Sooooo it's been a few days (or months) since I've officially blogged here. Whoops. I'm sorry (not really), but I've been busy doing real work at my big time advertising gig. Oh, and writing restaurant reviews on Yelp. And watching Hoarders while holding my dog down so he can't get any of my ice cream.
Well, the good news is now that all of my "readers" have probably given up on me ever updating this thing I can blog freely. (Mom, if you're still reading this STOP IT!)
As you know, my boyfriend works at a bar. That means he works nights....which leaves me all alone M/W/F nights. Boooo hoo hoo. Plus, I've come to the realization that my "friends" suck and don't like doing anything that involves fun (ugh that's a whole other post). Put those two facts together and you have me dancing on a pole. GASP!
Yep, I started taking pole dancing lessons. It sure beats staying home alone and boy are my arms tired and my legs bruised. I have a whole new appreciation for stripppers...or do you call them exotic dancers? Anyway, if I ever lose my big time advertising gig please come see at Spearmint Rhino in Dallas. (I'm not even kidding.)
At the end of my 6-week pole dancing journey I have to do a 4 min. solo "dance" in front of my entire "dance" class. Yikes! And the teacher films it. DOUBLE YIKES! But I can do it to whatever song I want....which is harder to choose that you think. It's all I can think about lately. It's consumed me. Should it be hip hop so I can shake my booty? Or should it be rock so I can channel my inner '80s slut? And should I wear heels? Bare feet? Rubber boots? I mean there are just SO many choices to make....all because of a pole.
Oh, and I'm thinking of buying a pole for my apartment. Tacky? Sorta. Needed for practice? Yep. And yes, the boyfriend is excited. Little does he know he's going to have to move his office desk so I can install my slut-machine.
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