New York City. // Pole Dreams

Lift off in a couple of hours.

Nervous, yes, because I'm an East Coast first-timer.

Excited enough to bring 5 pairs of shoes, three of them stilettoes. I gotta knock them Brooklyn boys dead, ya dig? Bring a little West Coast swag.

Prepared to never come back because I fall in love with Big City Lights so easily.

---

Isn't it beautiful? It's not mine, but by the time I hit quarter century, it will be.

For the past year I have been harboring dreams of becoming a stripper. Well, maybe not a stripper . . . shall we say an exotic dancer? A burlesque performer? A champion pole dancer?

Hate on me all you want. My sense of self, while not entirely complete, has progressed from that timid middle school girl that hid behind oversized jackets that covered my frame to a slightly Narcissitic young woman sporting cut-off wife beaters and a pair of killer stilettoes (see above).

I do not sing. I do not rap. I do not play instruments. And I am certainly no model. This I have come to accept over the years. But there is one dream that I am not going to let go unlived. This is my new obsession, my objective: performing on a titanium pole in stripper shoes. Again, hate on me all you want. Let society's stigma of half-naked dancing influence your judgments. I don't give a fuck. This is my dream, not yours. And my dream will not serve to objectify me.

That being said... my next big purchase (after, of course, the canvas art of Mos Def for my apartment) is going to be a removable dance pole and a set of mirrors for my living room walls. Now, I don't plan on making any money off of this dream. (Unless my boy Mac Boo makes it as a rap superstar and hires me to be backgroud eyecandy. Love ya, Boo!) I plan on living my dream in private for the sole purpose of personal self-development. I love to dance. I love to be sexy. I love when people watch me do both. Like I said, narcissitic. Not to say that I'll take my dream to the streets and offer it up to casual passersby or post performances on youtube for all to see. I wouldn't subject innocent bystanders to that. Oh no, this will be the special treat. The icing on my future husband's cupcake. Pa-dow! Some women can bake pies, others hem slacks. I'll be the only wifey on the block who can twirl. I've already got my first song picked out: In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins... that drum rift in the middle of the song is just sessy.

But, more important than whoever my Prince Charming may be... is the fact that when I picture that beautiful pole in the middle of my kitchen... I can't help but laugh. I can't help but think of all the fun that I'll have with it. I can't help but say to myself, "eL, you're fucking awesome." My dream isn't the most practical application of my hard earned money, yes, that much I will admit. But, neither are my tattoos. I'll leave practically to my mother.


Target Date to Live the Dream: March 1, 2009.

Until then...