August 31, 2012

Be like Magic Mike: How I Find Inspiration in Beautiful Asses, I Mean Places. ~ Kristin Marie Breheim

What is so magical about Magic Mike?

“So tonight, Erin and I are going to see Magic Mike.” Maggie says smiling.

Jumping in her seat, Rachel asks, “Tonight? What time?”

What is Magic Mike?” I ask.

“Seriously?” Maggie asks.

“Seriously.” I respond.

In less than ten seconds Maggie pulls up the Magic Mike movie trailer on her iPhone.

A  strong, movie-guy voice comes in: “Channing Tatum—naked and dancing for your visual pleasure. Ladies and gentlemen who love gentlemen, it’s on! It’s raining sexy men. If you didn’t know, Tatum has moves. If you look closely, you can see a side cock shot. And there is a story line. Strippers have feelings too. Beyond the abs of a Greek God, there is a man who just wants to be loved. Back to Tatum’s bitable ass. Costumes, little underwear, and the dick of the century. In theaters now.”

“Wow.” I hand Maggie her phone.

“Well, you wanna come?” (Yes, there is a pun here.)

I have no words.

I am too stunned from the perfect circles that are Channing’s ass.

My plans tonight include hot yoga class, shower, dinner and bed. Hmm.

“I’m going for sure.” Rachel says nodding her head.

“OK. I’ll come. And I’ll bring the wine.” I say with a smirk, knowing I’ll miss my yoga class, but hey, when opportunity knocks.

“What else do we need?” Maggie asks.

“Chocolate.” Rachel adds.

Four ladies from the little resort town of Breckenridge, CO drive eighteen miles to see Magic Mike. We settle into the back row.

Chocolate: check.

Wine: check.

As the intro music plays, the cornucopias of woman scream and actually clap. I question, “Have I ever been to a movie where the audience clapped before it began? Titanic? No, they clapped at the end. What’s so magical about Mike anyways?”

The wiggling, jiggling and flesh bumping begins with Dallas, a very cut Mr. McConaughey center stage wearing a cowboy hat and chaps. Dallas goes over the rules about touching the dancers, rather, where ladies cannot touch. Then announces, “But I think I see a lotta lawbreakers up in this house tonight.”

Cowboys, cops, and firemen, oh my!

The clothes come off.

The yogi in me ponders, “Does this go against Brahmacharya, continence? What about Saucha, purity?”

I’m definitely thinking filthy thoughts.

I smile, partly at the inner-beast-like-ooga-booga-sexuality these hotties bring out of me, but, I also smile pleased with the role reversal. Tons of movies show women naked. Three easily pop into my mind: Wild Things, Striptease and Titanic.


This got the feminist in me to thinking, “Why is this such a big deal? There must be movies that graciously objectify the male species.” After two days of contemplating, the only male stripper movie I came up with is The Full Monty.

Thanks to YouTube, I got to work on some very difficult research. All I cam up with, was  A Night In Heaven in 1983 and Just Can’t Get Enough in 2002. Clearly, Magic Mike takes the cake. I love envisioning him jumping out of cake.

As the movie credits roll, everyone in the theater stares at the screen. “Is there more?” I ask Erin.

“God willing.” she replies, squeezing her hands into fists. We slid back into the chairs. It’s over.

“I need a towel for my seat.” Maggie says fanning herself with her hand.

“That was magical.” Erin sighs.

And I think to myself, “What was so magical about Mike?”

The woman in me takes great pleasure in the magic of Mike’s delicious body and the way he dances—taking off his clothes is frosting on a cupcake. The yogi in me sees magic in Mike’s tapas, his zeal. Not to be confused with his tukas, which, yes, is definitely magical.

It’s really Mike’s unwavering persistence. There’s a fire under that (fine) ass, motivating him to work hard for the money (this pun was inevitable). Despite all his fears: 1) ending up like the club owner, 2) the stripper cliché, and 3) letting the one great love get away; what was magical was that the four of us ladies left the theater singing and clapping to, It’s Raining Men! Hallelujah! (The Weather Girls).

“Now go home,” Erin says to me, “…and make love to your man.”

My very own magic man.

That is exactly what I did.

It was magical.


Kristin Marie Breheim has been practicing yoga for 12 years. To compliment her RYT certification, she continually studies at home and local studios. Breheim has taught over 4,000 yoga classes in 5 countries. Her inspiration comes from her dog, Obie, hiking mountains, and eating way too much cake batter. Her practice and free yoga classes can be found on YouTube: Yoga Should Be Free.


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Editor: Carolyn Gilligan



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