Oh well if I can have a rainbow mowhawk and a fancy nickname like Dan the Outlaw Hardy, I’m sold!
Tapout. It’s not just a clothing and equipment line for Mixed Martial Arts practitioners and their ring girls,it’s also the password into the very serious, highly entertaining and slightly strange sub-culture of MMA. What, you thought MMA was just a sport? So did I until I started this Experiment. True, other Experiments I have done have had significant devoted and vocal fan bases (holla Crossfitters!) but nothing has ever come close to matching MMA. These people need their own National Geographic special is what I’m saying. (Except there would be no “native” boobs shots as all the topless chicks in MMA – and there are quite a few – are so enhanced that their bits will still be standing at attention well into their 90’s.)
Not a temptation for me…
I am not a sexy person. Please don’t argue that with me in the comments. I am outgoing, funny, cheerfully serious, pretty-when-caught-off-guard and occasionally entertaining. But sexy? Nope. Some girls ooze sex appeal even in a floor-length prairie dress but I could be wearing a gold mini, a massively padded bra and leopard platform heels (true story, Halloween dance 2000) and still manage to make it look prudish. Those of you who know me in real life can vouch for this. And nowhere is this (missing) quality more on display than when I dance. (Lie. Nowhere was this more obvious than when I was dating and I thank Gym Hubby every day for thinking smart is sexy or I’d still be single. Love that man!)
Here’s the problem: I love to dance. I do it every opportunity I get from the grocery store to the kitchen. I’ve taken lots of lessons. I was even on a dance team. Twice. And if you know anything about dancing, you know that sexiness and dancing go together like public toilets and hand sanitizer, you just can’t have one without the other. (See? Even my analogies are unsexy!)
Hitting a woman is not cool and hasn’t been socially acceptable in quite a few decades (see: Chris Brown/Rihanna scandal) but ever since Scarlett slapped Rhett Butler, girls slapping men has been made out to be not only okay but even ladylike, appropriate and, yes, cool. (Okay, let’s be honest: Scarlett slapped just about everybody in that movie from Ashley to Rhett a couple of times and even poor Prissy “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout birthin’ no babies, Miss Scarlett!!!”) Why is it acceptable for a woman to hit a man when the reverse is widely considered abhorrent?
The Slap as Art
This past week on So You Think You Can Dance, sandwiched between an emotional routine based solely around a light bulb and a fierce Paso Doble was a racy little number that played up all the popular male-female stereotypes. It would have been one more Burlesque For Family Time quickly forgotten in a sea of hair flips and leather vests except that it started with a slap. And not just a stage slap but a real, honest-to-goodness, face smack.
Video probably NSFW depending on how your boss feels about Janis Joplin.
Yeah, you totally wouldn’t want to do this move with your girlfriend. Especially if she’s the shirtless one.
Starting out with the line, “I’ll admit that there may be some good reasons to bring along your significant other when you hit the gym, like providing her with the opportunity to do something about the hail damage on her a**” makes it clear from the get-go that writer James Fell is doing his best to provoke us women-folk into harpy shrieks and mascara-stained histrionics over his article “Don’t Bring Her to the Gym” for Askmen.com. But even though he does his best to sound like your typical meathead misogynist, I think he actually makes a good point. Even if it is for all the wrong reasons.
“Mommy, why is there a crooked stick in here?”
“It’s a lead pipe, honey.”
“Why is there a lead pipe in here?”
“Well, see it’s a weapon.”
“What’s a weapon?”
“Something you use to kill people.”
“How do you kill people with a lead pipe?” (Oh google search is gonna love this post!)
“Ummm… you hit them really hard with it.”
“Probably their head.”
“In their face?”
“I suppose that would do.”
“How many times do you have to hit them?”
Gasp. Choke. Cough.
“Mommy, what’s this rope doing in here?”
Who knew Clue was such a moral minefield? Maybe we should play a different game. Anyone up for Battleship? “What’s a nuclear submarine, mommy?”
Written with love by Charlotte Hilton Andersen for The Great Fitness Experiment (c) 2011. If you enjoyed this, please check out my new book The Great Fitness Experiment: One Year of Trying Everythingfor more of my crazy antics and uncomfortable over-shares!
“Girls rule, boys drool!” “Girls go to Jupiter to get more stupider; boys go to Mars to get more candy bars!” And my favorite gender stereotype, brought home the other day by my 3rd grader: “Mom, did you know that when girls scream 3 times they can shatter glass? It’s because girls have high voices and boys have really low voices.” I hate to break it to him but at this stage his voice sounds exactly like the girls. And while neither of them can shatter glass I am pretty sure I’ve lost an eardrum or 5 thanks to all the incessant shrieking around here. (True story: Once when my dad called to ask me a question and had to repeat himself like 7 times before I understood him he said exasperated, “How can you stand living in that birdcage?!”) Well the exercise world sounded a bit like an elementary playground (or birdcage) this last week when the Washington Post posted an op-ed piece about how men and women exercise differently.
Written with love by Charlotte Hilton Andersen for The Great Fitness Experiment (c) 2011. If you enjoyed this, please check out my new book for more of my crazy antics and uncomfortable over-shares!
I spent my Saturday night getting my aggression on: gouging people in the eyes, yelling “I’ll rip your larynx out!” and watching my best girlfriends get cornered by a bunch of threatening men. Makes your screening of Tron, The Legacy seems pretty lame now, huh? No, we weren’t road-testing The Great Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) Experiment. (Although now that I type that I have a hankering to try cage fighting. Hmm.) Gym Buddies, Megan, Allison, Michelle, Jeni, Meghan, Becca and I were getting tutored in the art of pain by Megan’s husband, Sensei Don (of Karate Experiment fame, for those of you that have read my book or have been around this site for 3+ years) during a Women’s Self Defense seminar.
Scorpio? Libra? Who needs a sign to make unfounded snap judgements about strangers? The zodiac is sooo 70’s! According to the NY Times, the new thing is to judge a girl by her yoga mat. (Because yoga is soooo, uh, ’70’s?) Actually the Times article is mainly about whether to use a sticky mat or go commando on the bare floor (for all you hygiene enthusiasts, apparently the floor gets cleaned a lot more than your mat*) but anyone who has been to a yoga studio knows that your yoga mat says a lot about who you are and how you live your life. So what does mine say about me? That I’m cheap and that I love my lady bits!
There I was the other day, blissfully inhaling and exhaling through a nice deep down dog (oh yoga, why so porny?) when I looked through my perfectly starfished hands to stare at all the pretty lotus flowers etched on my mat. Lotus flowers a la Georgia O’Keefe, that is. At that zen moment I realized my yoga mat is covered with a repeating pattern of – oh yes – the female genitalia. Which explains why I got it for ten bucks at TJ Maxx.