.
.
Whenever I feel like I might be crazy, I find it helps to think about people who are more delusional than I am.
Sometimes I’ll think about Courtney Love, or people who think that Two and a Half Men is “The funniest show ever!”
But mostly, I think about a guy I used to date.
I met Jonas at a fitness club, while taking a step aerobics class he was teaching. Usually I make it a point never to take aerobics classes taught by heterosexual males who choreograph routines to “Dancing on The Ceiling.” But I could tell by his instructing abilities that he really knew his stuff.
“Five, six, seven, eight . . . Step. Feet together. Alright, now rock it out. Pull, reach and pull. You’ve got it. Now ride the pony. Ride that pony hard! Nice work! One more time all the way through. Five, six, seven, eight . . .”
One day after class, Jonas grapevined his way over to where I was sweating and started chatting me up.
“You were amazing,” he said.” “For a minute there, I actually thought you were riding a pony.”
It’s true. when it comes to aerobics, my coordination is so phenomenal that it’s impossible to tell where I end and the step begins.
“I get it from my dad’s side of the family,” I said, fluttering my perspiration-soaked eyelashes. “They’re Quakers.”
He told me he loved my squats. I said I was mesmerized by his shimmys.
We had so much in common. Not only did we both enjoy having an increased heart rate, we were also both single. We even liked the same emoticons. (The winky face, and the one of the mustachio’d pope with a forked tongue eating something spicy.)
It was as if the Gods of the Crystal Light Aerobics Challenge had brought us together.
He asked me if I wanted to go out for a drink sometime. Drunk on a combination of endorphins and love, I said yes.
That weekend, he took me to Jamba Juice.
Because I had never dated an aerobics instructor before, I was nervous. First, I decided to play coy. Then I remembered that I don’t know what coy means. Finally, I just decided to wing it.
Right away, I could tell there was something different about Jonas. He just didn’t seem as “bouncy”. Also, I couldn’t help but notice that his speech was slightly slurred. I must have been staring, because he asked me if something was wrong.
“Oh, nothing,” I said. “I mean, I was just going to say that you have beautiful eyes.”
“Thanks,” he said. “If you play your cards right, maybe I’ll let you borrow them.” I laughed. He reached into his satchel and pulled out a melon baller. I changed the subject.
“So, what do you do when you’re not teaching aerobics?” I asked.
He said he was an entrepreneur, and was working on his latest invention.
“It’s called mind-step aerobics. It’s just like step-aerobics, only it’s for the mind.”
I asked him how many imaginary calories it burned.
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you.” I laughed. He pulled out an apple corer and drew it across his neck in a cut-throat motion. I looked around for alternate escape routes.
We walked up to the counter. Jonas ordered the vitality superfruit juice with extra EXTRA blueberries. “I want to be able to see them antioxidizing in my cup,” he said.
During the date, Jonas talked about aerobics. I talked about myself. He showed me pictures of his aerobics medals. I showed him my bored face. He asked me if I believed in the power of jazz hands. I said no. He pushed me off my stool with his jazz hands.
Later, he invited me back to his house for a night cap. Drunk on probiotics, I agreed.
After making me a wheat grass shot, he went to his room to “slip into something more comfortable.”
When he finally came out, he had his bedsheet wrapped around his body like a toga.
“Twelve-hundred thread count Egyptian cotton,” he said, hugging his body. “It’s like being molested by a cloud.”
Jonas walked over to the stereo and hit play. “Now it’s time to really dance on the ceiling,” he said, shuffling his way over to where I was sitting.
“I hope you don’t think I’m going to sleep with you,” I said. He laughed. I laughed. Finally, I was starting to feel a real connection.
Seven minutes later, while in post-coital embrace, he told me that his heart would be forever mine. I told him the same thing I tell every guy I sleep with on the first date: “Ditto.”
“Really?” he said. “Well, then why don’t we make this official?”
“You…you mean marriage?”
He laughed. “Of course not, silly. I meant let’s transplant our hearts into each other.”
While he was in the kitchen looking for an ice-cream scoop, I quickly threw on my clothes and ran out the door. Then I did the half-walk-half-cab ride of shame home.
Because I changed my number and cancelled my gym membership, I didn’t find out until later the reason for Jonas’s strange behavior. Turns out he’d been suffering from temporary brain damage after being scissor-kicked in the head by one of his students.
Unfortunately, by then I had already developed a thing for my yoga instructor.
.
Trust me when I say his downward dog is nothing short of phenomenal.
.
A few weeks later, while surfing the net, I came across a story about a jealous Pampered Chef Consultant, who stabbed her cheating fitness instructor ex-boyfriend with a paring knife.
Granted, she was the one who killed him, but still. I couldn’t help but think it was a sign.
.
Just Making Convo 
I never get involved with people at the gym. I see them sweat, they see me sweat. It’s not pretty.
Really? I’ve found excessive perspiration to be a real turn on for men.
At least here in Mexico, anyway…
My feeling is that if I see you at your worst and am OK with it, then things are good. It is the women who practice false advertising that I worry about.
Trust me, Bearman…my perspiration is 100% real!
A heterosexual guy teaching step aerobics is one midnight epiphany away from realizing he is not heterosexual.
I’m aware this (awesome) story isn’t real….I just had to throw my 2 cents in. I just can’t NOT have an opinion.
I love your opinions. And while I may have exaggerated slightly, I can assure you that 99% of the men I’ve dated were one midnight epiphany away from having that same realization.
That’s quite a satchel he had to fit so many kitchen products in it. I’m just glad you came through the ordeal safe and able to ride the pony again.
And I can’t look away from the two pictures in this post.
Ha! You should come to a yoga class with me sometime. I guarantee that you’ll never visualize a Morning Sun Salutation the same way again…
Clearly you’ve forgotten one of the key Quaker precepts: Never Trust a Guy Named Jonas. And the other one about 1200 thread Egyptian cotton. I’ve forgotten how that one goes too. But I’m sure it applies. You’re lucky to have escaped “intact”.
Wait, I thought all Quakers were named Jonas? Or Jebidiah… or is it Jamiroquai…?
I think it goes something like “Never trust cotton made by mummies encased in gold.” At least that’s what I always say…
Right, that’s it. I knew you’d know.
Laughing out loud. Whew. That was a LOT to type. I wish there was a shortcut for that, but there you have it – I was laughing out loud. OUCH. Finger cramp. So much typing!!
Next time, instead of typing all that, try the emoticon of the bucktoothed vampire with braces and messy hair, grinning while at the same time drooling out of both sides of mouth.
At least that’s how they do it in Japan…
I have no doubt that a) he slipped a roofie in his own wheatgrass shot and b) he was actually molested by a cloud at some point in time.
Personally, I prefer my molesting clouds to be in the form of a roofie. https://bschooled.files.wordpress.com/2010/01/rohypnol3.jpg?w=456&h=394
To each his own, I guess?
So what you are saying is that you rode his pony. Hard. Man, a little jamba juice and wheatgrass and you were his for the taking? Tramp.
I have never been hit on by any of my instructors. Granted they have all been women, but still. Now I feel like I’m not performing well enough to be noticed and subsequently asked out. Teach me your seductress ways, oh great one! I am putty in your expert hands.
Well, Misty, based on my experience, it’s all in the crotchless unitard. Also, feathered hair.
What comment could I possibly leave on here that would have the same entertainment value as your story? Hmmm… I got nothing. But I can guarantee you that if Tina Turner (I’m not even a fan) read this, she would say, “You’re Simply the Best.”
R
Thanks, CS! Believe me, if Tina Turner did read this, I would never make fun of the song “Private Dancer” again. (And I mean it this time.)
The Quakers line made me snort-laugh!
I don’t know why, but for some reason the word “Quakers” always makes me think of Wilfred Brimley.
“He showed me pictures of his aerobics medals. I showed him my bored face.”
That made me laugh so hard I think it qualified as exercise.
It does!
In my world, even typing qualifies as exercise. In fact, immediately after this, I’m going to treat myself to a cookie. Or ten…
I’ve never been molested by a cloud, but I blame one of my flings on a sex fog.
I blame all of my flings on sex fogs. (Triggered by copious amounts of vanilla vodka.)
So well written – and line after line was so funny! You’re obviously a natural. LOVED your story, and just don’t know where you got that picture!! Made me smile :)
Thanks, Wordsfallfrommyeyes. I actually can’t remember where I got either picture, which if I’m honest, is probably a good thing. :)
1. “I showed him my bored face.” HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!
2. ‘paring knife’ – i was worried when you were talking about the melon baller.
For some reason melon ballers annoy me. I mean, besides balling melons, what are they good for?
So I’m a little confused. The kitchen implements: are they a turn-on or a turn-off? This is important to me because I can no longer put my socks on unassisted, I am capable of carrying around a satchel full of single-purpose utensils. Hopefully these things will offset one another.
Good question, Jonah. One you probably shouldn’t be asking me, since I find all kitchen-related devices to be total turn-offs.
In fact, the break-up line I use most often is, “It’s not you, it’s the fact that you want me to make you a sandwich.”
So you’re saying I should quit my hobby of developing dance routines to “Dancing on the Ceiling?” I thought that always added to my sex appeal…
No, Doc. Definitely don’t stop dancing. Dance like nobody’s watching. And while you’re doing that, I’ll be behind you, taking pictures for my blog.
To grapevine – what an excellent new verb. I must find a way to use it .
Trust me, it’s extremely versatile!
I’ll never be able to order a double helping of blueberries again
Yes, but will you still do yoga?
Someone I know really, really, REALLY well (it wasn’t me!!) grabbed a butcher knife post-coital/on-Ecstasy and reenacted the Shining scene (maybe it was Norman in Psycho…does it even matter?). No one got hurt (I MIGHT have been there). I’m thinking you should have stayed Bschooled. He probably just wanted you to bounce his balls in the scoop (or play them like maracas if you had two scoops) and garnish it with condiments, capers and cream cheese (I know how these things usually turn out).
WHAT?!?!?! I can’t decide if I’m horrified or fascinated by this. I’m going to need pictures. And contact numbers.
Also acid, to get the visual of me bouncing this dudes balls in a scoop out of my eyes.
I continued chuckling for a whole hour after reading this. I also have “YMCA” stuck in my head, thanks to that first picture. I need another jello shot of superfruit, with extra super…
…super what? Super mario brothers? Superman?
Don’t leave me hanging!
Extra super extra…with sprinkles!
You need to try some different life experiences.
Why not try going to the Jonas, and picking up a bloke called Jim?
Jim Jonas? Isn’t that Joe’s and Nick’s dad? I thought he was already married…
Joe and Nick? I thought they were Ramones.
Oh no…my mistake. i remember now.
Johnny, Joey, Marky, Dee Dee and Tarquin.