Pole Dancing 102

Epilogue to Pole Dancing 101 posted on Tuesday:

A day after our pole dancing exercise class, I received the following e-mail in my inbox. Check out the picture before reading the body. Quite ironic I must say.

(Note from parent to teacher upon viewing artwork)
Dear Mrs. Allen,

I wish to clarify that I am not now, nor have I ever been, an exotic dancer.

I work at Home Depot and I told my daughter how hectic it was last week before the blizzard hit. I told her we sold out every single shovel we had, and then I found one more in the back room, and that several people were fighting over who would get it. Her picture doesn't show me dancing around a pole. It's supposed to depict me selling the last snow shovel we had at Home Depot.

From now on I will remember to check her homework more thoroughly before she turns it in.

Sincerely,
Mrs. Jacobs

Pole Dancing 101

That's an attention grabber!! Well, read on…

Every month, a group of women from my neighborhood get together. Now, this is not a women’s group in which we get together to talk about our kids or the latest new release deemed by Oprah to be a superb choice of literature. This is a once a month gathering to have a drink, catch up on the latest neighborhood happenings, and partake in whatever the host has chosen as the activity du jour.

One of my best friends and I agreed to host for the month of February and way back in late 2008, whisperings began about doing something wild for Valentine's month. The egg was laid and we were going to hatch it. Pole dancing, here we come!

Now, I believe Denver is a great city. We love it! Culture, great architecture, awesome people and plenty of good shopping and restaurants. However, it is not New York, L.A. or even Scottsdale for that matter. So, it was quite a shock to me when I began researching venues for pole dancing to find that I had more choices than will fit on one hand. I uncovered that pole dancing was quite the trend in exercise. Several local news stations had done features on it and you actually received a menu of erotic dance choices for which you would like instruction.

In mid January, the Evites went out. We really thought we would get a huge response but it appears that even the idea of pole dancing was a bit intimidating. However, by the big night we had a group of 10 daring souls ready for a night of leaps and bounds (literally).

We pulled up to the place and almost missed it. There was literally a door sandwiched between two storefronts in a dark mini-mall. We went in and immediately descended down a small stairwell into the “cave” of a studio. Was symbolism at play here?

There was a small seating area surrounded by clear plastic platform sandals, boas and other erotic dance wear. Our first sight scared us a bit. A 50ish lady wearing nothing but a tight tank top and a pair of purple lace boy short panties paraded in front of us as the previous class ended. Hmmmm. I looked down at my long black leggings and newly purchased cutesy t-shirt “Are you a good witch or a bad witch” from Target which at the time seemed witty enough to go with our event, and decided I may be out of my league. However, the teacher then bounded out with the energy that I quickly found out was needed for pole dancing and immediately set us at ease. She wasn’t wearing much more than the other woman but somehow her demeanor exuded a different aura.

Now, anyone who knows me, knows that I get right to the heart of the matter. "So, are you the owner?" "Yes", she replied "How did you get this started?" "Well, I used to take my clothes off for a living and this was a natural progression. I now do this and body build." Ok, so this was the real deal. Bring it on.

We started out with some simple pole moves. I say simple with a wicked smile. These moves were anything but simple. As I heaved my body up around the pole, I vaguely pictured what I must look like. It was not the graceful, sexy image of a well toned dancer but rather the awkward, petrified look of a cat clinging to a tree as a dog barks loudly beneath. I literally clung to that pole for dear life. “Hilary, plant your feet on the ground and ease up with the buttocks out suggestively.” Who was she kidding?

We went through a variety of moves including the Fireman (almost like a run, jump and slide down the pole with both legs tucked suggestively under you to one side) and the ballet dancer (I can’t even remember it except thinking to myself that with my strong ballet background I should be able to nail it and was quickly disappointed). There were others but all I remember is the fear that I was going to fall off the pole as I tried to maneuver my body in suggestive poses and land on two feet.

Our 47 year old instructor with a body that doesn't quit) did not let us off the hook after we mastered the pole. Rather she led us through erotic dance moves – there we were on the ground like washed up jellyfish our spindly tentacles flying around in the air following her every move. I remember looking out through the V created by my legs thinking that I looked anything but sexy at that moment. That was followed by lap dancing instruction during which we were supposed to take on the role of seductress swaying our hips and gyrating in and around our partner (one of the other mommies) while she wished she were somewhere else. I just couldn’t do that one. It was all just a little too much.

Finally, after about 60 minutes of some of us heaving and panting (and others gliding and glistening – I swear some of these gals could have tried out for the next Cirque du Soleil), she gathered us for a group photo. I would post it but I won’t do that to my fellow pole dancing girlfriends. I can tell you though that there were some subtle differences in the before and after. What I walked in with was a group of carpooling, soccer toting, goldfish dispensing Mamas. What I walked out with was a harem of confident, sashaying, into their-own women who will be forever bound by an experience that only lasted an hour. But what an hour it was. In the words of Henry Adams, “friends are born, not made.” I am glad we were able to “hatch” some new friendships during a night of merry-making.

Mid Week Funny - Preoccupation Pottyitis

We all pray for the day – the day when our little angels can use the potty all by themselves. We all expect it to happen in one day just like Dr. Phil said it would if we followed his potty party in a day philosophy. Well, I can tell you folks, it ain’t always that simple. For us, the day was more like two months but once she got it, she got it. No more pull ups, no night-time accidents and hallelujah, no more diaper bag. Well, hold on there, almost.

We still deal with what I am terming “preoccupation pottyitis.” P-squared for short. This is a self-inflicted illness that commonly occurs in toddlers and small children in which playtime or some other mind inhibiting activity causes the child to wait until the very last second to rush to the potty in hopes that he or she will make it. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they don’t. It typically occurs following an hour of an adult asking the child every 30 seconds, if she or he needs to use the potty.

Preoccupation pottyitis struck us last week. We were in the mall play area and my daughter looks up with that panicked look mouthing the words, “I’ve got to go potty.” You would have thought that Nieman Marcus was giving away free Chanel bags if you had seen me grab her hand and tear through the mall at speeds unheard of in the posh Cherry Creek Mall. We rounded the corner where the sign points to the restroom and the big W comes into view. I crash through the door without a glance in either direction with my eyes like laser pointers to the first stall door I could find.

I knew time was of the essence so I pulled down her pants and placed her on the potty. Whew, we had made it. However, as is typical of our visits to public potties, a conversation ensued between us about avoiding germs, not touching anything, etc. Once we were finally put back together, our exit took place in a much calmer manner. I slowly opened the door with my eyes ready to take in the environment for the first time and what the heck???? What’s that guy doing standing in the ladies’ room? A quick glance to the left. Urinals. What? In the ladies room? A slow realization came over me. OH. MY. GOSH. The race was on again. I grabbed Eva’s hand and she was practically flying as we sprinted out of the MEN’S ROOM.

As we exited, the shoe shine gentleman looked our way. I almost burst out laughing but figured I would try a dignified approach. “Um, I think we went in the men’s room by mistake.” He started laughing. “Yeah, I kept thinking I was hearing women’s voices echoing out through the door.” It was at that point that I became oriented with the TWO doors that seemed to be located under the W sign. Had I looked more closely I would have, of course, seen the M that was more prominently placed near the door we had entered, but hey, I had a full blown case of preoccupation pottyitis on my hands.

We did go into the women’s room to wash our hands. It was lovely in there. Mommies and children talking potty. Plenty of nice scented soap and towels. And, it was pink. Hmmmm..I think.

As we exited again, all three men sitting in the shoe shine seats stared and chuckled as we made our way past. In my 20s, I would have been horrified. 30s would have brought embarrassment. 40 – what the heck. It isn’t every day you get to see the inside of the men’s room.

Love is in the Air

Love is in the air… you know what I mean. For some of us, it is in the air all day every day all year long. But for the industry of love, it comes but once per year. The day on which we shall declare our love to those whom we hold dear through flowers, chocolates, jewelry; well, you know the spiel.

I will partake. I always do. And, I like it. I love holidays. I love the opportunity to go shopping (another excuse) or be crafty to create the perfect declaration for my beloved. But, I know, as most of you that those trinkets do not really represent the depth of our feelings. I have just fallen for the racket. And that is ok.

This year, however, I have been having a bit more reflection on this holiday. Personally, it has been a year of growth and awareness of what is most important to me. I feel so blessed and happy for my family, friends and wonderful life. Valentine’s Day is one more opportunity for me to tell those close to me how much I care.

Beyond that, this year, more than ever, is a time to reflect on broader declarations of love. Fear is running rampant in all corners of society. People are stressed and anxious. Editorial Columnists are writing about it every day. They are encouraging hope and faith. I particularly liked the message of togetherness communicated by one yesterday. She didn’t sugar coat it. It sucks. She did however point out something very simple but profound – we are in this together. Just like we are in this life together, on this planet together and when we die we will also join together in that.

What better time than on the upcoming day of love for us to open our hearts beyond our sweethearts, children or friends. What better time to focus love on our fellow travelers, our planet, ourselves. Now is the time, if we have not done so already, to begin the practice of unconditional love. For any of you familiar with A Course in Miracles and its interpretation written by Marianne Williamson, you know that now more than ever we must let go of all of the fears that grip our conscious and unconscious selves and begin the practice of love. Love is the true healer of all woes.

It’s a simple practice really. Simple AND one of the most difficult. To think and act lovingly. To work towards eliminating negative thoughts and replace them with love. To think about why we do some of the things we do. Like gossip. Why do we do that? Or, despite our best efforts, picture ourselves better than another. Why do we do that? Or try to control someone else or a situation. Why do we do that? Or, question ourselves beyond reason to the point where we deduce our value. Why do we do that? There are a million more. I can’t answer each one except to say that from my experience, fear is usually at the root.

Some of us have the ability to start this practice at any point. For others, a little extra encouragement is needed like that of New Year’s when we take the time to make resolutions. There is no better day than Valentine’s to begin the practice of unconditional love. This practice does come with a warning however. Some may not be comfortable with this new practice (one of them being your Ego!). That is because they are still steeped in fear. However, love has a way of rubbing off. So, stay vigilant and there will be results. The most miraculous one is that you will actually feel better and more at peace. And we all need a little peace right now!

“Fear less, hope more; Eat less, chew more; Whine less, breathe more; Talk less, say more; Love more, and all good things will be yours”

-Swedish Proverb

The Fanfare of 40

I think 40 is trying to tell me something. It all started Friday – right before the BIG night. That little tickle in the throat that could result from a dry elevation with no humidifier or a precursor to other things. Not something you can do anything about and certainly not something that was going to come between me and my 40th birthday celebration. I downed a coffee to recharge and forgot all about it.

The limo pulled up promptly at 7 p.m. and we dashed out the door, our daughter’s screams echoing in our ears at being left with a sitter. After a quick photo moment, we pulled from the curb to pick up the rest of the crew. For a few minutes, the guilt of my child’s angst threatened to put a damper on the night but then the Cristal started flowing and I came to my senses – after all, it is only like the 5th time in 1.5 years we have left her at night with a sitter. I know, I know, we need to get out more.

The night was perfect and I give a big thanks to my wonderful husband for that. It had all of the perfect ingredients: great friends (we kept it small: three couples who are so close to us that I provide them as my emergency contacts; for those of you who don’t have kids, it’s tough to explain), quality champagne (Dom was added by our friends to the mix and for one night, all of us forgot we were in a recession), excellent cuisine at one of Denver’s best restaurants (including photo opps with the Anaheim Ducks – we were in a debate as to whether these very fit young men were in town on business or prepping for a bachelor party; of course, I had to find out – enjoying a healthy dinner sans alcohol before taking on the Colorado Avalanche the next day; btw, the Ducks won), dancing to techno (great reminder: I never want to be “out there” again) as well as some other unique entertainment. I would go into details but as the saying goes, “What happens in downtown Denver during a 40th birthday celebration, stays in downtown Denver.” We actually stayed out past the witching hour rolling into bed in time to get enough sleep before sunrise. I stayed true to my golden rule while drinking: downing plenty of water and two Advil at bedtime.

The room spinning should have been my first clue. The second, awaking prior to sunrise by no prompt other than my body screaming at me for inhaling probably a bottle of champagne. The third, well let’s just say that my stomach is still reminding me not to touch alcohol for long while. My husband, dear that he is, woke up quite refreshed and spent the morning occupying my little angel. By mid-day, I was actually on the re-bound and it was only then that the tickle became somewhat noticeable again. It was all downhill from there.

My actual birthday was spent in bed with a horrible migraine and a sore throat that wouldn’t quit. I was taken back to the days of adolescence prior to the tonsillectomy when I could have sworn someone had implanted knives throughout my entire mouth cavity. Aren’t tonsillectomies supposed to eliminate sore throats for the rest of your natural life? Ha!

The pain worsened and I finally drug myself to the Doc. I had an eeking suspicion it could be strep. It had been running rampant at my little lady’s preschool but luckily she had not contracted it. Or had she? Her teacher informed me she could be a carrier. A carrier? Huh? Sure enough, strep it was. However, the good news was the meds! They almost eliminated every trace of the illness within 24 hours. I almost am thanking the Lord that it was strep. Otherwise, I would probably still be squirting the Chloraseptic, popping Advil and Tylenol and lying in bed. I actually cooked for my family tonight.

Ok, ok, the story got away from the real question at hand. What is 40 trying to tell me? It came in with a bang and passed in a fog- hmmm... well, I am deducting:

• Enjoy life!; however, apply the wisdom obtained during the 20s and 30s to moderate just how much…ahem…
• The glass half full theory is the way to go. Strep sucks but having to live a whole day hearing a plethora of jokes about being 40 trumps it
• Eckhart Tolle is right…embrace the Now as we never know what tomorrow brings
• Suck it up, buttercup – you’re 40, baby, it’s time to let the good times roll!!