My Inner Stripper Part III

The Indian Warrior is a pole dancing move wherein you hurl your body around the pole using your leg as an anchor and follow through with your body's natural swing as you hold onto the pole with one hand......piece of cake, right?  Actually, out of all the moves our little sexpot instructor tried to teach us--this was the only one we could sort of do.   Kind of.  O.K.....we were just plum terrible.....

I was really working hard, sweating my ass off, and trying to channel my inner stripper.......and she was nowhere to be found. I was about to attempt this move for the 65th time when I heard a blood curdling scream punctuated with f bombs.....turning towards the noise, I saw my sister-in-law heaped in a pile on the floor...."Oh my God!"  She screamed, "I just hit my pelvis so hard on this effing pole!"  As she rolled around in the fetal position, I wiped the sweat from my brow and ran to help her up. 

Weak and hobbled, we decided to take a much needed champagne break. As we plowed through the bubbly and surveyed our bodily damage, it became apparent that we were never going to be true performers.  We were 40-year-old women who didn't have the same elasticity and flexible vigor we once had in our twenties.  We felt like old dogs trying to learn new tricks.

As I turned to look at myself in the mirror,  flashing a smile and a wink, I fixed my birthday tiara and matching boa......wanting to be the best I could be and feel SEXY @ 40!  I imagined myself spinning on that pole, dressed in some hot outfit, the crowd going crazy with adoration and amazement....throwing gobs of money at me......WOW!   I was really getting lost in thought....feeling so carefree and empowered.....then it all came to a screeching halt. 

My daydream was cut short by a little voice and finger poking me on my shoulder, "Ma'am, here are the band aids you requested for your feet."  My 15 seconds of exotic dancing fame had ended and I had nothing to show for it but blisters.....and a $1 bill my best friend tipped me......only because I begged for it.

My Inner Stripper Part II

We were greeted by our instructor, Becky, who was so cute and bubbly and she was also teeny tiny--a 5'1" treat.  She was an ex-dancer who now taught classes and loved the art of pole dancing.  With that, she cranked up Alicia Keys "Fallin'" and went to town flipping herself up down and all around her pole.  It was unbelievable.  Her twists and turns defied gravity and physics--she was the only human invertebrate I'd ever seen.  Seriously, the Cirque De Soleil peeps had nothing on this girl--she was made of rubber bands and muscle. And not only were we uber impressed with her skills, but she had such a way with her moves.  She really owned her sexuality and threw it out to the universe.....she was mesmerizing....we had total "girl crushes" on her.....the three of us wanted to be THAT girl....

To begin, we went over some basic do's and dont's of pole dancing:  DO use your body weight to pull yourself around, DON'T jump and leap while trying to force moves---we learned the hard way why one shouldn't leap and jump on a pole---lots of pain and injury.......we hoped to achieve Demi Moore status in Striptease but we were more like Jamie Lee Curtice in True Lies....bumbling fumbling idiots.  We were catastrophic strippers.  Shame.

The first move we learned was called the Indian Warrior........Yowsa Kimosabe!!!!!

to be cont'd.......

My Inner Stripper Part I

For my 40th birthday my sister-in-law and best friend surprised me with an afternoon of private pole dancing lessons.  I was told to be ready at 3pm and wear comfy/workout clothes--and that was all the intel I received. 

They arrived at my house and covered me in all sorts of "I'm 40!" costume paraphernalia.  I'm sure I looked ridiculous but I couldn't see due to the massive blindfold they tied around my head.  They secured me in the backseat of the car and handed me a plastic cup of champagne----my birthday celebration had officially begun........

Our destination was a place called The Girl's Room......a big studio with mirrored walls, wood floors, and several poles.  For the next 2 hours the three of us were going to become the girls in baggy sweat pants and the Reeboks with a strap who turn around and give our big booties a slap--HEY!  We were ready to get Low.....I was diggin' it, man. This was a great way to feel young, sexy and fun---not like a washed-up 40-year-old....

 Let the games begin!     

To be cont'd...........

A Mommy's Back-To-School Poem

Summer was fun
But now it's done
School started today
And I'd just like to say...

I'm so stinkin' excited to be sitting here by myself enjoying my coffee!

College, Cold Cuts & Cars

My junior year in college I decided I needed a "kick ass" summer job--something totally cool and fun. Something different.  But what?  I perused the papers and want ads, there was no Monster.com or Job Boards back then.  It was all paper and word-of-mouth.  One day while walking across campus, I noticed a flier that caught my eye....Oh My God!  THIS was exactly the kind of extreme summer gig I was looking for.......an audition to drive the Oscar Mayer Hot Dog Car across the country and work PR at events!  Are you freaking kidding me!?!?!?!?  I was going to land this job AND I was going to be the best wiener car driver EVER.  Bring it!!!!!!!

I went to the first interview and nailed it.  I was carefree and fun with just a hint of silly....I had the judges in the palm of my hand.......suckers.  Time went on and the competition grew more intense.  I ended up in the final round...it was coming down to the wire....I was even practicing my acceptance speech: "I'd like to thank you all for this opportunity, on behalf of all hot dog-eating Americans, I promise to serve you well and make you proud.  GOOOOO Oscar Mayer!"  This was in the bag.

It came down to me and another girl named Roxanne.  Guess who won.  Foxy Roxy.

I was completely devastated.  And really irritated!  I mean, seriously, I was the All American girl, the cheerleader, the one who really ate hot dogs when this chick was probably taking diet pills.  This whole set-up was completely bogus and I felt so inadequate.  Her hair was bigger (it was 1989), her boobs were bigger, even her smile was bigger.....I just couldn't measure up.....literally......36-24-36.....the girl rocked it from here to there and everywhere...

But really....when it was all said and done...my worry and fear was not about her physical appearance over-shadowing mine....it was about the fact that I couldn't even get a job driving a wiener car.......how would I ever make it in the real world?  That was the last hot dog I ever ate.

Bewitched or Blazing Saddles

My daughter's friend, Riley, is a total trip.  No other way to put it.  She tells fantastic stories and can weave an amazing web--a designing woman in the making. If she is sellin', I am buyin'!  And so is everyone else.

My son is mesmerized by her charm and art of storytelling.  He'll believe anything she says; partly because she's mastered the art of persuasive selling at age 11 but mostly because he thinks she is a total fox. And she really is a cutie-pie.

Recently, we got on the topic of habits and my son asked her directly about her nose twitch. It's not an irritating movement at all, more like a cute nose wiggle that reminds me of Samantha Stephens. Patrick was staring at her one day and after a few minutes he said, "Why do you always move your nose?"  She looked at him pensively and then opened her invisible book of tall tales....which led to one humdinger of an explanation....

Riley explained that her nose twitch was the result of a surgical mishap.  She told Patrick that several years ago she had an operation to fix a problem in her neck and the nurse told her, prior to anesthesia, she would have a side effect from the surgery.  BUT, there were two side effects and Riley was able to choose which one she'd rather live with:  a nose twitch or constant farting.  

Patrick's eyes were as big as frying pans as he listened to her preposterous story; he was buying every word.  She continued, "Really, it was an easy choice.  I couldn't imagine walking around trying to talk to people and farting between every word....so I went with the nose twitch."  

Oddly enough, my kids had just watched the campfire scene in Blazing Saddles.  The one with all the men sitting around "out-gassing" each other. As I watched my son, I could see those wheels turning in his head as he imagined Riley in that scenario--tearing it up every few seconds. My little guy nodded his head as he considered her words and very proudly replied, "I think you made the right choice.  You're pretty smart."

Diggin' Your Thoughts

I've heard from many of you--a big thanks! Let's keep the Sassy Train rolling full steam ahead so please send me any thoughts you have.......
Again, I'll be adding some contributing male writers to my blog and would love to hear from you with regards to questions you'd like answered or topics discussed......let's talk turkey with our menfolk and find out what they are really thinking, hating, loving, whatever.......send your goods, bads and everything in between to  kelly@kellyvonsassypants.com    

And don't forget to be AWESOME!!!!!!!

LOL, LMAO, TBH.....WTF???????

It seems texting and messaging have significantly impacted human socialization--and I hate it! I'm the type of person who enjoys conversation.  Remember talking?  Actually looking at a person while engaging?  As opposed to sitting 2 feet from someone while texting them?  JEEZ!  Where did we go wrong.....

When I was growing up, we had two acronym "phrases" that we used: LYLAS and BFF.  And these were even used sparingly....writing notes in class......signing yearbooks, etc.  Something like, "Have a bitchin' summer!  History was a blast!  LYLAS!"  These were impactful sentiments and you didn't need a tutorial to keep up with what all the abbreviations meant.

I am so tragically unhip when it comes to this stuff--I have no idea what 90% of  "text-speak" means--I just figured out LOL and LMAO and I refuse to use them.  I'd rather tell someone that I think they are hysterical--who wouldn't want to hear that?

With all this silly stuff on the rise, I fear our conversations will soon be reduced to just a bunch of scrambled letters with supposed meaning:

Person 1: Hey!  KLODKOTGISMNNKXMLLOONDCF?
Person 2: Yes! OOOPPLEDNUGGGTTTDCV?  FRUIOJNGFGHJKSKSKWWWWWWWW!
Person 3: I totally agree! 

When this happens, I guess I'll just have to throw my phone away.  I think I'll just tie two tin cans together with a piece of string and carry it with me on the off chance someone really wants to talk to me from a distance.  OMG!!!!!!

Victory Prance

When it comes to displaying their natural response to victorious moves on the field, my kids could not be more different.  My daughter is intense and introspective, and when she scores a goal in soccer, she jogs back to her spot with a satisfied grin while her teammates high five her and pat her back.  She displays the kind of humbled charm that is so rare--no fanfare, no "look at me!", just a classic smile that speaks volumes for her sportsmanship.  My son, however, is a different story entirely...

P-man is the Rodney Dangerfield of sports.  He is a good athlete who loves to fire up both the team and crowd with full-on razzle dazzle ballyhoo. For a long time, his show stopper was cartwheel turning.  If he scored a goal or touchdown--he'd start spinning his body all over the place--finishing with a big "ta da"!  The kid is the biggest ham ever created. 

Recently, I showed my kids a couple funny parts from Monty Python's Holy Grail and they ate it up--which I loved!  The following week at his game, my son scored a goal and immediately followed it with a side gallop while clicking imaginary coconut shells.  His "King Arthuring" made me beam with pride.  Especially when he remembered to pull back on the invisible reigns of his invisible horse......