Throwback Thursday - MJ Getting My Groove Back

I just want to say that the King of Pop may be dead, but his moves live on.

For Christmas this year, my mother-in-law got me the Michael Jackson Dance Experience game and it's so boss. Although I've only played a few times, I know that if I were to really use this thing, I could not only get in shape, but much like Stella, I could get my groove back.

What happened to your groove, Alecia? you might ask yourself. 

Well, kids. I got married, turned 30, and had a kid.

But truthfully, I used to kill it at the club. And even if you were with me at these clubs back in the day and remember it differently, you'd have to at least agree that in my mind, I straight killed it. The dj dropped the beat and I dropped the junk in my trunk, workin' tracks from Snoop to Beyonce like I was getting paid. I longed for Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights. Couldn't wait to put on some fancy clothes from Express or TJ Maxx (yeah, I said fancy) and go man huntin'... um, I mean dancing.

What I really remember is the workout. You get a good track going and weave into the throng of keyed up 20 somethings and next thing you know, your hair is sticking to your forehead and your quads are burning. I would wake up the next morning feeling like I'd gone to the gym and so, I never went to the gym! 

To this day, I break out random dance moves on my family when they least expect it. It always cracks my husband up, especially since there is rarely music to accompany such outbursts. And my baby usually likes it. (Note: Only once did I make him cry, but I have since retired such percolation.)

But as far as the club scene, my life looks a little different. Now I drop the baby in his jumper and assume the position in front of our TV. MJ and his sparkly white socks shimmy across the screen and I choose a song (difficulty level EASY). Knox bounces with glee as I try to keep up with the master and look like a person who was thrown into an anti-dance prison camp and had the rhythm beaten out of her. And after one attempt at Smooth Criminal, I'm out of breath and call it a day.