I'm visiting my parents for the week in Sylvania, which means wild times all around. Since I don't want my arse to get jigglier in the few days I'm here, I decided to visit a local Jazzercise class.
Back home, I usually go at 6:30 at night - and the crowd is a bunch of tired women who just got done with work. The 9:30 a.m. crowd is much rowdier. It reminded me of the time when Stephanie and I went to see the Thunder from Down Under (a male strip act) in Las Vegas. We were hiding in a corner, praying that the sweaty half naked men wouldn't come anywhere near us. Women our moms' ages were faking orgasms on stage. Ick.
I was the youngest person in the class by at least 10 years (although with my horrible age-judging ability, they were probably all younger than me.) I was also the quietest.
These women were crazy - in fact, I think one of them was drunk. She took up about 5 feet of floor with her movements, as she hopped all around waving her hands around. Plus, she kept shouting out nonsense about giving birth and periods and her pelvic problems. I wanted to shout, "Let me do my pelvic thrusts and jazz hands in peace, lady. I don't want to hear about your uterus."
On top of that, the women hooted and hollered through every routine. At one point, the instructor asked who the artist was on one of the songs and the ladies screamed out, "Timbaland." First of all, I wonder if Timbaland knows his music is being used in Jazzercise. Second of all, how do these women know that? It was seriously freaky!