While it resulted in good times for all and some serious dancing (uh.. .my quads are sore?) there are a few moments that stand out in my memory and should be relived so as to make sure that I learn all possible lessons from them. Ok, maybe just one.
Strip Tease Aerobics.
Every party needs it's stereotypical "stripper" event, and I for one, considered some sort of aerobic activity a good counterbalance to the cookies, and a creative way to check this bachelorette box. After a morning of gluttony, and a surprisingly beautiful walk on the sunny beach, all the girls (maybe a bakers dozen of us..) changed into yoga pants and sports bras so as to be suitably dressed for our cardio session.
As it turns out, any level of "athletic support" was totally unnecessary, since what walked through the door at the bride-to-be's beautiful beach home was less "sports club fitness trainer" and more "Hartford-Hooker." Three of them in fact. three really, really tired looking... strippers?
They were dressed to impress.. short-shorts, yellowed lucite heels (what makes lucite yellow?) and of course, seriously tragic wet look curls. I gave a cohort a panicked look, and we immediately dashed for the fridge, desperate to swipe the last bottle of prosecco and hopefully alleviate the stress of what was most certainly NOT going to be a glorified step aerobics class...
It started with Stripper #1 (the attractive one) explaining to us that her business "Goddess-N-Motion" was meant to inspire confidence and "swagger."
Really.
At this point all it was inspiring me to do was drink more, and make a mental note to ask The Boy about strippers.
We were then introduced to Stripper #2 (the squishy one), who was to be our "instructor" for the afternoon. Stripper #2 was incapable of speaking up (I know we're loud, but still), incapable of keeping her shorts zipped (weird, are those trick shorts?) and also totally revolting. She kept claiming that stripping had "Totally transfoooooormed" her body which was accompanied by really ridiculous self touch/rub moves.
Really.
At this point I was wondering a) what could it possibly have transformed from. and b) was this the sort of transformation that I was personally looking for...
Then we "danced" or rather, we crawled. We were told to move slower and constantly touch our bodies, ideally our boobs, but also our thighs (uh, k). The crawling was ok, but I really wished that I had made less of an effort to pack a sportsbra and more of an effort to pack knee pads. they would have been helpful for the hard tile floor, and "approach" that we were instructed to take when approaching our "lover" or.... teddy bear?
The Strippers had convienently brought I gigantic, stuffed, state-fair-sized teddy bear. He was our "client."
Really.
Client. Where exactly had Teddy been? who had he been with and when (pray tell) was the last time we thought that Teddy's plush exterior got the gift of a good cleansing? My assumption was, NEVER, so I chose to ignore teddy, and his stubby extremities in favor of a good long time friend who had the unfortunate experience of me climbing all over her, crawling, turning and attemping a seductive "leg routine" from the floor which I can only imagine looked less like an enticing dance, and more like a beetle struggling to right itself in the middle of a sidewalk.
From there it was downhill. Poor Stripper #2 kept trying to anoint us with her "skills" but no one cared. at all. This was when I started to feel guilty. 12(ish) girls, giggling and mocking their livelihood can't feel good.. I felt a twinge of over-privileged guilt sneak up on me, which is when I noticed Stripper #3 (the sad one). Stripper #3 looked like she needed some love. or at least some sleep, and possibly some rehab.
While I really wanted to chat the girls up when we were done learning the "exotic art of striptease," It seemed a little rude to question them like specimens at a World's Fair, but I really didn't know what else to talk about.. options included:
"nice... heels..."
"is that L.A. Look in your hair?"
"where did you find Teddy"
or
"What's that scar from?"
None of them seemed like good options and I felt sorta like a bitch for constantly making sure none of them wandered off in the house, but hey, I judge. Its what I do.
Anyway, I'm fairly certain that the "aerobics" did nothing to lift, tone, or transform my backside. Hence, I'm fairly certain that I brought some of those baked good home with me (on my ass). But what's a weekend among friends if not fattening.
I don't know why it's taken me this long to find your other blog, but I just laughed out loud -- in my office -- reading this. That was hilarious.
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