I am a gym rat. I know it’s obvious from looking at me. I’m so thin, toned, and buff. Eh, just more of me to be fabulous.

I guess I’m more of a class whore. I love the step class, the Zumba, the kickboxing.  So the other day when I saw a new class called Ladies Night had been added to the schedule I was curious. I asked Young and Hunky at the gym’s front desk what the class was about.  He looked a bit nervous when he replied, “Dancing. It’s.. uh.. dancing.”

Uh Dancing? I like to dance. I even like to Uh Dance. Uh uh uh shake your booty uh uh uh. That’s why I showed up for Ladies Night ready to get my groove on.

Then I found out just what kind of dancing we’d be doing.

Dirty dancing.

It was a cardio strip tease class.

Oh I was lovin that surprise for sure!  The looks on the other gal’s faces in the room! You have to realize that yes, there are thin, toned, and buff people who go to gyms in Missouri.  But there’s also a great deal of people who look like me who go to gyms in Missouri.  There’s just a great deal of people who look like me who live in Missouri, period.  It’s the frozen custard stands. We likes our frozen custard here in the ‘Lou.  I think the other Jaden lookalikes in the room were thinking what what I was thinking.  Oh HELL no! There’s no way my body will do THAT.

Now I’ve seen the infomercials for cardio strip tease DVDs.  Perhaps even featuring Carmen Elektra and her equally endowed concave bellied friends.  Here in Missouri most of the class instructors don’t look like that. That’s why I can be a gym rat class whore. There’s a non intimidation factor at my gym.  You know how in the DVDs the cardio strip tease instructors wear tiny tank tops and tight short shorts? Our instructor was wearing track pants, and an old Tshirt. Great! Cuz if class required a skanky getup I was going to get up and get out of there.

She began class by asking us to bring out our inner sexy. “I know she’s in there somewhere!” she yelled.  Actually, I think she came out with the afterbirth when I had my 1st baby. I haven’t seen my inner sexy since Kurt Cobain was still alive.

The class was taught like a dance class. Four three two one! Do a series of moves. Repeat. Add more moves. Four three two one! Perform the moves for the instructor.  Four three two one, look like an ass while I shake my ass!  I tried, I really tried. But there’s a reason Carmen Elektra can shake it better than I. I have her trapped in the back of my workout pants. It’s not easy shaking a big booty.  I stop. It keeps going. I fought the flab but the flab won.

Halfway into the class I borrowed some sexy from the big gal next to me who was shakin what Mcdonalds gave her without fear. Four three two one, bend over.  Shake your booty. Then rub your booty. Then bend over and pop that booty. Four three two one. Get down on the floor.  Hump the floor. Hump the floor?  Ok.. I’m humping the floor.  Now I’m crawling across the floor.  Oh hey! Look at me!  I’m Beyonce!  I’m Britney! I’m sexy! I’m fierce!

I can’t get off the floor.

I don’t think the moaning and groaning is supposed to be from an almost 40 year old woman whose blood sugar has fallen and can’t get up.

My biggest problem with cardio strip tease wasn’t looking or feeling like a fool.  It was getting up and down off the floor so many damn times. I have a hard enough time doing that with the kids here at home. Mommy, come sit on the floor and play with us. Nah, I’ll just sit here on the couch.  Easier to stand up that way.   In class we’re supposed to do this move that makes getting off the floor look sexy.  Oh honey.  I wish I had video to show you, because mine involves looking like I’m about to pitch forward with all the crackalackin of old bones and when I do stand upright, I tumble backwards because the blood is rushing to my brain.

Not sexy.

But funny.

I came home and broke the news to Matt, who got all frisky and asked if I could show him some moves. My back was out, my knees were covered in bruises, my ass felt like it had  been kicked with steel toed boots and I was sweaty and stinky.  Yeah, I’m a big turn on.

Cardio strip tease is not foreplay.  Cardio strip tease is torture.

I can’t wait to do it again!

I was really amused when we had our adoption home study because the social worker asked Matt and I questions about our sex life. I was amused on so many levels, but in particular because we used a religious adoption agency. I didn’t expect the sex questions at all, let alone while at the actual agency. With pics of the cross and faith sayings on the walls. I felt like I should whisper  back my answers.  Yes, we have sex.  Yes we like having sex.  Yes our sex life is good. Um, Jesus is ok with that, right?

The reason she asked is because a couple that plays together stays together. If there are sex issues there are probably marital issues.  They want to place children in happy homes.  Couples who have sex are happy couples. I understand that. I just didn’t expect to be asked about it. I do love being caught off guard in a good way.

It’s true that sex changes once you have kids. You’re tired. You’re stressed. You worry they will hear you.  Or worse yet, wander into the bedroom or wherever you’re gettin bizzay and SEE YOU.  Ok that image just turned me off until the day they all leave for college.

I remember the early days.  Oh yeah. We’ve all had those early days in a relationship when things were hot and heavy. Our biggest responsibility was remembering to feed the cat.  Those were the days of having a bit too much to drink  and falling  into bed together, only to wake up the next morning and mumble, “I’m sleeping on an empty tub of Cool Whip. There are handcuffs under my butt. But why is there a package of ground beef by my feet?”

I joke, but Matt and I would love to attempt to amuse grocery store cashiers with the weirdest condom combinations we could come up with.  A pack of condoms, a pack of gum, a bottle of wine, and Draino.  Or condoms, whip cream, candles, and a Martha Stewart magazine. We’d try, but cashiers have seen it all and would barely blink.

The other morning reminded me of those crazy nights when I woke up with a hot blonde underneath me.

Miss Boo left her Ken Doll in the bed and I was so exhausted I didn’t even notice until I woke up with him wedged under my boob.  Ken has changed quite a bit since the 70s.  My Ken had plastic molded anchor man hair, an earring, and wore a blue velvet leisure suit.  This Ken has real hair, a bracelet, and looks like the guys I partied with at the gay clubs. Doesn’t he look like any minute he’d say, “Gurrrrl. Take that outfit back to Walmart where it belongs!”

After greeting A Secret Until The Media Outs You Ken, I then pulled back the covers to discover I had also slept with Hello Kitty, (or as Avie still says, “Hello Titty”) a Disney Princess tea set, plastic french fries, a pink soccer ball, and sidewalk chalk.  We had a freakin Toys R Us in our bed!

The family that plays together, stays together.

True, very true.  But I need to clear off the bed and have some alone time with my husband. Time to install a little slider lock high up on the bedroom door!

Somewhere up there, Jesus just gave me the thumbs up.

When I don’t give a crap about money, money doesn’t give a crap about me.  It behaves itself nicely in savings.  It comes to me in large amounts from voice over jobs.  It mocks me. “Come on, bitch!  Spend me.  Spend meeee.  NO?  You won’t spend me?  Ok then. Here’s more.  Yeah yeah. MORE! Now you want to spend me, don’t you?  SPEND ME!!!” It’s like when you stop calling the hard to get boyfriend. Suddenly he’s calling you.  Suddenly he can’t get enough of you and is always around.

When I DO give a crap about money, money craps all over me.  Money becomes the boyfriend who leaves me for the girl in the boobie shirt who gets a couple shots in her and is up for anything. I think I was her back in my early 20s. *ahem*

Matt and I are on an austerity program so we can get the hell out of this dump. No crazy spending! Which I should never have said out loud. Cuz the money heard me and now those bastards can’t leave us fast enough.

Example- when you’re trying to save money, you’ll end up with a tree falling on your house, you’ll hit a hide a bed with your car on the highway, or you’ll end up in the emergency room for some stupid reason. Example 1 and 2 happened the last time we tried to save money. Example 3? Please note my husband gave full permission to publish this story. Oh and what a great story it is. The story to end all stories. Something Matt will laugh about.  Some day.

Matt called me on the way home from work.  He sounded strained as he asked, “Do we have nail polish remover?”  I told him it’s a house with four women. Of course we do.  He said through gritted teeth, “Get it out  and put it in the bathroom for me. I’ve got a tick.”

Matt doesn’t work deep in the forest.  He works deep in the city in a cubicle in an office complex. I replied, “Honey… how did you get a TICK?”

He explained a coworker who lives in the country stopped by his cube to talk and felt something drop off his body.  He looked around on the floor and then gave up.  Matt said, “Don’t worry, whatever it was will bite me.”

And it did.

Oh but the story gets even more interesting.

I asked Matt why the nail polish remover?  He said he called the hospital and that’s what they suggested to use to get the tick to back out of his skin.  I began laughing.  Oh city boy.  You got a tick and called the hospital.  That’s rich.

“Honey,” Matt said slowly, “It’s on my penis.”

“WHAT???? It’s… on.. your… ”

“The head.  It’s on the head of my penis.”

I couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing.  Of all the damn things to happen to my husband.  I mean, come on. A country living co-worker happened to stop by to chat just as a tick from his clothing dropped off, fell to the floor, found Matt’s leg and crawled up his pant leg, into his undies and onto his…

Dick Tick.  My husband had a Dick Tick.

Matt sighed, “I’m glad you’re so amused. This HURTS. I’ll be there soon.” And then he hung up.

When Matt got home he raced for the bathroom where I had the nail polish remover, Qtips, tweezers, a bowl, and some matches waiting.  If he managed to get the tick to back out of his.. yeah.. then he could put it in the bowl and set it on fire.  Ticks pop when you set em on fire. I’m from the country.  I know these things.

Thirty minutes later…

Matt emerged from the bathroom looking pale and frustrated. He announced he was heading to the emergency room.  Head-ing. Heh.  OH poor Matt.The tick wasn’t budging, Matt had to pee and couldn’t, and was in a lot of pain. A nurse on the ER line said not to try it on his own any longer, just come on in.

Matt returned from the hospital a few hours later looking much happier.  He said the doctor had to use forceps to remove the tick, as it had it’s head buried so deeply in Matt’s.. yeah.. that it was a pain in the … yeah… to get out.  Because the tick was only in a few hours there is little risk of disease, but if Matt develops a fever or nausea within two weeks he is to call the DR and go on antibiotics immediately. Ticks are nasty germ carrying MF-ers.

The ER doctor did say Matt won the funniest ER story of the day award.  He might even be a finalist for funniest story of the year.

Because Matt married such a sympathetic and supportive woman, I’ve spent the past few days telling him, “Here’s a tip. Use your head.  Don’t get a tick on your dick.”

I think that should be the next episode of my show.