She's no butterfly. Tony, she's all pelvic thrust.

Everyone recalls the epic dance contest at The Max when Lisa Turtle and Screech birthed the award-winning, era-defining dance move "The Sprain." Also burned into our prepubescent brains was the flawless dance technique of one Jessie "Legs" Spano. Even as early as episode one, we all knew that Ms. Spano was destined for greatness. And, how!

It is hardly a stretch to say that we were "so excited...so excited...(so scared!)" when Elizabeth Berkley landed the lead roll in the 1995 silver screen classic, Showgirls. Jessie certainly did not disappoint as the vagrant hitchhiker - turned stripper...no, dancer - turned Vegas star - turned ex hooker/ex con - turned psycho attempted murderer, Nomi Malone. Once again, her prowess on the stage was beyond inspired.

And inspired were we to take our second leap into the exciting and dangerous world of pole dancing. With moves called terrifying things like "Peter Pan" and "Friar Tuck", we knew we were in for a world of hurt that only Navy Seals and the girl that gets sawed in half during the magic show could know.

As usual, we were correct.

To the right is Kristen's bruise. Just slightly above the knee on the inner thigh, just where the pole hits the leg on many pole spin favorites such as the aforementioned Martini and the newly acquired Pinwheel. No, that is not a trick of the eye or fancy Photoshopping skills. That purpleish-green is 100% natural, pale skin bruised by an hour-long pole dance class.

Not pictured is the bruise on the top of her head from the headstands that she was forced to do as the first step toward inverts. Also not pictured are the bilateral knee bruises. Insert tasteless joke here.

Figure 2.1 is Aubri's bruise.

Inner calf, pummeled time after time as she swung her outer leg across to wrap around the pole. Other favorite bruises: the top inner portions of both thighs where she would squeeze for dear life. She didn't even attempt photos of these, because for some reason she couldn't seem to take pictures of her calf bruise with out panty shots, and we would like to remain family friendly. An additional bruise was found on her back, which we can only assume is either from doing head stands against the pole, or existed before class and she's just using pole dancing as a convenient scapegoat.

I'm aware of my ... pants.

Due to popular demand, we have decided to share with you the infamous list of men we intend to marry. One at a time, and in no particular order. Number one comes from Aubri's list (which is considerably longer than Kristen's).

Congratulations, Ken Marino!

We give you MNOP's highest honor; placement on "the list".

If you spent the early nineties like we did, you were home every night glued to such MTV classics as: Liquid Television, full episodes of Beavis and Butthead, the Jon Stewart Show, and The State. It was on The State that we were first introduced to Ken Marino. It wasn't the gelled hair, or the wife beaters Marino often wore in sketches that drew Aubri's affections. In fact, it was 7 simple words every young girl yearns to hear:

I wanna dip my balls in it.

That one simple catch phrase launched a phase in Aubri's life which peaked at the witnessing of the "Job Service" sketch. Were she that bunny, car part, etc...

Ken has continued to win over her heart by appearing in such shows as: Dawson's Creek, Veronica Mars, Party Down, and the Hallmark Channel made for TV masterpiece Falling in Love With the Girl Next Door.

Our Love Feels Like Being Enveloped in Pudding

About a week ago, at work, Aubri saw the man she "fully intended on marrying".

Don't despair hopeful suitors, the list of men she "fully intends" on marrying is ridiculously long and with no irony includes Brian Posehn. So chances are you still have a shot.

The newest edition to the list was staring at her from the author picture on the back of his newly released memoir Everything Is Wrong With Me.



That's the front, merkin. We aren't pedophiles.

To check out a current photo of Jason Mulgrew, you will have to pick up his book (literally). You could also check out his blog. Bonus: from his blog there's a shameless link to his People Magazine nomination as one of the 50 most eligible bachelors of 2005. So not only is he a hi-larious writer, but he can also stretch the glory of a month on the newsstand into 5 years online.

If you're like us, and use your days off to lay in bed staring out the window thinking, Damn it's a beautiful day, I'm glad I'm off, this is the perfect book to curl up with.

If you're like us in that you read books in 2- 5 minute increments while using the bathroom, this book is also for you.

If you're nothing like us, well, then we feel pretty sorry for you. Because we are awesome.

But this is about Jason. His memoir features stories of growing up Irish Catholic in Philly. Littered with self deprecation, there is no way you could read this book and not finish it feeling better about life. You will find a kinship in the embarrassing childhood club and feel a little less lonely in this big big world. Or you will maliciously laugh at his nerdy misfortunes (dick).

Either way, buy the book. That's an official MNOP(rah) book club recommendation.


*In light of a recent decision to invite Jason Mulgrew to read our blog, we would like to state we would love his book regardless of how he feels about us. We're used to unrequited love. We also have a lot of booze that needs drinkin'. Just Saying.

Coyote Fat & Average Looking

Most of the physical activities we decide upon participating in require little clothing. The average roller derby uniform consists of short shorts, fishnets or some sort of stocking, and a shirt or tank top. Burlesque and sideshow might add a corset, garter belt and ruffled panties into the mix. Our other favorite activities might involve more clothes. Or less. Our current and latest foray into the world of obscure athletics begs for bare legs and arms and for the more advanced student: platform stilettos and bare everything.

We are beginners. We’ll keep to the shorts and t’s. Thanks. Perverts.

After reading about a push for pole dancing to become an Olympic sport, we knew we had to get in on some hot, girl-on-pole action. We started by doing what any pair of straight, classy broads would do: watch dozens upon dozens of YouTube videos of incredible women spinning and climbing their way to victory at various pole dancing national and international championships.

We knew dozens of gyms that boast more sex appeal than physical fitness (we’re looking at you, Equinox!) offer pole dancing classes, but couldn’t believe that it might be near impossible to find a local class for beginners. Preferably where we might not be surrounded by booty shorts and breast implants. Not that we find anything wrong with either of those things, but for two plus-sized, moderately physically fit girls in their late twenties we didn’t think our witty and sarcastic sense of humor would propel us around the pole with the same effect as body oil on bare, perfectly waxed skin.

Wellness on the Green in Morristown, New Jersey, is the closest studio in the area to offer various levels of pole dancing classes. For twenty dollars each we got our one hour introduction to the pole from Kim. She taught us the basics: firemen, martini and cabaret spins. There was climbing, spinning, and sliding. Posing seductively. And, finally, the Freudian slip of, "Roll over. Now play with yourselves!"

Mythbuster Moment: The bruises on strippers are not from their pimps or dealers.

Then there was the pole burn from the friction of metal on bare skin. And the excruciating muscle aches the next morning that made standing and sitting the most difficult part of the day. Aubri put it best:

"I feel it when I use the toilet. Like getting there is a quick plop down. Getting up? Well, let's just say I seriously considered finishing my novel."

Girls on Girls: Unsolicited Advice For Boys (Part I)

For our first installment of Girls On Girls: Unsolicited Advice For Boys, we've been inspired to tackle the time honored tradition of a first date.

Most romantic comedies and sitcoms have given men the impression that first date jitters involve selecting the right lip gloss, the dress that shows enough but not too much skin, and committing to ordering salad for dinner.

Also incorrect is the porn version of a first date wherein we order a pizza, conveniently being short on cash when the mustachioed delivery boy arrives. "There isn't any other way I can pay you?" Although this is an effective way to contract herpes or some other socially debilitating disease.

Really, our pre-date thoughts are consumed with one concern: Getting out alive with the same number of bruises we had going in.

The modern woman has watched enough Lifetime to know: the "normal guy next door" has a sex addiction, the "popular jock" has a proclivity for bashing your head in with a rock or his All-State 2002 Championship trophy, and you can protect animals from their abusers for only $18 a day by donating to the ASPCA. Right now there is an animal that needs you.

It's also been proven time and time again that you don't have to be pretty to be a victim (see: Tori Spelling).

We will assume you have convinced a girl to go out with you. For whatever reason, be it guilt, her ticking biological clock, pity, or honest to goodness attraction she has decided you are tolerable enough to be alone with her. Now you will have to actually take her somewhere. This is where the old real estate adage of "location, location, location" comes in handy. Let's take a look at three traditional date ideas, and why they're all wrong:

The Movies

Most women's interest magazines and self help books will warn against the movies as a first date because it doesn't really give you the chance to open up, talk, and learn about the person whose limp, clammy hand is inching toward yours. This is exactly the reason we here at MNOP love the idea of a date at the movies. No awkward conversation. No uncomfortable eye contact. No pretending you aren't completely turned off by their firearms collection.

However, we have to go with the experts on this one and nix the movies as a first date option. The movies are dark, not guaranteed to be populated, and if you're watching AVP or Terminator type action flicks no one can hear you scream. No self respecting girl would let a relative stranger take her into a dark room where the only other witness to her ever being there is too distracted by his own acne to notice if she ever comes back out. Plus, that "trick" involving a hole in the popcorn bucket? Gross.

The Local Carnival

Sure. Nothing says lovin' like spending thirty dollars for five rides that toss you around in small cars above the asphalt of the fire department's parking lot. Does that thirty dollars include a tetanus shot? Now take away the dizzying bright lights, fried dough, and the opportunity to impress your date by winning a hot pink stuffed monkey with your dart skills and what do you have?

A lot of dark alleys, trailers, and machine rooms. That's what. Next.

Your Swinging "Pad"

We understand times are tough. Money isn't everything, and you don't have to go into debt to impress a girl who is worth your time. But listen, and listen well:

Taking a girl "out" to your place for a first date is the equivalent of inviting her to dinner and bringing her to Arby's.

We hear what you're thinking: "But MNOP girls, I'm going to impress her with my cooking skills. Dazzle her with my film collection. Astound her with my decor. My pad is me."

Let us break it down for you. Your cooking? Just an opportunity to roofie the one chicken dish you can't screw up. The Fast and the Furious Trilogy? Not a film collection. And the Beer! poster along with the MC Escher “print” in a plastic frame will be the first things to hit the dumpster if things work out.



Next GOG: Topics of Conversation, or, why you shouldn't mention how good Jessica Biel looks.