly Bits, a couple blogs by women with hilarious voices. I say discovered as if I have some cache, which I don’t. Actually, it seems that everyone but me has heard of them because they’ve got hundreds – THOUSANDS – of followers and I have twelve. But I love my twelve!
I’ve always been late to the party. These blogs made me laugh. Hard.
I subscribed to Lily’s blog and she was SO NICE to send me a message. She commented on my About page that pole dancing is, “like the best conversation piece ever!” Well, kind of. I’ll break it down by situation.
Playground Mom: I heard you pole dance. Wow. Um, do you dance professionally? Me: Like at a strip club? No, I teach. I missed the stripping window of opportunity by about 20 years. But if you know of anyone into stretch-marks and c-section scars, I’m in! Playground Mom: Ohhhh! You teach pole dance! (with visible relief) That’s awesome! I’m dying to try it! Me: You should come to my class.
Playground Dad: Sooo, I hear you teach pole dance (smirking). Me: That’s right. Playground Dad: I hear it’s a great workout (snicker, elevator eyes). Me: It sure is, and it’s a lot of fun. Playground Dad: My wife could stand to loosen up, if you know what I mean. Me: She should come to my class.
Parties are interesting because for at least five minutes, I am the most fascinating person in the room, until whoever I talk to realizes that I am not a sex worker and will not give them a lap dance, right there and then.
Stranger At A Party: What do you do? Me: I’m a writer, I’ve got kids, I manage commercial properties, I’m close to revolutionizing cancer treatment and I teach pole dance. Stranger At A Party: Whoa! Pole dance! (stepping closer) Tell me more! Me: I teach at a dance studio. Stranger At A Party: Do you dance at clubs? Me: No. I teach at a dance studio. Stranger At A Party: Will you do something right now? Me: Here? No. You should come to my class.
Drunk Asshole at a Bar: There is nothing you can do that I can’t! Me: Really. Drunk Asshole at a Bar: Yah, I workout. If some stripper can do it, so can I. How hard can it be? Me: Wanna find out? Let’s make this interesting, how much money d’ya got? Drunk Asshole at a Bar, backpedaling: (realizing that I jumped on it with a disconcerting lack of hesitation) I’ll meet you back here in a couple months. Me: I thought so. You should come to my class.
In addition to pole dancing and brokering a Middle East peace agreement, I’m also getting rid of all the crap in my house. Bring it on:
The big bin is for dog food, the small bin is for cat food. I hate them both. I’m putting them behind the house for anyone to take.
A had Vietnamese hot pot at a friends house that changed my life. I was red-hot to make it at home so I hiked to Westminster’s Asian market to find white fungus mushrooms (tastes so good, sounds so gross). It took an hour to find them because no one speaks English there, or to be more specific, I do not speak Vietnamese or Chinese so I bought a bunch. It turns out that I’m not so good at making Vietnamese hot pot. I’m going to give them to my friend, hint, hint.