Always one to try something new websites like Groupon, Buywithme and The Dealist are my crack cocaine constantly enticing me with activities that are on my “bucket list.” You see I want to be the person who dances with the stars, who makes the perfect maki roll, and who can discern the subtle tastes of chocolate and hints of blackberry in a wine without faking it. Essentially, I want to be Dos Equis “Most Interesting Woman in the World.”

Lately, due to the evil marketing geniuses behind these sites, I decided to enroll in several types of dance classes because even though I was on a dance team in high school, somewhere along the way I started to dance like a white girl. You know that girl in the bar who only has one or two moves? Well, I’m her, nice to meet you! And for the record normally she only appears on the dance floor after a few cocktails. When I saw a deal for what I call “stripper school,” also known as pole dancing classes, at NY Pole (www.nypole.com), I didn’t hesitate to throw down the plastic.

In referring to his daughter, Chris Rock once said “my only job in life is to keep her off the pole. I mean, they don’t grade fathers but if your daughter’s a stripper, you (bleep) up.” While that may be true, after tonight I have a new found respect for strippers. Those girls have some wicked upper body strength and they definitely have battle scars by the time they “go public!” Speaking for myself I am bruised and battered from the routine and constantly found myself thinking “yeah, that’s gonna leave a mark.” Next time I’m wearing hooker shoes (which appear to be available for purchase at the school). Note to self, buy the hooker shoes.

In the spirit of full disclosure I took one pole class before with friends. Ladies, you have not lived until you and your friends attempt to practice the art of seduction in front of each other. Until you abandon all inhibitions, the Yaya bond isn’t really complete. Acting like an absolute idiot, however, solidifies the bond. It’s the equivalent of becoming blood sisters.

I rolled solo this time around so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. The class was filled with normal women looking to “work the pole.” Eavesdropping on the conversation, I learned that most attendees were mothers. There was even one pregnant woman there. At first I thought, oy veh is this what marriage life does to you? Are these women taking the class to add some spice? Or do we have an underground secret culture of wanna be strippers? As it turns out I was a de facto participant in a bachelorette party, a very shy bachelorette party that should’ve had a few pregame tequila shots. The ladies in my class were all scared of the poll, which meant more poll time for me to get jiggy with it. By the end of it I was rocking that pole (or so I thought anyway, which is all that mattered). I was twirling, I was spinning, I was climbing. Generally, I was having my own Flash Dance moment of empowerment. Although I’m not hanging upside down yet, give me a few more lessons and I will be. By the end of class I wanted a stage name and I wanted to tip myself.

The class provided a great workout! I’m adding stripper class to the exercise circuit. The class is so addictive that I nearly signed up for a membership on the spot, which includes a 20% discount for the pole-dancing virgins. I had to remind myself that I have instituted a moratorium on my credit card, which is on the verge of spontaneously combusting any moment, in part due to things like “stripper tuition.” Luckily, I have a few more prepaid classes remaining until I need to reenroll so I can continue to feed my female empowerment buzz for a little while longer while I think of my stage name!