Learning to Make it Rain

Lately, I’ve been on a quest to broaden my horizons, expand my interests so to speak, in an effort to enjoy a more fulfilled and satisfying life (and expose myself to more fodder for this blog..hahahahahaaa). So far, I’ve joined a wine club and tried bikram yoga (or as some may call it “hot yoga”, 90 minutes in 105 degree room, clothing minimal, sweat maximum).

On Saturday, I faced another feat and tackled the pole. And by pole I mean of the strip club variety. A friend of mine for her birthday wanted to take this class and found a place which offers a private class for birthday, bachelorette and divorce parties (at least that’s what it says on the flyer). Those who know me can attest that if it sounds like fun, I’m usually down for the cause. So it probably goes without saying that I checked HELL YES I WILL BE THERE on the evite! LOL

While I was super psyched about this class, I was also super exhausted before it was time for me to leave for this class. Besides the torrential rain here on Saturday, I had been out all day in the rain (not singing in it AT ALL). I sooo wanted to give in to the calls of my 550 thread count on my bed but I quickly shut the door to my bedroom and packed a bag of gym shorts, my Nike Rebel tank top and uber high stripper-esque black patent leather platform stilettos. Pictured here:

I greeted the bday girl with a hug and a squeal, dashed into the restroom to change my clothes and was ready for action. The first hour was easy. We learned how to walk around the pole, frame the pole, and perform body waves against the pole. Some of us attempted to slide down the pole. When it was my turn, I was stuck. Like my legs were stuck to the pole thus there was no sliding going on. Sensing my deflation, the instructor informed me that me being stuck to the pole was actually a good thing, especially when it was time to climb the pole and swing. Swing???? On the pole???? What. The. Helllllll????

For the second hour we entered into a bigger studio with a pole for everyone. We pulled the curtain back and saw about 8 poles set up on the floor. The glee and awe was palpable. We met our instructor who I like to call Sergeant Stripper. Sgt. Stripper was no joke. She immediately started teaching us routines like we were auditioning for “So you think you can strip?”

Within 15 minutes with Sgt Stripper, I was beginning to feel moisture on my freshly pressed hair. Damnit I just got my hair done and I’m not going back to the salon until the week of the dreaded Turkey Day. But as I swung around the pole and hooked my ankle on the pole to hold my body weight as I leaned forward, I could care less about my damn hair (of course the euphoria wore off when I looked in the mirror at the restaurant later). The swish of wind created during one of the many twirls I would do that night lifted me to a place I never thought I could quite reach. The sexual confidence is something no one can escape. It’s a defiant power I noticed when I caught a glimpse of myself in the wall of mirrors opposite my pole. Who is that vixen looking back at me??? Now I get what Beyonce is talking about with that alter ego stuff. Janelle, meet your alter ego, Sasha. Sasha, meet Janelle. (Sidebar: At one point Sasha used to be my fake name in the club. I’m stealing it back from Beyonce. Hahahahahaha).

Sasha will be beginning classes of the pole variety as soon as Janelle finishes paying for this damn baby shower. Sgt, Stripper, this is Private Sasha reporting for duty, sir!

(PS: 2 days later, I’m sore as hell. My thighs, my arms, my abs, my bootay – ALL SORE! I’m walking stiffer than John McCain. I gotta give props to the chicks who shake what they momma gave ‘em on the pole and make it rain for several hours repeatedly. This is hard work. For real!!!! Oh and I'm NOT quitting my day job; I'm just building my skill set! hahahahaaa)

( I wonder how long it will take me to do this?!)