Sunday, January 23, 2011

Hips Don't Lie. Maybe just some little white lies. Sometimes the left hip tells some whoppers.



So I was doing some panicky last minute Christmas shopping back in December at CVS, because people on my list only get quality, and I saw a box lying on the shelf next to the last shake weight and some pajama jeans, and inside the box was THIS:

I wasn't sure what it was, but it was clearly AMAZING, so I threw it into my cart, rushed home, and then forgot all about it.

Christmas went by and one day I found the box again behind the dresser. The outside said "Hoopnotica" and on the inside, what looked like fancy tent poles was actually a special "travel hoop". For when you go on vacation and have a mad hula hoop need. (Who hasn't been in that dark place at some point?)

I was going to take it back because I'm already one barn purse over my impulse-buy quota, but then I saw that it came with a DVD, so I put it in and there were some gorgeous women on it, and one tank-top man in the back, who were dancing beautifully with their giant hoops, and flinging them up in the air and catching them with their teeth, and  it turns out that hoop dancing has been a big thing with all the Hollywood stars, and also hippies, for a long time now, and somehow I was  never notified because I live in the suburbs.

I watched the whole DVD and then spent hours watching every single thing on Youtube about hoop dancing. It's totally hypnotic and addictive.  I learned from the videos that hooping can whittle your waist, and  free your inner creative goddess, and also help you poop, all at the same time. Sometimes hooping can get you on the Ellen show. That's a crazy lot of wonderful, if you ask me.

I also learned that probably at some point, once I get really good, I should wear my hair in dreads and invest in some feathery flare-leg  yoga pants with a hip skirt for when I meet the other hoopers at Burning Man, but that's a couple weeks down the road probably.

I watched the demo part on waist hooping and figured I had it down, so I changed into some natural-fiber clothing (for grip!) and put the hoop together, reveling in its shiny, circusy bling.  It didn't take long to figure out that the house is not really hoop-friendly, what with the animals, and lamps, and flower-arrangements from the oral surgeon, so I waited until darkness fell and took the hoop outside.

In the front yard I assumed the recommended position, one foot in front of the other, hoop positioned at the small of my back, and gave it a firm swing to the left. The hoop flashed in the glow of the street lamp, spun once around my hips, and, despite my feverish gyrating, landed on the grass. 

I tried again. Firm swing to the left. Feverish gyrating.  Hoop in the grass.  Again. And again. And again. I heard a suppressed laugh from behind me, and turned around in time to see the blinds in my son's room fall closed.

"I see you up there!" I yelled.
Silence.
"Seriously.  I know you're there, spying on me!"
Then I heard a soft voice coming from behind the blinds.  "What if someone sees you doing that?" it asked.

I chose to ignore such negativity and went back to work. Ten minutes later the front door opened, and my son appeared, holding his old plastic hula hoop, which he laid down on the driveway.  Then he stood and watched me as I sweated and stooped.

"Car!" he announced, when an SUV turned into the cul-de-sac.
"I'm not in the street."
"I know," he said, " I just thought you might want to hide behind something until they were gone."

Then he casually picked up his old hoop and began hooping, effortlessly.

My son kept me under contemptuous surveillance for awhile, until finally his hoop ended up in the tree and he lost interest, so now it's just me and my hoop dancing dreams out under the street lamp.

I'm not giving up.  It's been several days, and every night I go out and spin my shiny hoop and get all sweaty, and every night it falls to the grass, but sometimes now it turns a few times first.  One time I spun it expertly, but accidentally, around my forehead when my foot slipped in the grass.   I see that as progress.

Someday soon you're going to see me on Youtube, my hoop a blur on my magical hips, my inner goddess totally revealed due to the "flow" I've achieved and maybe a recent successful bowel movement. That's going to be a great day.

Did I tell you sometimes they light their hoops on fire?

25 comments:

nova said...

Don't even turn into one of those. I live on Vancouver Island, aka "home of all hippies". You can't swing a dead cat without hitting a hippie in a flaming hula hoop. It's been done. Just be your rad blogger self.

You're Lucky I Don't Have a Gun... said...

thanks for adding Hoopnotica to my growing list of useless shit. it will go right behind Big Top Cupcake, but before the Fluidity Bar.

the Shakeweight didn't make it on my list. even i have to draw the line somewhere.

Miss Yvonne said...

Hooping helps you poop?? I think I'll try it. And I will totally put a video up on YouTube of me doing it if you do, Vic. Hooping I mean. Not pooping. Because gross.

Megs said...

First of all, the shake weight is kind of awesome. I only use it in the dark, but still...it's working.

Also, now I kind of want a hoop.

SkylersDad said...

I was hoop-pooping long before it was considered cool, I just wanted to go on record with that little fact.

Venom said...

O.M.G.
You'd better hope that your son is not videotaping this so that he can use it as a counter measure against embarrassing childhood photos when you make up that big poster board collage a few days ahead of his wedding.

Gotta go, I have to... hoop.

Mandy's Kidding said...

Time for a video blog!

Jules said...

I'm going to buy one too. Then I'm going to come visit you and we can make up a routine and do it together like people did in middle school!

Vic said...

@nova- I lived across the river from a hippie commune when I was growing up. Nudist hippies. In teepees.
But sadly, no hoops.
I think you secretly love them. Hoops, not nudists. Probably.

@you're lucky -- Big Top Cupcake?? I NEED ONE! ( I didn't know it existed until you told me, but that does not in any way lessen how crucial a giant cupcake has become. )

@Missyvonne - You're just going to show me up again, aren't you Miss Y? I'll be all proud and twirly, and then, BOOM,there you are with your triple hoops and awesome regularity. I'm not falling for that again.

@megs - I'm picturing you, in the dark, working away at your shake weight. I bet it is working, oh yes I do.

@skylersdad-- All hail King Hooper Pooper! Your crown's in the mail.

@venom - What I have on my son would never fit on a posterboard. He's twelve. Everything is embarrassing.

@mandy - maybe a tutorial....Hooping the Vic Way. Hmmm.

@Jules - Can we wearing matching dreads and flare-leg yoga pants? You wear the belly shirt, though. You have better abs than me. I'll wear the parka.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

You've got to mean BUSINESS to have your own portable hula hoop. I'm pretty sure if someone gave that to me the first thing I'd do it assemble it in wavy back and forth line instead of a circle and then use it as a crazy straw. Or dart dun for bushmen with aim apathy. Or a waterslide for my wasps.

Steam Me Up, Kid said...

dart GUN. dart gun. g.

Vic said...

@steamy- Gun with a 'g' totally ruins the alliteration.

I think someone with a dart dun may be the only way I actually keep this damn hoop up.

As soon as I'm done with it your wasps are getting the water slide of their lives. Water slide of their deaths.

Logical Libby said...

If you want to be a dirty hippie, just get a ferret. That's so much easier.

diane said...

I'm a hippie and I can't hula hoop either. My son can, and his secret is not gyrating. It's a slight front-back motion. We have a friend who hoops for money. She's awesome. Actually, she's all over youtube, but I can't remember her stage name. But while I was looking for her, I came across a hoop dancer from Cirque de Soleil. I bet that's the one that made you super obsessed with hooping. I don't think she's human.

Chelle said...

Listen to Nova. Dead cat swinging might be the next big thing. What if you swung a flaming dead cat?!?

I could sell prefabricated dead cat swinging kits, a dvd and make a fortune.

The Empress said...

I do need anything that promises to help with pooping.

Sorry, but, just being honest here.

expateek said...

Laughed myself sick. You are one crazy broad. Bring your hula hoop over here to Chicago. We need your kind. xx

Hope the pooping is going well.

Mel said...

How did I miss this post, and how do be this funny and not explode? I was blog hopping last night and ended up on the page of what appeared to be a fascinating seamstress artist, but who also is in the flaming hoop of fire dance demographic. I was mesmerized and afraid. Thanks immeasurably for the huge laugh this morning. Hope you haven't injured yourself hooping.

Shannon said...

I just came across your blog--looks fun! I'm a new follower. :)

ShanimalCrackers.blogspot.com

lisleman said...

girls gone wild in suburbia with wild hooping.
Great description -
Now to do that with 2 feet of snow on the ground would be even better.

Cynthia L. H. said...

Enlightening!
;^)
Hope all is well in your hula-hooping world...
Have you gone off and joined one of those communes?
;^0

NedCan'tDance said...

I sort of want to marry your son, only I've no idea how old he is and I'm 18 so it might be a bit pedophilic, and the marriage would be a sham because I would only be doing it to be close to you.

Caroline said...

LOL - I can just imagine it all. I gave it a try the other day and I can't do it anymore. Time to start practicing!

Anonymous said...

I love your blog, but where are you lately????? No recent postings (I check each and every day, alas, no post!) and I am sure I am not alone in saying that your humour is missed!!!! Please keep on posting!! Love from Ontario, Canada. Nancy

Alyssa said...

Reminds me of those Shape Ups. My gramma bought me a pair as a going-away-to-college present last year. The box not only contained magic shoes, but it included your very own Introduction to the Shape Ups Cult Kit. You relearn how to walk and eat and work out, as well as how to stand in front of the mirror and convince yourself you don't miss the last half of your paycheck. If you're ever wondering how a dumb pair of shoes can be $140 at Ross, just remember that you "can't put a pricetag on a new way of life." And also that the packaging probably takes of $50 of the $140. But anyways, thanks gramma for the shoes. And LOL for the post!