5-30-08

When I was a teacher-librarian there was a pole in the story corner. At one time it supplied power to the nearby student computers, but when those moved, the pole stayed. One day my principal suggested it was pointless to have a pole there. I gracefully swung around the pole and said, "Oh, don't take my pole." Speechless, she left, but she never again mentioned removing the pole.

What would that be like? I wondered. I've always been the sexiest dancer in my living room, but that isn't saying much.

6-6-08

I've called to sign up for the Pole-lates class. On the website it describes it as the love child between lewd entertainment and the ultimate body control of pilates. I have to be 18, in fair health, and I can't take it for the purpose of becoming a professional pole dancer. A portion of the proceeds are donated to a charity that benefits women and kids so I'm feeling reassured that it is a legitimate and healthy pursuit for me. It seems a way to combine my desire for social justice with a sexy workout.

Kurt is very excited about me taking these classes.

"It's not about you," I tell him.

"Yeah, but" he grins sheepishly and shrugs, "it's pole dancing" as he checks me out in my tank top.

6-27-08

Today I send in my medical history, client responsibility and check to hold my spot in the intro. classes. I'm also ordering a pair of lyrical suede sandals which are basically sexy thongs for my feet that will help me grip. In the packet I am asked, "What are your current goals in experiencing pole dancing?" I write, "I love to dance, but feel I'm too old for the hip-hop-rock-your-body classes offered locally. I would also love to strengthen my abs, butt, upper body and learn to 'see' my after babies body differently."

8-7-08

Pole-lates starts tonight. I emailed a friend about my fears and she said, "You are going to be ridiculous on that pole." Is that ridiculous like "Check out that bad ass girlfriend?" or ridiculous like I will be ridiculed? I still don't know what to wear.

Later…

I walk in and there is another pilates class going on. The owner takes me on a tour of the pole room and I meet another dancer which I judge to be college age, I'll call her Penelope.

She immediately asks me, "What other dance training have you had?"

I stammer, "Just high school, for fun. You?"

She relays her training on her fingers, "Jazz, tap, ballet, modern, and hip hop. Plus I've done pageants for years." I smile back my anxious response.

Once we start dancing, I see in the mirror that she can't sexy walk. She's so trained that she doesn't know how to strut her stuff. In fact, her right shoulder juts forward with her right leg. Are you kidding me? I can do a lazy stripper swing walk around the pole with my eyes closed. I've been doing sliding hip circles for almost twenty years while I fold laundry. And I can do a fly around. I wrap my foot around the pole and as the name implies…I fly around. However, I think I may have bruises tomorrow.

The two teachers show us different styles and attitudes. The older teachers says, "If you don't know what to do with your hands, you can put them on your hips."

The younger teacher adds "Or you can run your hands up the sides of your body and tweak your nipples."

Tweak my nipples? I can honestly say I've often wondered what to do with my hands and that has never, ever occurred to me.

There is a track of Paula Cole's Feelin' Love that plays repeatedly for the entire last half of the class. She sings about the Amazon running between her thighs and her wet t-shirt and a candy apple and then that line I've never quite understood, "Damn Skippy Baby" or is it "Dance with me, baby"? I have no idea.

"Pole Dancing…it's not for pussies" is the t-shirt for sale. I wonder where I could even wear that shirt? To bed? Maybe, but my kids can read. I agree with the saying "it's not for pussies" because the athleticism of the dance has left an impression on me.

I want to get better. Where could I practice before next week? The only poles I know of are at elementary schools and that just doesn't seem right. I'll have to be on the lookout for local poles off school property. The Center has them for sale, silver steel poles for $300…I imagine…

Mother-in-law: "What's this?"

Me: "The kids needed a place to attach their Velcro pawed stuffed animals so I installed a pole."

Or maybe: "I'm training for the volunteer fire department."

It could work.

8-14-08

I was sore for three days after the first class, but I returned eager for the second. Today I attempted a "cootchie shot" which is a very difficult move and relies on strong arms to support your weight on the pole while you shoot your legs up in a horizontal "v." I marvel at the juxtaposition of my Thursday. By day, I presented to a large group of educators about assessment and the needs of our students. I am passionate about my respectable work in public education. And by night, I get excited when the teacher complements my serpentine move where I pseudo-hump the pole. I am passionate about getting my "Officer I've been a bad girl" move just right. In education, we write "I will" statements for our students to set our sights on our objectives. For example, "I will elaborate in my writing." I use the same format when I set my objective in pole dancing, "I will strengthen my cootchie shot."

8-28-08

The teachers tell Penelope to let herself go and she says, "I've never been really comfortable with my sexuality so if you can make me a Ho, my mom will be so proud." There are so many things wrong with her statement, I won't even begin, but a certain question tugs at me: Why am I here? I'm not, as Penelope apparently is, here to become a Ho. And I'm not planning to ever perform these moves. I am simply intrigued by the dance. Because while it is a combination of "Officer I've been a bad girl" and full moon circles that I remember from the stripper scene in Flashdance, it's also about power—my power. There is beauty in the vertical steel pole with the soft curving lines of my dance around it.

A woman joined our basic class because she had to miss ongoing pole that week which she has been doing for seven months. I'll call her Stella. She had bright red high heel stripper shoes. I never knew 8" heels existed. In the platform part of the shoe apparently you can have a 'tip jar' as well as put goldfish in there. Not real goldfish though. At least that's what I tell myself.

At the end, I am bending down to remove my lyrical sandals and the younger teacher rubs my hair and says, "You're amazing." And I have no idea why. Was it because I got stuck on the pole and laughed at myself? Was it because I did the backbend all the way to the floor? Are my fly-arounds getting better? Is it because I am the oldest woman in the group and still have my groove? I wonder.

9-20-08

While doing a training for several educators, I asked them to envision something that's been very difficult for them to as adult learners.

"Think about everything you needed to improve your skill." I modeled the process for them, but I had to use golfing as my illustration; I really wanted to talk about pole dancing.

Friday I was so sore. My sacrum ached because of all the floor work we had done: half moons, sternum lifts, bicycle kicks up to a mud flap girl pose. I couldn't even bitch about it. I was on double extra strength Tylenol and every step up to my office on second floor hurt. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Apparently I was wincing. A colleague asked, "Are you okay?"

"Sure," I said, "fine." Because how else do you explain how you think you may have sprained your ass?

I said to my husband the other day as I was climbing into the shower, "Stop checking out my meat curtains."

And he said, "Where do you learn? Oh, Never mind."

It's true. I've picked up a whole new vocabulary set: the pole vernacular.

Today I watched my youngest daughter play on an indoor play structure. She walked around a pole with pointed toes, leaned back, grabbed the pole and swung. Oh my god, I thought, it's hereditary.

I told my feminist friend about my experiences with pole dancing and she screwed up her face and said, "So is it like you are taking back the pole?"

Kind of. I suppose. This didn't start out as any feminist endeavor. It's something my body has been trying to do for years and I just never had names for it like: serpentine, mermaid, sultry stand up and the "the walk." I don't have to take my clothes off and put tips in my shoes to have a good time. It was more of a Green Eggs and Ham thing. Pole dancing was something "those" women do and a woman with self-respect does not, but I shouldn't shun Sam-I-Am until I've tried it. Now that I have, I find myself agreeing with the Cat in the Hat, I would pole dance in a boat with a goat, in a house with a mouse. I do so like pole dancing, damn! Thank you! Thank you! Sam-I-Am.