Eight Poles, No Waiting

Last night?  Bachelorette party, baby.  And yes, of course, we ended up at a bar with a mechanical bull.  But I really need to talk about what happened BEFORE the bull.

We took a private pole dancing class.  And it was HARD.  (That’s what she said.)

Not only are my arms and legs screaming in agony, but I seem to have a raging case of pole burn down the middle of my back.  In hindsight, the fact that I was able to fling myself around a pole for an hour without sustaining a major injury was nothing short of a miracle.

It turns out our dear bridezilla Gwen is quite a natural on the pole.  Actually, it turns out that almost everyone in our group took to the pole right away.  ALMOST everyone.

Who has two thumbs, a rather strange obsession with kazoos, and should never ever be allowed back on a stripper pole?  *sigh*

My fellow pole-mates had already seductively scaled their poles, licked the ceiling and were gracefully sliding back down to Earth before I could even figure out how to grip the damn thing between my overly moisturized legs.

Side note: I think I know why strippers rock the body glitter now.  It’s not an aesthetic choice, rather a practical one.  A girl needs a little traction (pronounced the way Mrs. Alicia Bridges says “action” in “I Love the Nightlife“).

Interwebz?  I can’t even writhe on the floor properly.  I thought of all the areas covered during our educational session, that would be the one where I might excel.  I mean, between my constantly falling down and occasionally passing out, I spend half my life on the floor.  But no.  Uh uh.  Not even kinda.

I watched our tiny and ridiculously toned instructor roll onto her stomach, stick her right leg up into the air, then pull her knees up and under her body so her pert little spandex-clad ass reached for the ceiling before she somehow gracefully undulated her body until she sat kneeling with her knees thrust wide.  Yeah, I can’t do that.  What I can do is grunt, one leg flailing wildly while somehow getting my shoe caught on the pole, then make disgusting squeaking noises with my sweaty palms, and flop about the floor until I find myself sweating and whimpering in something resembling indian style.  (Crap, I forget what we’re calling that again.  Cross-legged?  Oh just go with the visual people.  I’m 1/16 Cherokee so I’m pretty sure I can call it indian style.)

Come to think of it, that’s how I ended damn near every one of the segments we learned.  My personal favorite?  Somehow our instructor was able to fling out her left leg, then hook it around the pole as she skillfully whirled her five foot frame around the pole, slowly descending into a provocative, wide-legged squat.  From that position, she thrust her purple metallic bubble of an ass towards our faces, then diligently humped the pole until she resumed the standing position.  She flipped her giant mane of tousled, dark hair over her shoulder and said, “Easy right?”

It’s like we were twins separated at birth.

I managed to somehow knock my front teeth into my pole while launching into my interpretation of a spin.  Lord only knows how, but I was able to hook my ankle around the pole mid spin.  Then my fight-or-flight instincts took over and I clung to that bad boy like it was Sting in a crowd of Insane Clown Posse fans.  My spin instantly stopped with a horrific, skin-burning screech.  Slowly, as my death grip loosened, I descended in uneven, squeaky bursts until my ass hit the wooden floor.  I suppose if you’d consumed a fifth of gin and the light was really dim, it’s feasible my soon to be patented “Red Thighed, Pole Filled, Indian Style Slide” could be considered a sexy move.

Really.  I’m like grace personified over here.

So in addition to the raging case of pole burn I have searing down the middle of my back, I also have a little crotch inflammation happening as well.  I thought it was the bride that was supposed to get broken at these things.

*limps off in search of Tiger Balm*


  1. HAHAHA I’ve always wanted to try a pole dance class, and now I’m not sure if you’ve convinced me to go for it or not. We have pole at home (yes, the Carmen Electra one that can actually be used) but I’ve always been too scared to use it…

  2. That sounded like fun. Just think how your parents did an awesome job since they were able to keep you off the pole until now. Maw and Paw Bug, good job!!

    1. Now quadruple the size of that ass, and you’re spot on. I probably drink more than she does. Oh but I don’t smoke – does that help?

  3. I LOVE THIS WITH THE PASSION OF A THOUSAND SUNS. Seriously, this is so great. And it made me laugh really hard. Now I don’t have to go take this “class” because I already know I’d do just what you did. Except I wouldn’t be able to be so funny writing it. Nicely done, for real.

  4. Oh, sweet cheeses on toast – PUHLEASE tell me you’re not putting the Tiger Balm on your crotch. Cause that would make the pole burn on your back decidedly second-rate in the pain department…

  5. Wow, I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. I wonder if there are any glorious youtube videos of similar mishaps…

  6. Yea! Now don’t you think pole dancing should qualify as a college sport? We have football, volleyball, soccer and now to really raise alumni funds pole dancing.

  7. I could picture every word of that. Oh my word. Awesome. Usually when your special place is wounded, you at least had fun making it get that way.

    1. …and it’s THAT sort of statement that makes me love you so much more than my pole. Not that I like my pole very much. But that doesn’t mean I don’t like you much either. Well this isn’t going at all as I had planned…

  8. Dude, I’m 1/16th Cherokee too!
    I was about to have one of these installed in my bedroom since I got that wevibe and it corrupted my soul. Now I’m like a dimestore hooker looking for my next thrill.
    Your cautionary tale has given me pause and I’m taking a new direction.
    Sorry you got pole burn on your back and hoo hoo.

    1. You might as well go ahead an set it up in the kitchen so you’ll have easy access to all the condiments. I know how much you pine for Mickey Rourke.

  9. Just for the record, does this mean you are or are not willing to do this again when we all get together? I need clarification.

    Also, ummm, did someone say mechanical bull? *excited vagina face*

    1. When you use that ticket to NYC, I promise to take you to visit the mechanical bull. And I’ll bring Tiger Balm. And a video camera. And bail money.

  10. Step away from the Tiger Balm woman! You’re crotch is not going to thank you for that in the morning, well unless it’s one of the S&M kinda crotches, in which case I say slather it on.

  11. ROFL that is the most detailed entry of pole dancing, probably ever. hahahha. I would probably be just like you while trying to pole dance, I don’t know. I’d probably feel ridiculous and laugh a lot because clearly that is the mature thing to do.

    When I was a little kid I was awesome at doing flips on regular bars, not strip pole bar things. hahah. Maybe as a kid I could have rocked the stripper pole. ROFL, okay so that was wrong on so many different levels, but I couldn’t see my 24-year-old self being able to do the stripper pole, I’d most definitely humiliate myself and I’m sure my boyfriend would find it more humorous than sexy.

    1. Wait, why would I feel ridiculous? You mean that didn’t sound sexy? I’m exactly like Tracy Lords, but…you know…completely different.

  12. That is a great story. I’m sad you drew the line at photos. How did you do with the mechanical bull? BTW, who are you women who know what Tiger Balm will do to a sore vagina? How do you know? Nurses?

  13. Oh oh oh. Jumping up and down like donkey in Shrek at the end of Shrek 1. Pick me pick me!

    How about…

    We have a pole dancing panel for the next conference we run??!!

    I am awesome.

    I also have two left feet and 20 thumbs.

    p.s. I could hear your scream all the way from Hoboken when you put Tiger Balm to your hoohoo. You don’t let Tiger Balm near your eyes. And not your hoohoo either. By the way, for the gentlemen that are reading, NO Tiger Balm to your balls or dick either. You can try if you don’t believe me…

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