First of all – I’ve had a lot of traffic over the past week land on this post. I have no idea why, unless there is an epidemic of insecure mothers desperate to discover that they are not alone. Honestly, I’m baffled. But hey – stick around, folks! I hope you like what you see.
Ok, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, on to more important things.
Specifically, me dancing. Normally, I am not much of a dancer. I will rock the heck out of some karaoke, but me + dance floor usually equals flailing arms and an all-around lack of coordination epic in scale. But I harbor a not-so-secret wish to be part of a choreographed dance. When I was younger, my sister and I would tape and watch our favorite Backstreet Boys videos and try to learn the dances.
Oh, the shame.
For a more recent example, after watching Slumdog Millionaire all I wanted to do was rewind the end credit dance and keep watching it until I had learned the whole routine. The friend I watched it with wanted to watch the scene where the kid jumps into the poop pile. To each his own, I guess (although I’m pretty sure my friend didn’t want to actually reenact his favorite scene. Well, pretty sure).
Which brings me to the present day, in which I have joined a small boxing gym run by the city. I don’t do any actual boxing, though. It is a pretty small space, but it has lots of machines and equipment, and it is very close to my house. Like, so close that I can see it from my front porch. Also it is cheap – $50 for a year.
However the BEST part about the gym is that on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday nights there is a cardio class that is 60% traditional cardio, and 40% “hip hop” line dances.
Yes, it is awesome.
The first time I attended the class, we started out sweating to a Michael Jackson mash-up and I could not stop smiling. Me and a room full of middle-aged ladies, sweating up a storm and rocking out to PYT. It was amazing. Then it was dancing time.
There was a hell of a learning curve – I looked like a drunk chicken trying to step-kick-and-cross, step-kick-then-turn along with those women. But after a couple of weeks I finally caught on and was rocking out to R. Kelly with the best of’em.
Things I love about our class:
Things I do not love about our class:
She usually wears a hat, which I couldn’t draw, and has freckles, which I forgot to draw.
Forgive me, Stony Baloney, for this less-that-accurate portrait.
There is a lady in the class whom Julie has nicknamed Stony Baloney. Stony Baloney is a tiny, older lady with long hair who wears tiny, tiny, Keds to class and totally looks stoned all of the time. She is kind of a crabby stoner, though. She knows all of the dances and is not afraid to tell you to move to the back of the room when we are learning a new dance because, “I already know this one.” Although she is not as grandiose in her movements as me some of the class, she nevertheless requires a LOT of personal dance space. If a routine calls for three big steps up and you happen to be standing behind her, well, you’re just going to have go around. Those tiny, tiny, Keds take tiny, tiny, steps. I don’t know what would happen if I bumped into Stony Baloney by accident, but I don’t think it would be good.
*P.S. I know “bologna” is the correct spelling, but I like “baloney” better. It at least looks like it would rhyme with “stony.”