Daffy over at Batcrap Crazy.
See how big those words are? That means click them, go check her out, and follow her, because I said so and because she's awesome. She talks about conversations she has in her hood, likes to give things random numbers, and is generally the kind of funny that is missing from a lot of blogs, as demonstrated in this guest post.
If you’ve been around my blog (Batcrap Crazy) for any length of time or seen my contributing posts to Lose It Bitches blog, you’ll know that I have an affinity for Zumba. In all honesty I am thoroughly addicted to it.
What is Zumba you ask? Latin music based dance workout….think Shakira and a shitton of shakin what the good Lord gave ya….my hips don’t lie.
Because of all of the butt bobbling, quite often you’ll notice 98% of the class participants sneaking search and rescue missions for wayward underroos. It only takes a few sessions for people to realize everyone who wears underwear to class is doing the jitter-dig. Shyness falls to the wayside and it’s a dig-for-all modesty be damned mentality.
In a recent class I errantly donned a pair of underoos and tossed in a panty liner (sorry Travis…most of your followers are female and have children…they’ll understand). Evidently said pantyliner was not properly installed, for part way into the class ass shaking it shifted. Now partly stuck to my crack and partly stuck to the fabric of my underroos, my fear that it was permanently glued to my cheek was confirmed. No amount of shaking, garment tugging or plucking was going to dislodge it. Short of leaving the classes altogether for the safety of a bathroom stall I was destined to endure the stuckage.
The upside? I was wedgie free seeing as how the fabric was permanently stuck in place. The downside? It was 15 minutes into an hour long class, I was standing right in front of a huge clock that took great pleasure in mocking me with each tick and every once in awhile there was hair pullage.
Was that TMI?