Not Quitting My Day Job Any Time Soon
I should have known better. Should have known it was a mistake. Should have realized what I was getting myself into.
I thought I could handle it.
As I hide my bruises and fabricate excuses to co-workers for why it hurts to stand up, I realize – I’m in way over my head… I just… never thought it would be like this.
I’m writing, of course, about pole dancing.
Yes, pole dancing – as in skimpy outfits, seductive music, and a cold metal pole, mercilessly beating on my shins and inner thighs as I try desperately to cling to it. It’s not a pretty sight. What it is is frustrating, and exhausting, and $50 per class... it's the antithesis of pretty.
First off, the upper body strength required of a pole dancer is a detail that I greatly under appreciated… the friction of your patent leather heel against the pole and the super human strength of your “strong arm” (that’s what they call it in the biz) is all that you have to pull your entire body up off the floor. Let’s just say that my “strong arm” is little lacking in the strong department and the 14 (girlie) push-ups that I’ve been doing EVERY day for two weeks now are just not helping.
Second of all, two words – hand sweat. I don’t know what kind of gymnast’s chalk these girls are using, but I have got to get my hands on some (quite literally.) My pole all but drips with the perspiration from my disgusting palms… ewe ewe, and double ewe. I do a rubbing alcohol wipe down every few minutes, but it seems to provide only mediocre, and temporary, improvement.
Third, my backside + those skimpy little outfits = a shocking punch to the gut wake-up call regarding the devastating effects of long term exposure to the comfy chair in my cubicle. (I wonder if “Office-chair butt” is a work-related condition covered by my health insurance similar to carpel tunnel syndrome… I should ask.)
And then there are the shoes – HA! Do not get me started. 6 and a half inches of patent leather torture. And you want me dance in these things??
All I can say is it’s a damn good thing I have this engineering degree to fall back on, because I would never make it as a exoctic dancer.
------------
*p.s. Sorry I've been gone for SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO long... things have gotten ridiculous at work AND I'm back in school (eee!). I've missed you all!!!
I thought I could handle it.
As I hide my bruises and fabricate excuses to co-workers for why it hurts to stand up, I realize – I’m in way over my head… I just… never thought it would be like this.
I’m writing, of course, about pole dancing.
Yes, pole dancing – as in skimpy outfits, seductive music, and a cold metal pole, mercilessly beating on my shins and inner thighs as I try desperately to cling to it. It’s not a pretty sight. What it is is frustrating, and exhausting, and $50 per class... it's the antithesis of pretty.
First off, the upper body strength required of a pole dancer is a detail that I greatly under appreciated… the friction of your patent leather heel against the pole and the super human strength of your “strong arm” (that’s what they call it in the biz) is all that you have to pull your entire body up off the floor. Let’s just say that my “strong arm” is little lacking in the strong department and the 14 (girlie) push-ups that I’ve been doing EVERY day for two weeks now are just not helping.
Second of all, two words – hand sweat. I don’t know what kind of gymnast’s chalk these girls are using, but I have got to get my hands on some (quite literally.) My pole all but drips with the perspiration from my disgusting palms… ewe ewe, and double ewe. I do a rubbing alcohol wipe down every few minutes, but it seems to provide only mediocre, and temporary, improvement.
Third, my backside + those skimpy little outfits = a shocking punch to the gut wake-up call regarding the devastating effects of long term exposure to the comfy chair in my cubicle. (I wonder if “Office-chair butt” is a work-related condition covered by my health insurance similar to carpel tunnel syndrome… I should ask.)
And then there are the shoes – HA! Do not get me started. 6 and a half inches of patent leather torture. And you want me dance in these things??
All I can say is it’s a damn good thing I have this engineering degree to fall back on, because I would never make it as a exoctic dancer.
------------
*p.s. Sorry I've been gone for SOOOOOOOOOOOOOO long... things have gotten ridiculous at work AND I'm back in school (eee!). I've missed you all!!!
Labels: d'oh, fun stuff, girlie stuff, maybe it's me
posted by Courtney at 1:18 PM
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