Sha BAM

That's the name of an actual class, Blog, as I told my sister -and perhaps the sole reader of this blog- No Blog, I'm sorry lots of people read you.  And I know you read yourself, but we're not supposed to talk about that. It's dirty.

So I know I have focused on my exercise classes a lot because such is my life nowadays.  When I was younger I am pretty sure I sat in a pool of nacho cheese and Budweiser and worried about Banana Republic not having enough size double 0s in stock.  Now, I go to exercise class every day and am lucky if I can sew two pairs of maternity pants together to cover me up. Whaddya gonna do?  And in the book I am writing about my young, "crazy" days?  Not an exercise class to be found.  Ah, youth.

But the best part about today was I spent the entire morning thinking it's Friday which turned out to matter not one little bit since I have no traditional job.  Even when my instructor shouted, "It's almost Friday!" I didn't get it.  I was like ha ha good....joke....whatever.

Point being I read the schedule wrong. So I thought I was going to a body pump class, but I knew something was up when I saw the cast members walk into my show.  They weren't getting out weights, putting together barbells or mats, and I thought something is not right.  Eh, let's see what's up.  Then I saw the instructor and realized....Sh'bam.

I have taken Sh'bam once before with the same instructor. It's all in good fun, but there was a strobe light and star pose.  A little too much for me.  And it's all the same version of Jack Tripper and Janice Wood in the aerobics studio of Three's Company with a different twist, so I thought I'm here, and let's make the most of it, right?  Well, I just didn't get my jazz hands out fast enough so I consequently spent most of the class observing, which is a polite way of saying making fun of everyone in my head. But come on, I recognize you from the last time, and let me tell you the chances of Mel Brooks or Penny Marshall secretly observing our SH'Bam class and making you a Broadway hit overnight at the age of forty-five?  Slim to none, so stop taking it so seriously!  Jeez.  Wait, I am sorry, I did not mean to lead you into thinking there was a slight chance.  The chance is NONE.  But who am I?  I was all TGIF in the house.