Category Archives: Aerobic Dancer

The one in which I email Jay Mohr and tell him to “Scroll to the bottom” so he doesn’t have to read about me farting in aerobic dance class.

Tonight Aerobic Dance Class was Ceraaazy, people.
I admit that I get more pumped up then a person should get about dancing aerobicly. I also admit that I am EXTREMELY COCKY about it and pretty much think I am The Best Aerobic Dancer in the mutha fucking HOUSE.
Anyway, cute Aerobic Dance Instructor with the Perfect Buttocks was all “Tonight, we do Hip Hop/Jazz combination.” And OH MY GOD. I wanted to scream because A COMBINATION DANCE IS A DREAM COME TRUE. I held it together on the outide, but on the inside, I was dying (DYING!) from excitement (ok, and my mouth was watering a little too.)
The dance started and they were pretty simple “moves.” So of course, the other wimmins thought they were all that and started to get all cocky. Totally uncalled for, bitches. (I know, I know, I’m cocky, who am I to talk? Um, only The Greatest Aerobic Dancer to have ever dance aerobic-ly. That’s who! REPSECT THAT SHIT.) I was like “hell to the NO on that. It is *I* who rules the room, it is *I* who Gets All The Moves The First Time. Don’t even try it.” Seriously.
She starts incorporating the harder moves and do I even need to tell you that I nailed each and every one of them? No. I do not.
Finally, we get to the end of the dance and she does this TOTALLY AWESOME MOVE that I nail the first time (Of COURSE I do!) At least I thought I nailed it until I feel a woman furiously tapping my shoulder and hear screams of “You’re RIGHT hand, not your left, your RIGHT!” My first reaction was one of shock, like, I KNOW she did NOT just touch my aerobic dance arm in a violent like manner. But, as I was thinking of how to take her down for even thinking of STEPPING TO THIS, the girl next to her shouts “yeah, I’m following YOU, so if you’re gonna stand in the front row, you should get it RIGHT.”
I’ll let that sink in for a minute.
I couldn’t believe what was happening and that THE WIMMINS WERE HOLDING ME ACCOUNTABLE FOR THEIR MISTAKES. As if I was some kind of Aerobic Dancing GOD who they look up to and who is not allowed to make mistakes. UM. I am not the Instructor, but a mere student of The Aerobic Dance. I realize that I am awesome at it and I’m flattered that they look up to me in that way, but no one forced their asses to follow ME. Hello? Am not the instructor. DO NOT EVER TAP ME ON MY ARM OR SPEAK TO ME DURING THE DANCE EVER AGAIN.
To get them back (and this is a true story!) I let one rip towards the end of class and gave them a little something “special.” But that’s not even the best part. Oh no. You see, after I ripped one, I turned around and looked at the “two who tried to step to this” and made a face like “HOW DARE YOU.”
What can I say, Aerobic Dance brings out the absolute best in me.
In other completely unrelated news, my “friend” (no! really) Jay Mohr asked me if I could get a group of 50 people together to go see him at The Irvine Improv this weekend. I didn’t have the nerve to tell him I only know like 29 people in real life, but I was all “Sure! I will ask the people who read my BALAWWG if they want to go with me to see the show!”
Anyway, if you’re in So Cal and you know, want to go see a great comedy show, email me, or just purchase tickets from The Improv and I’ll see you there.
(His buffness is TOTALLY worth the $$. Oh, and he’s kinda funny.)


Nothing makes me happier than checking the search log on this blog and finding this:
Search: query for ‘fart’
Search: query for ‘fart’
Search: query for ‘fart’
Search: query for ‘fart’
Search: query for ‘gas’
Search: query for ‘poop, mexico’
Which reminds me of the time Erika emailed me to tell me she couldn’t access this site at the hospital because it had been categorized as “TASTELESS”.
True story! My blog has been deemed “Tasteless”!
Last night was Aerobic Dance Class. I was more excited than usual because I was under the assumption we’d be continuing with The Hip Hop and, not to sound cocky, but (once again) I NAILED it.
I arrived to class early to do some stretching. (Which is a complete and total lie. I do not arrive early to “Stretch”, I have been FORCED to arrive early to claim “my spot”. Recently, a group of Annoying Old Wimmins started attending Aerobic Dance class and they are starting to act like they are the bosses of Aerobic Dance class. On Monday, they stole “my spot” and I was stunned. Everyone knows that’s my spot. So now, I must get there early, to mark my territory. (Tony says I should squat and pee, to show them I mean business. I’m not sure, but I think he was being a smart ass.) I pretend to be “warming up”, but really, it’s my way of of saying, “Wimmins, please. I was here long before you and I kinda think that I OWN this class, so step off and GET OUT OF MY SPOT!” Seriously, I have a “spot” and that spot is in the front left corner of the room.)
Bitches better RECOGNIZE.
Anyway, I got there early and was prepared to GO OFF on the Gym Dance Floor with my CRAZY MAD aerobic hip hop dance moves. I was stretching and concentrating. Telling myself things like “You are an awesome aerobic dancer. You own the aerobic dance floor. You are the hip hop master.”
Then, The Instructor entered and announced that we’d be doing “Latin” dancing.
One would think I’d be happy about this because, hello! I’m half latin! But, I wasn’t happy. I was actually a little pissed off. How dare she go and switch it up on me like that.
I got a grip and was like “I can nail this, my dad is from Mexico! There is Latin pumping through my veins!”
There’s a little saying that my father used to preach from the pulpit. “Pride comes before the fall.”
Let’s just say last night, I got served a big ass plate of “Humble enchiladas.”
I could NOT get the steps right. I mean, I had them NAILED in “slow motion” but as soon as she said “faster”, I was lost, man. COMPLETELY LOST. How does a 1/2 latina get lost in a latin dance class?
To make matters worse, The White Girl behind me was nailing it . Thoughts of tripping her on purpose ran through my mind because hell to the NO SHE DI’UNT just shame my half Mexican ass on the aerobic dance floor.
Normally when I get home from dance class, I’m all haughty with my new found dance steps and I walk around the house, spontaneously busting into My Moves and saying things like “You LIKE that, don’t you?” Or “You wish you could do that.” I don’t even care when my kids laugh at me, or say things like “Mom, that was the dumbest move I’ve ever seen” because I know deep down, they’re just jealous. But last night, when I walked in the door, I was distraught and all “I don’t want to talk about it, no MOVES FOR YOU!” To which, they were like “haha, THANK YOU! We hate having to watch you dance!”
It’s not easy for me to admit that I failed at Aerobic Dancing, because in my mind, I truly believe that I am the best Aerobic Dancer to have ever Aerobic Danced, and yet here I am, admitting that I failed. And I failed on the night I should have nailed it because it was the dance of My People.
I keep telling myself that it’s ok, we Aerobic Dancers are human, we have good classes and bad classes. We don’t have to nail it everytime, we just have to give it all we’ve got and try to nail it the next class.
And trust me, that is what I’m going to do. I will NOT let The Non Latins win!

Slapping Leather Belly Dancer

Guess where I went on Saturday night?
Let me give you a hint.

Give up?
Well, then let me tell you. I went dancing.
Line dancing.
It’s been years since I’ve gone line dancing, so, when my sister invited us to go in honor of her birthday, I was like “I’m SO there!”
I almost flaked out at the last minute for stupid reasons, such as “I have nothing to wear!” “I’m fat! Which means I can’t wear jeans! Which means I can not wear MY JUSTIN ROPER BOOTS, which, HAHA, yes, I own Justin Roper Boots!” But, I did not let the stupid voices in my head win and I got my ass in the shower, put on the same outfit I wore when we went to The Improv to see Jay Mohr, (which officially makes that my “going out” outfit) hopped in the van and drove myself to Da Club.
Da country western club.
Within the first 5 minutes of my arrival, I got asked to dance, which I do believe means that “I’VE STILL GOT IT”. Sure, the guy had a speech impediment, a limp, was wearing a belt buckle the size of God and a cowboy hat, BUT EVEN STILL.
I was amazed at how quickly I remembered all of the dances I had learned “back in the day”, but more amazed at the large number of grown men who live in southern california who honestly believe that they are “cowboys.”
Hey, if wearing a cowboy hat that you bought at the mall whilst walking around with a beer in your hand mouthing the words to the country song blasting from the speakers makes you a cowboy in your mind, more power to ya, partner.
During one of the dances, this short, older woman (and I only point out that she was short AND old to be catty) approached me with this nasty attitude and started yelling at me.
Yelling! At me! On the Line Dance Floor!
“Those are not the right kind of shoes for this kind of dancing. Those shoes are bad, not good, very bad.”
Part of me wanted to show her how wrong she was by KICKING HER IN THE STOMACH with my shoes and showing her how, sure, they may be bad for linedancing, but they are TOTALLY AWESOME for knocking the wind out of your “I’m the line dancing shoe police” ass. But, I took the high road. I made a face, put my hand up in the “Shutup and quit talking to me” position and shouted back “I KNOW THAT.”
Seriously, I hate people like her. I totally should have kicked her.
I was a little disappointed that we had to leave before they did the “Freestyle” dancing, because I was really looking forward to busting out some of my Aerobic Dance Class moves. Specifically, The Monkey. I did, however, get a chance to show them off in the parking lot on the way to the car.
That was a special moment, because one girl actually said “Wow, that was a cool move.”
We aerobic Dancers live for that kind of praise. It’s like “In saying that, you’re acknowledging that I have paid close attention in class and that I have, indeed, mastered That Move.”
Speaking of Aerobic Dancing.
Last night, we learned “Belly Dancing.”
Let me just tell you that when the word “Belly” followed by “dancing” came out of her mouth, the excitement that came over my body was almost too much to contain. Have you people seen my belly? I don’t have to do much to make it move. I mean, I sneeze, it dances! I cough, it dances!
I was tempted to grab that sack of fatty goodness and scream “I’VE GOT THIS ONE MASTERED, BITCHES. Y’all might as well just leave now!”
I don’t know why I’ve gotten all cocky about my aerobic dancing, but I have. When I come home, I talk nonstop shit about a few of the wimmins in the class and my husband, God love him, had to stop me the other night and said “Do you ever stop to think they probably feel the same way about you?” Which, HELLO? WHO’S SIDE ARE YOU ON ANYWAY, DEAR HUSBAND? But, he’s right. They’re probably all “That fat girl up front thinks she is THE SHIT, someone needs to tell her that she’s not. We should totally trip her on purpose next class!”
Which, if they did trip me on purpose? I’d be like “Bitch, let’s settle this with an Aerobic Dance Off. OR ARE YOU TOO SCARED?”
At this point, I have no idea where I’m going with this because, I do believe I started this post talking about my night out line dancing and somehow, it’s deteriorated into a fake fight with Aerobic Dancing WANNABES.

God wouldn’t have given you maracas if He didn’t want you to shake ’em

Thanks to Melly, I now know that Jada Pinkett is in a band.
I think “something inside of her is pissed.” But I’m not too sure because I was too busy laughing hysterically to understand the lyrics.
HAHA. She thinks she can sing.
And that she is “hard core.”
And that The Internet isn’t laughing at her.
Man, I love Celebrities.
But not as much as I love my Aerobic Dance class.
Last week, I had an appointment with a dermatolgist to see if he could figure out with the HELL is going on with my skin (Confession: Doc put me on antibiotics for the Bloody Rash, but, um, you know how G-Unit is still Partaking of The Bobs? Yeah, well, I’d rather deal with The Rash then with a Toddler crying for The Bobs.) and I cancelled that appointment because it was at 6:00, which happens to be the same time as my dance class.
I thought about skipping class and going to my appointment, but, then, I closed my eyes and could hear my instructor, in her beautiful russian accent shouting “MORE HEEEP, MOVE YOUR HEEEPS!” and I was like “There are hip thrusts and pelvic grinds to be learned tonight! Bloody rash can wait!!”
I do believe I am officially “obsessed” with my dance class. I think about it all of the time. I pratice the moves for my family (which, can an aspiring aerobic dancer GET A LITTLE RESPECT? All of the eye rolling and “Ok mom, we get it, you learned a new dance.” and the “HAHAHA, that’s a dumb move” comments aren’t necessary. Don’t hate me because I’m an aerobic dancer.)
My obsession with dance class may or may not have something to do with the instructors buttocks. They are perfect. They are bubbly and soft, completely Lump Free and just… mmmmmm…Perfect. I’ve been known to stare at them during the “floor exercise” portion of class. If her ‘Tocks could talk, I’m pretty sure they would tell me that I was making them uncomfortable and that if I didn’t stop looking at them as though I wanted smother them in BBQ sauce and throw them on the grill, they may very well have to get a restraining order.
Grilled Buttocks… it’s what’s for dinner!
This is the way the class works. Every Friday night, she teaches a new style of dance. Then, she continues that dance on the Monday and Wednesday night class. So far, we’ve done Riverdance (HELLOOO Bouncies Titties!), Salsa (Discovering your “White” is more more dominant than your “Mexican” in front of complete strangers is great fun!) Jazz (NAILED IT) Hip Hop (Nailed it. Because thrusting hips is My Thang) And this week? It’s Funky (There’s a move called “The Monkey.” HAHA. I laugh through most of this one. Which, also means, I Rip’Em too. Which, means, I laugh even more because HAHA I farted doing The Monkey.”)
Do you see why I LOVE this class. We do “The Monkey”! And I fart freely! Without fear of judgement! Because, how could anyone know it was me, what, with all of the fans blowing! Seriously. It’s like I’m at a bar and the bartender is all “FREE DRINKS FOR YOU!” Only, I’m at a gym, and there are no drinks and the only thing that’s free is the air that I just expelled from my ass. But, you know what I meant, right?
Oh my God, I’m so excited just talking about it that my mouth is watering excessively. I need to swallow.
I’ll end this by sharing something with you that has nothing to do with my dance class whatsoever.
The other day, I “happened” to come across a list of symptoms of “colon cancer”. (Don’t ask. I won’t tell.) One of the symptoms was “Your stool is thinner than usual”. I wish to GOD I had never read that because, well, let’s just say I’m obsessing over the “width” of my stool.
And let me just say, I’m convinced it’s “thinner than usual” and well, how do I bring THAT one up to The Doc?
I should have ended it with something dance class related, no?