Tag Archives: dance

Sexy like a cotton ball.

25 Oct

I recently purchased the Pussycat Dolls Workout DVD. I’m a slave to marketing, and fell victim to the commercial’s upbeat advertising tactics and the promise to have the body of Nicole Scherzinger (because I definitely don’t).

I popped it in the DVD player, wearing my black sweatpants and Tegan and Sara t-shirt with my hair in a messy ponytail, ready to dance myself to killer curves.

“Bring it, dolls,” I said to the TV. Then I saw this:

So I tried to loosen up my buttons, baby, like the very best baby giraffe wrapped in leather. What happened next can only be described through this:

I’m pretty fucking talented if I do say so myself, but I just wasn’t feeling, you know, sexy enough to slutty dance like Nicole Scherzinger and her dolls which is extremely frustrating because when I go out with my girlfriends and dance, I’m a beast. Like, watch out ladies and gentlemen, you’re in the splash zone of awesome.

Then it hit me: the thing I was missing was booze.

So I moseyed on into my kitchen, took a bottle of vodka out of my freezer, and took a shot. Nothing. Took another shot. I tapped my foot anxiously on the linoleum floor, and decided a mix drink might help. I poured vodka into a tall glass and topped it off with a splash of pomegranate juice (I’m also an extremely talented mixologist).

I’m not entirely sure what happened next, but I can only assume it went something like this:

What I do know is that when I woke up the next morning in my bed, I was wearing my fuzzy pink bath robe, a single black stiletto, and the contents of my underwear drawer and every piece of lingerie I own was either on the floor or draped across houseplants. “Buttons” was playing on repeat from my iPad, and I discovered I bought every single song made by the Pussycat Dolls.

Leaving my bedroom, I discovered a trail of dried soap suds, leading me to my bathroom where the bathmat was still wet, the bottle of bubble bath was uncapped and on its side, the candelabra was in the sink, and an empty bottle of wine was in the tub. The trail also led to the kitchen, where every single pot and pan I own was on the floor, cabinet doors were open, the bottle of vodka (now empty) sat on top of the stove, and a box of noodles was spilled over the floor.

I still don’t have Nicole Scherzinger’s body.

–AM.

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