Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dance. Show all posts

Friday, November 18, 2022

Fly On The Wall: Swimming With Stingrays


Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall group blog postings hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado, Today, 3 bloggers are opening their homes to give you a glimpse of what goes on behind closed doors. 


The nosy fly at my house got a free trip a few weeks ago when we took a much-needed vacation after the crapstastic summer we had. I really needed a break after suffering the loss of my precious pup four months ago. AARP was kind enough to publish my story (which went live while I was on vacation!) about losing Savi and how it triggered the pain of many other losses in my life. I think it is one of the best personal essays I have ever written and I hope you'll take a look at it...but I'll warm you, get out the tissues! This was a rough one to write (you can read it HERE). You'll understand why our vacation came at just the right time. 


Last year I wrote about my first cruise experience in October 2021 and the fun we had with our family. This time, Hubs and I took a romantic five-day cruise of our own to the Caribbean. There were lots of activities on the boat as well as off-shore excursions in the Bahamas. Since I had already gone swimming with dolphins before, I wanted to try something different....like STINGRAYS! Hubs was nervous because all he could think of was Steve Irwin's tragic encounter with a stingray, and he was convinced that he'd suffer the same fate if he dipped his toes in the ocean. But I've always loved stingrays and touching one has been on my bucket list for several years. So you can guess who won THAT argument about our choice of excursion activities.


Overall, the cruise was a blast, but since it was a smaller ship, we were limited as to what we could do onboard. I mean, there were only so many bars we could visit in a day.....and since we aren't gamblers (i.e we SUCK at it), we spent the majority of our time sitting by the pool with martinis in our hands. 


I did participate in some fun dance classes---a Hip Hop one and a "Brazilian Dance Moves" class---both of which were a riot! This old girl can still shake what Mother Nature gave her (in a good way, not a saggy skin way, ha-ha). Mac wanted to try the "Flow-Rider" surf pool but I think he secretly drew a sigh of relief when it was closed each time he approached the ride (next time, Hubs...I need to film your wave-crashing wipe-outs!). 


We thoroughly enjoyed the swim-up bar on the cruise ship's private island. The water was freezing cold, but after several Coco Loco cocktails, I was swimming like a mermaid. Made some new friends, too, although I remember very little after the 7th cocktail that day.....




One of the highlights of the trip, of course, was the graceful stingrays. The first time I touched one, I thought the skin felt like a wet mushroom! When I told the tour guide this, she gave me a weird look like she thought I was craving stingray kabobs for dinner. Unfortunately, we weren't able to get photos of this awesome excursion because we left the island early and forgot to view/order the professional photos. So you'll just have to take my word for it.



Despite these activities, one of my favorite things to do on the boat was.....nothing. I loved sitting back in a lounge chair and witnessing the most glorious sunsets from the deck. As I sipped a glass of champagne, I turned to Hubs and said, "Are you ready to book cruise number three?" He gave a quick nod, raised his glass, and we toasted to our next adventure at sea. 


***WANT MORE MENO MAMA? Other than the AARP piece on grief, I am also honored to have a new essay published in The Huffington Post (about being a grandmother with multiple tattoos) which you can read HERE. Plus another food article on the best dishes for Thanksgiving that I published last week on AARP, which you can read HERE.

Buzz around these other blogs and check out what the fly has been doing in their homes!

Baking In A Tornado                                https://www.BakingInATornado.com

                              

The Diary of an Alzheimer’s Caregiver         https://thediaryofanalzheimerscaregiver.com/blog

Friday, February 12, 2016

Wonderful Winter Writers Series: Guest Post by Vikki Claflin

   
Once again I have invited one of my favorite writers back to my blog because I just can't get enough of her humor. Please welcome my dear friend Vikki Claflin to Meno Mama's site today! Vikki's SECOND book, "Who Left The Cork Out Of My Lunch? Middle Age, Modern Marriage & Other Complications",  is being released on February 14th, and I'm one of the lucky ones who was able to read a preview copy. Vikki is one funny lady, and her book is a HILARIOUS must-read! In case you've been living under a rock and haven't heard of her humor blog, Laugh Lines, you've been missing out. I grabbed this Valentine's themed post from her site because it is one of my favorites. After you read her post today, you'll want to read more of her humor, too. Please welcome Vikki with lots of comment love and don't forget to BUY HER BOOK!



The 12 Stupidest Love Songs, Ever

As Valentine’s Day looms closer, retailers are blanketing the shopping universe with cut-out hearts and chalky sugar treats emblazoned with “Be My Baby,” designed to get us opening our wallets to share romantic, gift-laden evenings with our special someone. Valentine’s Day is the great romantic do-over for those who dropped the ball at Christmas, sending couples scrambling once again to find the elusive perfect gift for Baby Cakes.

Valentine’s Day gifts can be silly and sentimental, or they can show up as white limo rides with a dozen red roses, a la The Bachelor. Whatever the actual gift might be, a little music can help set the mood. Whether it’s used as background while exchanging coy I-love-you-No-I-love-you-more smiles over dinner for two, or as a dance to “our song,” the music you choose can make or break the evening.

To help you narrow your search, I’m offering a list of what NOT to choose for your special Valentine’s Day playlist. In no particular order of horribleness:

1. Don’t Know Much About History (Sam Cooke). “Don’t know much about history, don’t know much about biology.” Repeat for science, French, geography, trigonometry, algebra, and the ubiquitous slide rule, and you get the idea. “But if I could be with you, what a wonderful world it would be.” Seriously, dude?? You just admitted to being on the wrong side of the Stupid bell curve, and yet somehow you think we’re going to hook up and have a fab life together? Here’s a thought. Get your GED, get a job, and lose my number.

2.  Better Dig Two (Band Perry). “I told you on the day we wed, I was gonna love you til I’s dead. If the ties that bind ever do come loose, if ‘forever’ ever ends for you, read me my last rites. And let my stone say, Here lies a girl whose only crutch was loving one man a little too much. If you go before I do, gonna tell the gravedigger he better dig two.” Wow. A hundred years of mothers teaching daughters independence and dignity just got completely obliterated by one song.

3. Marry You (Bruno Mars). “It’s a beautiful night. We’re looking for something dumb to do. Hey Baby, I think I want to marry you. Who cares if we’re trashed, got a pocket full of cash. If we wake up and you wanna break up, that’s cool. It was fun, girl.” Worst proposal ever. And who needs a pre-nup when you’ve got a 24-hr annulment clause in your back pocket?

4. Into the Night (Benny Mardones). “She’s just 16 years old…” That also makes her illegal in pretty much all 50 states. Go find a grown-up, Bens.

5. Ticks (Brad Paisley). “You press that bottle to your lips, and I wish I was your beer. The only thing allowed to crawl over you is me. You know every guy here would like to take you home, but I’ve got more class than that. I’d like to check you for ticks.” Everything people don’t like about country music, all in one song. Go Brad.

6. You Lie (The Band Perry). “You lie like a priceless Persian rug on a rich man’s floor. You lie like a coon dog basked in the sunshine on my porch. You lie like a penny in the parking lot.” What do these even mean?? Possibly the worst analogies in song-writing history.

7. Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad (Meat Loaf). “I want you, I need you, but there ain’t no way I’m ever gonna love you. Now don’t be sad, cuz two out of three ain’t bad” followed by an entire verse lamenting the one that got away, but who he never got over. Well, gee, Mr. Loaf. While I appreciate your only slightly arrogant offer, and the assumption that I’d be grateful for 2/3 of your awesomeness, I think I’d rather date your ex-girlfriend.

8. Having My Baby (Paul Anka). ”Having my baby, what a lovely way of saying how much you love me.” Yeah, because this really is all about you, Paul. Then it gets tacky, ”Didn’t have to keep it. You could’ve swept it from your life but you wouldn’t do it.” Show of hands to anyone who doesn’t know what Pauly is referring to. How much bad taste can one song encompass?

9. Every Breath You Take (Sting). “Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break“…(insert more of the same)…”I’ll be watching you.” Then you’ll be watching me take out a restraining order on your stalker ass.

10. Why Don’t We Get Drunk (Jimmy Buffett). Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy. What happened?? “I just bought a water bed. It’s filled up for me and you. Yeah, now baby, why don’t we get drunk and screw?” I’m trying to imagine the target that this line would work on, and I can only assume she’s a wide-eyed band groupie who thinks ”banging” is a proper synonym for sex. Leave the 20-somethings alone, Jimmy, and have another margarita.

11.  You Remind Me of Something (R Kelly). And just when you thought all the bad lyrics were taken. “You remind me of my jeep, I wanna ride it. Something like my sound, I wanna pump it. You look just like my cars, I wanna wax it. And something like my bank account, I wanna spend it.” So you’re saying you want to ride me, pump me, wax me, and spend me. Uh, okay. Should I shave my legs first?

And my all-time favorite…

12. This Girl is a Woman Now (Gary Puckett). “This girl walked in dreams… This girl was a child… Then one night her world was changed” (insert sex with Mr. Puckett) “and she will never be the same again. This girl is a woman now. She’s found out what it’s all about, and she’s learning to live.” Well, Mr. Puckett, those must be some damn fine lovemaking skills you’ve got. You took a girl and made a woman out of her. I’ll bet her Daddy is just tickled pink. He was just spotted reloading at the local gun shop. You might want to move along now to a different house. Or a different state.

Happy Valentine’s Day. Now let’s cuddle up and have a slow dance.



BIO:


Vikki Claflin writes the award-winning blog, Laugh Lines, where she doles out irreverent advice on marriage, offers humorous how-to lists galore, and shares her most embarrassing midlife moments. She shows us how to master midlife with a little common sense and a lot of laughter. Check out more of Vikki’s hilarious writing in her newest book, Who Left the Cork Out of My Lunch? Middle Age, Modern Marriage & Other Complications. Available at Amazon.com, B&N, and iTunes. Find more of Vikki’s writing at Laugh Lines.



Friday, March 20, 2015

Fly On The Wall In A Party Zone

    Welcome to another edition of Fly On The Wall, hosted by Karen of Baking In A Tornado. Fourteen bloggers are participating in today's group posting with their tell-all accounts of what really goes on behind the closed doors of their homes.

     This past month, the Doyle house has been in the party zone….because that's just how my crazy family rolls. There's something to be said about sharing new and embarrassing experiences with the ones you love.

     First up was a "Bicycle Pub Crawl" in downtown Ft. Lauderdale. You might be thinking of a group of people on bikes, pedaling from one pub to the next. Not quite. This was one GIANT bike that held twelve riders (six on each side with a bar in the middle). Our seats faced one another across the bar and our tour guide sat up front to steer the bike.  Each seat had its own set of pedals and a cup holder so that we could pedal our way downtown at three miles per hour while drinking libations.  Loud music was pumped out of speakers attached to the bike's roof as we pedaled from pub to pub.

     After two hours, I understood what the "crawl" portion of the tour meant. No one wanted to pedal on the bike once the beer kicked in. I sat back and let the minions do all the work. Isn't that what adult children are for? A few, unfortunate family members were left to do all the pedaling (which explains why we stalled on the railroad tracks and held up traffic). I haven't laughed that hard in a long time, and I look forward to doing another Bicycle Pub Crawl in the VERY near future.

     Our next family fun adventure took place at the annual Florida Renaissance Festival. We've been attending these events for more than fifteen years, and my grown kids are now relieved that I no longer badger them to squeeze into Robin Hood tights or fairy costumes. Where else but a renaissance festival can you find vampires, zombies, wenches and royalty sitting side by side at a lunch table? "Toto, I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore!!"

     There was nothing more enchanting for us than watching a jousting match while a nearby vendor shouted, "Booze on a stick!" "Fried Twinkies!" "Get your hot turkey legs right here!" (obviously they didn't have Jenny Craig back in the Renaissance days). My family decided that calories didn't count at the festival, and we didn't feel an ounce of guilt for scarfing down large quantities of kettle corn, fried fish and onion rings.



    A few weeks ago, we attended a celebration dinner at the local Lebanese restaurant. The lamb kabobs were outstanding, but once the belly dancer started circulating the room, I knew we'd come to the right place for a party. And it turned out to be the BEST place for some embarrassing photos to be taken.  The men were pulled from their seats by the belly dancer and they tried in vain to keep up with the woman's hip gyrations. Even funnier was watching my husband do his best belly dancing imitation and getting stuck on the floor when his knees refused to cooperate.

     Last but not least, the month rounded out with a special visit from one of my favorite blogger friends, Lisa Newlin, who writes the hilarious blog, Lisa Newlin Seriously? We enjoyed a wonderful dinner in the backyard garden and chatted for hours. Lisa is one of the funniest writers I know, and needless to say, there was a lot of laughter around the fire pit that night. Best of all---she witnessed my husband's awesome dance moves….and I doubt she will ever be the same.

     What will the next month bring us? Who knows…but I'm betting it will all be fun…. Doyle style.


Buzz around, see what you think, then click on these links for a peek into some other homes:


http://www.BakingInATornado.com                          Baking In A Tornado
http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                          Spatulas on Parade
http://followmehome.shellybean.com                          Follow me home
http://www.menopausalmom.com/                          Menopausal Mother
http://stacysewsandschools.blogspot.com/                        Stacy Sews and Schools
http://batteredhope.blogspot.com                                   Battered Hope
http://www.justalittlenutty.com/                                  Just A Little Nutty
http://themomisodes.com                                        The Momisodes
http://www.someoneelsesgenius.com                            Someone Else’s Genius
http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com                        The Sadder But Wiser Girl
http://dinoheromommy.com/                            Dinosaur Superhero Mommy
http://gndisney.wordpress.com                                Disneyland in Kentucky
http://www.juiceboxconfession.com                            Juicebox Confession
http://singlemumplusone.blogspot.com                      Searching for Sanity
http://www.gomamao.com                                      Go Mama O
           

Thursday, September 11, 2014

Growing Up Groovy

 I was just a little girl in the sixties, so my memories from the "groovy" era are sketchy at best. I have a vague recollection of black lights, station wagons, white GoGo boots and psychedelic Jimi Hendrix posters on the wall. There were only a handful of channels on the TV, and afternoons were spent playing kick the can or riding our Schwinn Sting-Rays until our mothers called us in for dinner once the street lights came on.

I do remember my older sister wearing bell bottom jeans, love beads and a peace sign necklace. Her bedroom was adorned in rock band and anti-war posters, the lingering scent of sandalwood incense permeating the air. Those were the flower power years, and although my memories are cloudy, it's pretty cool to say that I was alive when Apollo 11 landed on the moon.

By the time the seventies hit, I was happy to shed my adolescence to step into my teen years. It was the "far out" era of CB radios, waterbeds, muscle cars, 8 track tapes, lumpy bean bag chairs and STAR WARS. My biggest problems in life were wondering if the cute boy in B lunch would wave to me or how I was going to memorize all those formulas for my geometry test.

Here's a glimpse of what it was like growing up groovy in the 70s:

 The median household income was $11,800; a gallon of gas was .57 cents; a dozen eggs cost .77 cents, and a gallon of milk was $1.57. The average home cost $22,000 in the early seventies and rose to $62,000 at decade's end.  The U.S. population in 1975 was 216 million and the life expectancy was between 68-76 years of age.

POPULAR TV SHOWS:  I loved racing home from school to watch reruns of oldies such as Twilight Zone, Outer Limits and Dark Shadows. But the popular shows of the decade included M*A*S*H, The Brady Bunch, All In The Family, Laugh-In, Happy Days, Three's Company, Marcus Welby M.D., Fantasy Island, The Love Boat, American Bandstand, The Carol Burnett Show, Johnny Carson, and  Saturday Night Live.

BOX OFFICE HITS: I'll never forget catching a taxi to downtown Ft. Lauderdale with my boyfriend to attend the premiere of Jaws. Movies cost $2.00 back then, and the theatre was packed. Needless to say, our beaches were a little less crowded after Jaws made a splash on the screen. Other big hits included The Exorcist, Rocky, American Graffiti, Blazing Saddles, The Deer Hunter, Saturday Night Fever, Animal House, The Rocky Horror Picture Show, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Grease, The Godfather, Deliverance, and the mega hit STAR WARS.

FASHION: The early 70s clung to the hippie mindset of the 60s, so people were still rocking mini skirts, afros, flared bottom jeans, big belts, peasant blouses, smock tops, afghan coats, rock t-shirts and granny dresses. Women wore their tresses long and straight while men kept their sideburns thick and their hair well past their collar. Once disco was ushered into the mid 70s, polyester, platform shoes and shiny, metallic   clothing became popular. Men wore leisure suits, wide lapels, and painter's pants while sporting mustaches the size of giant caterpillars above their lips. Women gravitated toward wedge shoes, halter tops, hip huggers, tube tops, satin pants and big hair.

IN THE NEWS: We started out the decade with Richard Nixon as our president until the Watergate scandal occurred, placing Gerald Ford in the oval office after Nixon's resignation. Next came Jimmy Carter, and we never looked at peanuts the same way again. As a family, we gathered each night around our Zenith TV and watched the news unfold.  In the 70s, the U.S. pulled out of Vietnam, Roe v.s. Wade legalized abortion, terrorists attacked the Olympic games in Munich, Elvis died, Jimmy Hoffa went missing, Patty Hearst was kidnapped, Mikhail Baryshnikov defected, the Trans-Alaska Pipeline System was finished, Iran took American hostages in Tehran, the first test tube baby was born, Nadia Comaneci scored seven perfect tens, the Jonestown massacre shocked the nation and the Three Mile Island catastrophe left America in fear of a nuclear holocaust.


WHAT WE DROVE: The cool kids in school drove the Trans Ams, Corvettes or Mustangs. Dodge Chargers and Challengers were also popular, but most of the kids I knew drove explodable Ford Pintos. If those were out of their price range, they borrowed the family Pacer or Gremlin. Which makes me wonder what the people at AMC were smoking when they designed those cars.

CELEBRITIES: I kept up with celebrity news through a subscription to Tiger Beat and 16 Magazine. While sipping Tab soda, sucking on Blow Pops and making gum chains, my girlfriends and I poured over glossy photos of David Cassidy, Bobby Sherman, the Bee Gees, Andy Gibb and The Osmonds. Other celebs in the news that caught our attention were John Travolta, Farrah Fawcett, Mr.T, Burt Reynolds, Olivia Newton-John, Tom Selleck, Gilda Radner, Cybil Shepard, Clint Eastwood, Robert Redford, Meryl Streep, Chevy Chase,  Cher, Jack Nicholson, Jodie Foster, Barbra Streisand, Woody Allen, Susan Sarandon, Jim Belushi, Robin Williams, Bill Murray, Henry Winkler, Raquel Welch, Al Pacino, Robert DeNiro, Jane Curtain, Sylvester Stallone, Marlin Brando, and Steve Martin.

PARTYING IN THE 70s:  When I was a teenager, the drink of choice to smuggle into a party was Boones Farm Strawberry Hill Wine. We chugged it right out of the bottle in many a driveway before entering a house party. If we were lucky, someone would have a flask of Bacardi in their pocket that we could add to our colas before a rousing game of ping pong or pool. We snacked on deviled eggs, potato chips and onion dip, rumaki, Jiffy Pop, cocktail wieners and deviled ham on toast points. We lined up on the dance floor for The Hustle, The Bump, The Bus Stop, Pogo dancing and The Latin Hustle, while the adults sipped on Harvey Wallbangers, Manhattans and vodka screwdrivers.

BIG NAMES IN SPORTS: I was never one to follow sports, but I do remember being caught up in our town's frenzy after The Miami Dolphins went undefeated in 1972. Popular sports icons of that time period include John McEnroe, Larry Bird, Bobby Riggs, O.J. Simpson, Bruce Jenner, Billy Jean King, Muhammed Ali, Jack Nicholas, Hank Aaron, Joe Frazier, Bob Gibson, Dorothy Hamill, Arthur Ashe Jr., Mark Spitz, Roger Stauback and Pete Rose.

THE SOUNDS OF THE SEVENTIES: Music is what put the 70s on the map. I had a round transistor radio that hung from a chain in my bedroom, and I kept it playing for hours. When my friends came over, we brought out the vinyl records to spin on a portable turntable. I had hundreds of albums, which I'm convinced is where the majority of my allowance went when I was a teenager. I could never get enough of The Partridge Family, Abba, Donna Summers, Elton John, Michael Jackson, The Beatles, Fleetwood Mac, Rod Stewart, Gladys Knight, The Eagles, John Denver, Queen, Pink Floyd, The Beach Boys, Foreigner, James Taylor, Led Zepplin, The Bee Gees, Chicago, Frank Zappa, Linda Ronstadt, Harry Chapin, Creedance Clearwater Revival, The Rolling Stones, Peter Frampton, Simon & Garfunkle, Journey, The Grateful Dead, Genesis, Meatloaf, The Guess Who, KC & The Sunshine Band, Styx, Supertramp, Carole King, The Carpenters, Earth Wind & Fire, YES and Eric Clapton.

The seventies were a magical time to be a teenager; a decade of simplicity, change, and the freedom of expression. People were kinder, less self-absorbed, respectful of others and worked hard for what they earned. Families shared dinners around the table, watched g-rated TV programs together, and made each other a priority. We didn't have cell phones, iPods, computers or social media.

And we grew up just fine.



Want more Meno Mama? This week you can find me on The Huffington Post dishing on being "Over The Hill." You can read it here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/marcia-kester-doyle-/over-the-hill-and-away-we_b_5788378.html And you can also find another featured post of mine this week on BA50: http://betterafter50.com/2014/09/the-seven-deadly-sins-of-menopause/







Friday, August 23, 2013

Fly On The Wall In A Madhouse

   
 It's Fly On The Wall time for 15 bloggers, hosted by the lovely Karen from http://bakinginatornado.com.  You crazy people must love being voyeurs because you keep coming back for more of my homegrown insanity. You want to be a fly on the wall in my house? Have at it---but don't say I didn't warn you!

     I don't ask for the weird. The weird finds me in the form of family gatherings. And when we get together, there's no such thing as a serious discussion in my home. The minute things get heavy, somebody breaks out in a Journey song....or announces that their
bowels are going to erupt like Mount St. Helens....or starts dancing in the middle of the room like they're auditioning for a job at a strip club. So I keep my mouth shut and listen to the weirdness that surrounds me every day:

"You know I had a good time in those heels last night if my toe nails fall off."

"That kid is killing our grocery budget. You might as well strap a feed bag on him and call it a day."

"Why didn't you TELL me the dog has hook worms?  I just kissed him!"
"Uh-oh...he ate his poop earlier..."
"OH GAWD! Am I going to get hook worms now, too?"

"A used tampon is a man's kryptonite."

"His farts are so toxic they burn my throat."


"I ate too much Honey Bunches Of Oats this morning and now my bowels hurt. That cereal should be renamed, 'Honey Bunches Of Bullshit'."

"I think the laundry breeds while we sleep. There's baby socks in there, and we don't have a baby."

"I can't stay in this ice bar much longer. My testicles are receding. If they go
up any further, I'll be singing soprano in The Vienna Boy's Choir."

"There's nothing wrong with sitting in a pub for three hours."
"That depends on if you walk out or have to be carried out."

"I just gave you life."
"You're NOT supposed
to give CPR to a CONSCIOUS person!"
"I had to practice my life saving skills."
"No, you blew into my mouth and made me throw up. I think I just coughed up a third lung in the backyard!!"

"Quit playing air guitar in the car. You look like the Geico lizard on steroids."

"Stop deep-throating that cheese stick!"

"They're selling goat's milk fudge? I'd eat it as long as it came out of the right end of the goat."


     Stick around my madhouse. There's more weirdness where that came from. But I'll warn you....it's contagious! In the meantime, go check out the other bloggers brave enough to participate in today's Fly On The Wall.


http://BakingInATornado.com                                     Baking In A Tornado
http://www.justalittlenutty.com/                                Just a Little Nutty
http://followmehome.shellybean.com                          Follow me home . . .
http://stacysewsandschools.wordpress.com/             Stacy Sews and Schools
http://thesadderbutwisergirl.com                              The Sadder But Wiser Girl
http://menopausalmother.blogspot.com/                   Menopausal Mother
http://mooreorganizedmayhem.blogspot.com/           Moore Organized Mayhem
http://hypnoticbard.blogspot.com/                           The Insomniac’s Dream       
http://themomisodes.com/                                      The Momisodes
http://spatulasonparade.blogspot.com/                      Spatulas on Parade
http://dates2diapers2.blogspot.com                          Dates 2 Diapers
http://sorrykidblog.com/                                Sorry kid, Your Mom Doesn’t Play Well With Others
http://www.therowdybaker.com                                The Rowdy Baker 
http://www.trashyblog.com                                       Trashy Blog
http://www.barbara1923.com/                                    Barbara & 1923


 

Friday, May 17, 2013

Livin' Large In Zumba Land

   
 It starts with a glance in the mirror or a family picture that has been plastered all over Facebook. Yeah, that one of you stuffing half of a red velvet cupcake into your mouth.  Even your long lost relatives who are sheep herders on another continent are sharing and commenting on that picture: "Awww...look how much she's GROWN over the years..." This is fine if they're talking about a five year old, NOT a middle aged mother.
     My wake-up call hit like a clap of thunder thighs the day I uploaded some pictures taken from our local renaissance festival.  Who was that chubster in the blue gown next to Mr. Robin Hood-Wanna-Be? Oh yeah, that's me...wait, WHAT? Okay, I'll admit I've been a little heavy-handed with the desserts lately. And the frappuccinos. Those pesky, two-for-one sales at Wine-Mart haven't been doing me any favors, either. But what am I supposed to do when there's an industrial size jar of Nutella in my pantry, just calling my name? You could spread that stuff on styrofoam and it would still taste good.
     Upon closer inspection of my physical flaws in that traitor I call a mirror, I knew I had to get myself back into the svelte clothes growing cobwebs in the back of my closet. I joined an all-female gym, but quickly realized that my workout clothes from the Richard Simmons era were sadly outdated. I needed a new gym wardrobe, but me visiting a sporting goods store for clothes to sweat in is a perfect example of an oxymoron.


     I made the mistake of inviting The Hubs along to help me choose my new gear. He was a little TOO  enthusiastic at the prospect of his wife getting back into shape. I roamed the aisles until I found the women's workout clothes section and stopped dead in my tracks. Who were these manufacturers kidding? The "large" tops were the size of small sausage casings. I'd be lucky if I could stretch the shirt to fit one arm. Further down the aisle I came across a row of "grande" tank tops. In white. I envisioned a fat polar bear wearing a pink headband and hopping around the gym floor during Zumba class. I shuddered.


     And then the unthinkable happened....every chubster's worst nightmare. My brilliant Hubs was  across the store in the men's department. He held up an armload of colorful tee shirts and shouted, "Hey Hon, you need a larger size? I found a 2X in the men's department that might fit you!"  I should have slapped a muzzle on the man during public outings years ago.
     I quickly grabbed a few pairs of yoga pants and some tee shirts with motivational sayings on them such as, "Just Do It" and, "I like to lick cake batter off beaters" (No wait---that was for something else!).
     Not willing to suffer alone, I convinced one of my daughters to join the gym with me because misery loves company (and paybacks are hell). We spent our first few, torturous days with a personal trainer to learn how to use the weight equipment. But mostly we learned how not to grunt too loudly like truffle sniffing oinkers or sweating too much like two sumo wrestlers in a sauna.
     The day of our first Zumba class, I surveyed the group and was pleased to see a nice mix of ages and body types. Women's shapes are often compared to certain fruits---apples, pears, oranges...and the occasional grapefruit. I was in the midst of a fruit salad ready to learn some sexy Zumba moves. Music with a heavy, Latin beat reverberated against the walls and we began hopping around the wood floor like Mexican Jumping beans. I tried to concentrate on the dance steps but my mind kept wandering....a typical defense mechanism against the extreme pain I was in from my workout with the trainer. My thighs were so sore that I'd been forced to walk around with a full bladder all day just to avoid squatting over a toilet seat. Rather than listening to the Zumba instructor, my mind was swept along with the cluttered debris of A.D.D. ----random thoughts scurrying through my brain like rapid channel surfing through 450 television programs:


     "Drop it drop it low girl....drop it like it's hot....oh yeah, I got this booty shakin' thing down....wait. Why isn't my butt moving like everyone else's? And what's that popping sound in my lower back? At least I'm rockin' these new, neon green Nikes....actually, they kinda look like twin sand barges in the ocean. Uh-oh.....should have worn some Spanx. My junk is jiggling in all the wrong places. I swear I can still see those damn cupcakes sitting on my hips, mocking me. Crap, it's hot in here. Hot flash hell. Hard to breath. Heart, don't play me like that. I'm not dropping dead in Zumba class! It would scar my daughter for life. Hey, where did she learn to shake her ass like that, anyway? Probably snuck out of her bedroom window to hit the dance clubs all those nights I thought she was snug in bed. Umm...am I in Pole dancing 101 right now? And who's bright idea was it to place mirrors around this brightly lit room? I'm so pale I look like I've been cohabiting with family of moles.
OH HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! Is that what I think it is----camel toe? I need new pants!! Hey, what's the food channel doing on the gym TV? They should be showing infomercials for weight loss supplements or....ohh, Paula Dean is making smothered pork chops with gravy....do I have any pork chops in the freezer? Wait---what fresh hell is this---more squats? Yoo-hoo teacher, I'm dying over here. I'm not gonna Busta Rhymes---- I'm gonna busta femur. Oh great...now I'm sweating so much my makeup is running down my face
. I look like I belong at a KISS concert. Whoa! Paula Dean is baking a chocolate marble cake! Are you kidding me? She needs to get over here and do this freakin' Zumba class!  Huh? Cool down time already? You mean we're done? I made it! I didn't die on the Zumba floor!"


     Its been a few months now and Meno Mama is getting closer to brushing the cobwebs off her skinny clothes. I'm droppin' it like it's hot in Zumba class without feeling a heart attack coming on. The only thing I need now is new tee shirts from the sausage casing aisle....or maybe just some cupcake batter.....


   

   

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