I was invited to a Pole dancing class for a bachelorette party a few weeks ago. I refused. I then reconsidered and proclaimed, “What the hell!”
It was a 2 hour class at MasterJays, a dance studio located on the fourth floor above a shoe shop on a small street around Rittenhouse. Our first activity? Give ourselves dancer names:
and me? I choose, Bang Bang L’Desh. Because I love apostrophes.
Our NEXT activity…dancing..free style. Nothing was getting me out on that floor, I don’t care how many boas are wrapped around my neck. Vivian, our instructor and professional exotic dancer, assured us that:
1. Men come for the meat, not the pole
2. Sexy varies from person to person
Vivian then taught us: The Seven Moves of Heaven
We had our arms waving, fingers flaring, hands caressing our legs, feet, knees, thighs, and breasts. We were on our backs, then walking on all fours and rolling our backs, and finally swinging our heads. All that and I realized I am not exotic dancer material. (that and realizing that I had only shaved one arm pit that night) Vivian had us pair up and “practice” our moves, blind folded, and with money all over the floor. The object? To see who could get the most money, using the best moves.
I skipped that part, I’m too neurotic.
We then finished up the lesson learning pole moves, here are a few of them.
THAT always has potential.
** GREAT OHiP quote:
“She didn’t come to class because she said, once she saw the pole, she would want to be upside down.”