The WHOO HOOO of it all. I'll admit it--I whoo hoo occasionally. Most of the time it has a sarcastic note to it and it's really never the WHOOOOOHOOOOO rebel yell type thing. It's like the tah dah I taught my niece when she was learning to walk--very quick and to the point and sometimes, most of the time in a conversational tone.

Well, I found myself in whooo hoo hell. minus the hoooo. I signed up for Jazzercise. Mock me if you will, but it has been hotter than hell in my house (where my work out equipment resides) and I thought that it was better than dealing with the Curves nazis on a daily or every other day basis. I do not much care for the exercise whoooo'ers. Denise Austin makes me want to stab a fork through my brain with all her g.d. whooo'ing. "That's right! Feel the burn! WHOOO!" and multiply that by an hour and you get every exercise routine Denise ever did.

Now the thing about Jazzercise--I have great rhythm (SP? and I know it's not spelled right, but I'm too damn lazy to get up and look it up, but wait--there is a spell check button on Blogger so I will fix it later) and I am a great dancer, but for the life of me--they do a bunch of complicated shit right in the middle of something and it's always off beat so while everyone is going right, I'm going left. I just blame it on being uncoordinated. Okay--so I go to the first class and right off, the instructor starts whoooo'ing randomly. Then she starts "Okay, Left side of the room WHOOO. Right side of the room!!! Jackie!(jackie whoo's) BALLLZ--dead silence. Then she does it again--BALLZ BY HERSELF! whoo And if I could figure out how to make that any smaller, I would. The whole effing class--whooing. for an hour. For the love of GOD people, save your whoo's for something special--Jazzercise is not it. So the entire class consisted of me turning the wrong way and refusing to whoo. All while sweating profusely.

I will say this--the people there were much nicer than the Curves nazis. And the second night? The instructor was NOT a whoo'er. WHOOOO!

WELL, THERE YOU GO.

I was at my friend's house yesterday, getting my hairs done (she does my hair in her kitchen so I don't have to drive to her salon) and the conversation gravitated as it always does to our social (read--dating) lives. She is about 6 years younger than I am and yet--we have the same issues. She told me yesterday that she was tired of dating guys with combovers and guys who were 'old'. I told her--Hey! I'm old! She said oh no you are not. You at least get off the couch and play softball or take your dogs for a walk. I'm talking about guys our age that act like they are two steps away from dying. So she told me about her latest blind date. They met at a bar for a drink and he proceeded to have 5. That would have been a big red flag to me. Especially on a meet and greet. I do have to give her props though--she told him at the "goodbye" that she didn't think they had much in common, but thanks for the drink and good luck.

I wish guys would do that--I'm kind of particular--weeding out any guy that has a "wife beater" on in their profile picture or lives um IN WYOMING. More about that later. But dude, seriously? Don't say--hey, I'll give you a call and we'll go out on Saturday. Because it's just in bad form and it shows my balls are bigger than yours, because if I'm not interested, I'm going to just come out and tell you.

The Wyoming guy sends me an email and says "I just got back from Orlando and I just hated it. There were too many people and it was too hot and I'm so glad to be back home. I've decided that a bad day in Wyoming beats a great day in Orlando". This was his first email to me. I responded 'Dear Wyoming guy--Thanks for the weather report! I'm headed to Disney World!" I did not hear from him again. Oh and there was the 400 pounder whose picture showed him shoving a sammich in his face. This is on the fitness site. All I can do is wonder HOW he got there.

So I think I'll stick with Hottie McHotterson or the Triathlete for awhile. Because living in Hottieville is better than ANY day in Wyoming--good or bad.