Pole Party... No, it's not a typo

Man, did I have a busy Saturday. I had three events scheduled in the morning, afternoon, and night. The first was a hike with the ladies from Curves. Then, I had to help Leo sell beer at the local mariachi festival. And last and most exciting, a pole party to finish off the night.

I woke up at 6:30am to get ready for the 9am hike. I don't need all that time to put on my workout attire and shoes but we did need to get there early to find a good parking spot. Since the Curves owner extended the invitation to family, friends, and pets, I towed Leo and he the dog. After a bowl of oatmeal and packing two water bottles, we were off to Mt. Rubidoux.

Curves decided to change the routine by taking our workout outside. Even though it was cloudy, most of us broke a sweat before starting the climb. It took us about an hour to reach the top of Mt. Rubidoux where we took a break before starting a Zumba session.

Leo brought Sparky who represented Curves well.

Elizabeth, me, and Lupe, our Zumba instructor, at 9am.

A hiking we will go...

A view of the city from the top

Sparky, post- hike. We all felt like this but we had to dance.

Zumba-ing at the top of the mountain. 

After the hike, we headed to Butch's Grinders. The early morning workout in combination with the lunch meal made me crash. After about an hour nap, it was time to get ready for the next event. Since I was going to accompany Leo to sell beer at a mariachi festival, I decided to rock my cowboy boots. I watched different folklórico groups perform on stage while I handed thirsty folks red Solo cups of beer. Watching the young kids made me miss my college days when I used to dance. Those were the simple times of zero responsibilities.

The good old days.

Simple times.

After two hours of standing, it was time to go. The balls of my feet hurt. I didn't know how I was going to withstand three more hours of standing in heels at the pole party. That's right, a pole party, not to be confused with a pool party because I don't know how to swim. Elizabeth and Lupe invited me to go to this girls-only event where we were going to learn how to work the pole. A costume was mandatory but my devil one is a long dress, what I assumed to be a no-no for pole dancing. And the other "sexy" costume I own is a pirate one but being that it is from Party City I didn't trust it to stay intact during the lesson. So I decided to keep it simple and dress like a sexy teacher, although it wasn't much of a costume if you ask me. I threw on my white-collar, button-down teacher shirt, my non-teacher mini skirt, and my winter go-go boots. I took off my contacts and put on my glasses for full effect and touched my lips with rouge to complete the "sexy" look. I then headed to Lupe's house so we could carpool in her van-gina, as she calls it. 

Punk Rocker, Kitty Cat, Sexy Teacher

Us at 9pm.

There were drinks, appetizers, and vendors at the party. After getting our drink and food on, Liz, Lupe, and I headed into the pole room. We all took pictures pretending to be professional dancers, of course, before the instructor commenced the lessons.

Me, before learning how to spin.

The teacher began by teaching us how to walk sexy. One foot in front of the other. Sounds easy enough. BUT, you have to walk slooooowly, which is REALLY hard to do in heels because it's like balancing on stilts.

Walking Sexy lesson

Then, the teacher taught us the term Applying the Lotion. None of us knew what she meant until she demonstrated for us. So, imagine yourself applying lotion all over your body. Now, imagine yourself applying it in a slow, sexy manner. That's Applying the Lotion. It's basically feeling yourself up as you dance. We also learned how to walk the pole, spin, and slide down the pole. There were three performances by the professionals and now I understand why pole dancing has become a fitness program. It takes a lot of muscle to pull one self up a pole and stay there. The instructor held herself up with her legs and then her arms. It also takes a lot of confidence to snake around the floor.

Some of the women won a lot of good prizes through the raffles. Bottles of wine, purses, perfumes, and free Zumba and pole dancing classes were given away. I, of course, didn't win anything, but Lupe and Liz did. The instructor offers personal classes for groups of eight or more for bachelorette, birthday, and soon-to-be-single parties. I think this would make an awesome bachelorette party because it's not intimidating at all. So if anyone is interested in hosting one of these, please invite me.

I had a lot of fun. Yeah, I was nervous at first but you get over it. Ladies stop paying attention once they start chatting it up so no one is really interested in what you're doing on that pole other than the teacher. Unless you bring Lupe because she had the camera attached to her face the entire night. Elizabeth and I are just waiting for the incriminating pictures to pop up on Facebook.

Awesome ending to my Saturday with these awesome girls!

A day in the life of

Monday was take-your-girlfriend-to-work day. I set my alarm for 5:30am and got ready to embark on the adventures of a lawyer's daily hustle. 

Leo picked me up at 7am to begin the hour-long drive to the first court hearing. The road trip was an incentive for this shadow game since I'm on vacation and haven't gone anywhere remotely interesting or unfamiliar. The sun shone brightly rising above the mountains, warming my face as it blinded my eyes. Traffic was light and our conversation cut the lengthy ride in half. 

The parking lot in this particular Southern California courthouse was full by 8am. Two lines of people stretched out from the entrances to the parking but Leo wasn't worried. His badge allowed him access  to the front and I followed suit. We took a couple of turns inside the building before finding the right courtroom. Once there, I had to sit on the benches to the left for "regular" folks because the identical benches to the right were reserved for attorneys. 

Leo crossed the Bar, the short wall that keeps us citizens apart from the judge, and began taking care of business. There was nothing else for me to do but to commence people-watching. There was a lawyer sitting in front of the Bar. He was young like Leo. Then the District Attorney walked in and it surprised me that she too was our age. What didn't surprise me was that, just like Leo and me, both the attorney and the DA appeared to be as sleep deprived as we were. I laughed internally at the irony: professionals with at least a decade of education under our belts yet we can't get our ish together and go to bed at a decent time. I blame the demands of the world we currently live in; there just aren't enough hours in a day to work and play. The attorney had managed to dress well that morning despite fighting his itty bitty eyes to stay awake. He made Leo look alert behind his glasses. I noticed that the attorney was wearing a wedding band and I took the liberty of picturing him partying with his wife and their friends in a dark club under a disco ball all weekend.

In contrast to the attorney's appearance, the DA seemed to have rushed to work after snoozing the alarm clock three times like my sister claims to do every morning. She wore a black knee-length skirt, a black and white striped shirt, and a black blazer that didn't match the skirt. She had clearly brushed the left and right sides of her lifeless, long brown hair but had forgotten to make contact with the back of her head where the tangled tresses shined with grease or water or sweat. I checked out her shoes and gasped at how inappropriate the shiny heels were for the courtroom. She had most likely thrown on the first pair she saw on the floor that morning, which happened to be the same ones she had stumbled home in the day before at three o clock in the morning. But the most revolting aspect of the DA was her attitude. When the half-awake attorney asked her a question, she turned the other cheek and answered him rudely with something like, "Yes, I'm the DA. No, I can't help you," as she flipped through papers. I looked so much better in my un-DA salary $22.99 dress from Ross. The knee-length charcoal number with black tabs on the sides to accentuate the waist fit me like a glove thanks to my fake Spanx. I know everything I have said might come off as mean-spirited and that's why bad things happen to me but at least I didn't mention the DA's ginormous double chin (versus my regular-sized one). Leo completed his work soon after the DA snapped at the attorney and off we went to courthouse number two.

The people in the second courthouse seemed to be more stupid than the ones in the previous one. Maybe I was just getting crankier due to my lack of sleep. Either way, I do know that the judge in the second courtroom looked like Anderson Cooper. He was very practical, taking cases every 2.5 seconds and congratulating delinquents or not for making progress with their community service hours as the men and women squirmed behind the podium. I couldn't help but think how embarrassed those law-offending citizens were as their personal business became public. And that's when a question popped into my head: Would I rather be standing there discussing my criminal case in front of other offenders or getting a PAP? I decided that I'd rather get a PAP because I have a clean record. 

Now let me describe the kind of power trips floating around in the courtrooms. One would think that the people in black robes would be intimidating but the judges know how to keep their authority at bay. The bailiffs, however, say and do anything throughout the hearing so you won't forget that they have a gun. Trying too hard is such a put off, if you ask me. The one in charge of the last courtroom, identified as Mexican-American by me and Hispanic by Leo, told some fat kid with too many piercings on his lip not to lean on the wall and to "sit up straight." Then he told me, "Excuse me, ma'am," as he made his way past me towards a skinny kid sitting on the same bench. The felon had his feet propped up against the bench in front of us and like a teacher talking to a student, the bailiff asked him if he put up his feet like that on the furniture in his house. My automatic response: Yes. But the kid lied and said no, feeding the bailiff's power trip to say, "This is my house and you respect my house." Because being Mexican-American isn't macho enough..

There was finally a change of pace when Leo ushered me to the previous courtroom to retrieve more files from his partner. I was excited to have an opportunity to act the part I had dressed for. I hooked my black and white Nine West purse in my arm, hugged the black leather folder I received at my Master's ceremony, and walked past the two sets of doors toward the elevator, pretending I knew what I was doing.  I saw the attorney Leo had sent me to find in the hallway speaking with a couple of clients and I asked for the files. As he handed me a stack that reached my chin, the clients smiled at me like I was someone to be respected in the field of law. That's when I knew that I deserved an Oscar for my performance. I walked away like Reese Witherspoon in Legally Blond and handed Leo the documents after addressing him by his last name.

The court appearances ended at noon which translated to lunch time. After dropping off documents in his office, Leo and I headed to a Mexican restaurant that neither one of us had ever been to. We had heard of Tío's Tacos in Riverside and it's eccentric decor. They recycle anything and everything to make art which ranges from human bodies to a chapel. The restaurant has its own parking lot and three outdoor patios. The food was excellent. Leo didn't want to put down his sopes and was saddened when he physically couldn't finish them. I will also note that they serve chips and salsa with every order. We plan on going back when we are not constrained to one hour. Understandably, that was my favorite part of the the day in the life of Leo. I'd make sure a visit to Tío's Tacos is guaranteed, though, before you commit yourself to a lawyer for the day. 

Freaky art

Rated-R art. There was a smaller version of this with Barbie's face on it that had a water fountain coming out of her vagina.

Aguas frescas galore. My cell phone camera couldn't capture them all in one shot.

I admired the creativity of this condiment holder. 

The chapel. Note the bottles in the walls. 

I'm going going, back back, to...

...Rowan Elementary?

That's right. After 18 years, I stepped on the familiar territory of the elementary school I attended as a child. I accompanied my mother to my first alma mater where she drops and picks up the neighbor's daughter. My purpose: to say hello to my former second grade teacher, Mrs. Valido.

Rowan Elementary

I first met Mrs. Valido in 1989 as Mrs. Abbasi. I remember her well because she had a unique name. She was young and I was glad to be in her classroom because it wasn't a combination class like I had been a part of the previous school year.

I enjoyed watching her interacting with the teacher next door. They seemed to be very good friends. I remember a particular incident when Mrs. Abbasi asked the other teacher if she noticed something different about her. Her friend couldn't figure it out. Mrs. Abbasi gave up and finally told her that her braces had been removed. I felt bad because I hadn't noticed either. In 1990, Mrs. Abbasi changed her name to Mrs. Valido with no explanation to us kids. I don't recall anyone questioning her about it either because we loved her for her, not her name.

A day before the school's traditional Cinco de Mayo celebration, she told me to ask my mom if she would french braid her hair for the occasion; my mom always braided my hair which Mrs. Valido had become a fan of. I related the message to my mother but she didn't take it seriously. Mrs. Valido was waiting anxiously for my mom to do her hair when she dropped me off in class the day of the event.

I was Mrs. Valido's personal helper sometimes. There was one occasion when I let her down. She asked me to color a page with a bear under a sky with a few puffy clouds hovering above. I think she was going to use it as a certificate after she added fancy lettering like many teachers did in the 90s. I was filling in the second cloud with a light shade of blue when Mrs. Valido stopped me. She told me that clouds weren't blue but white. I knew this but opted for the blue clouds because it was easier to color them instead of half the page that made up the sky. She asked the other kids what they thought but none of them seemed to have noticed my mistake so she allowed me to continue. I learned a very valuable lesson that day: never color clouds blue.

My favorite memory of second grade was the autograph book. Mrs. Valido taught us how to make it from scratch at the end of the school year. I didn't understand the purpose until my classmates started writing notes but enjoyed the process nonetheless. I loved it and expected to have a keepsake every year after that but the other teachers never bothered. 

Me in 1990. Don't ever braid your daughter's hair the night before picture day.

Mrs. Valido in 1990

I befriended Mrs. Valido on Facebook a few years back. I sent her a note just in case she didn't recognize my profile picture and to my surprise, she knew exactly who I was. I took the liberty to ask about  the name change and she explained her reasoning, twenty-two years later (Personal details. You understand, right?). That's when I also found out that we share the same birthday! She invited me to come to her class but I never made the time. It wasn't until my mom bumped into her when she picked up the neighbor about a month ago that Mrs. Valido requested my visit "or else." Since I was spending the week with my parents, I knew the time had come for me to go back. 

I drive by Rowan Avenue at least twice a month en route to my parent's house. It looks exactly the same except for a recent paint job. The two playgrounds still house the same equipment--basketball courts, tether balls, volleyball nets, handball walls, and the collapsing wooden storage for the balls, jump ropes, chinese jump ropes, and bean bags. But I hadn't stepped inside the structure since my sixth grade ceremony in 1994. The cement stairs to the main building and the auditorium looked the same; I was surprised that it didn't look smaller than I remembered it because things that I considered big as a kid are not so when I encounter them now. The floor in the hallway was still composed of the shiny, brown squared blocks I walked on almost two decades ago and I felt sad that the school hadn't been kept up or remodeled. The only thing missing was the glass display case where my picture for Writer of the Month would be displayed. Book reports, test scores, and different types of art hung on the walls instead.  

The auditorium where Oscar De La Hoya once stood for an assembly

I followed my mom through the main building. The library wasn't the library anymore but a parent center and the nurse's office still served its purpose. We stepped outside and headed towards the bungalows where my mother waits for the neighbor after school. I took the liberty of walking further to check out the covered eating area and yup, you guessed right, it had also remained untouched. My mom gave me Mrs. Valido's room number inside the main building and suggested I go back to find her while she waited for the little girl. I retraced my steps and waited as my former teacher spoke with several parents. I couldn't believe how nervous I was. My heart beat faster as three parents winded down to two and then one. I guess I was excited to tell Mrs. Valido, Look at me! I am who I am because of you! When she was finally available, I opened up with this line:

Me: Hi. I wanted to inquire about my child.

Mrs. Valido: Okay. Who is your child?

I told her that I was joking and asked if she recognize me. With open arms, Mrs. Valido said my name and embraced me. I took a look around as we talked. I was taken aback when I noticed how similar our classrooms were. She even gave me a mini-lesson on a reading strategy she uses with her second graders to develop comprehension. One of her students walked into the classroom and Mrs. Valido explained to him that I had been her student many moons ago. When he left he said, "Bye, teachers." I couldn't believe that I was standing next to Mrs. Valido as her equal now, as an educator. It used to be my dream and it had come true. 

I heard my mother outside and knew it was time to go. Mrs. Valido had a grade-level meeting to attend anyway so she put on her lipstick and we posed for a couple of pictures. I promised to come back more often during my off-track time and we parted ways. 

Mrs. Valido and me, 2012

Stepping inside my elementary school was bitter-sweet. I missed the innocent days where my biggest worry was writing a book report. But I felt saddened that its appearance hadn't changed since it opened its doors in 1912 (a banner outside stated this fact). Luckily, though, Mrs. Valido hadn't changed much since 1990 either. Perhaps Rowan Avenue elementary concocts its own the anti-aging solution in the basement...

Oscar No-Show

Leo and I headed to the Temecula Valley on Saturday but not because we were in the mood to sip wine. That would have been too romantic. Instead, we went to Pechanga because I wanted to stalk Oscar De La Hoya. I saw billboards along the 215 freeway promoting Golden Boy Promotions a few weeks ago and bought tickets for the fights to be featured on Telefutura.

Boxing has been a part of my life since childhood. This doesn't mean I enjoyed watching the sport as much as I did watching and playing baseball. My uncle was a huge Julio Cesar Chavez fan and we'd gather in front of his humongous television and cheer on the Mexican fighters. I was more in tune with the sport after Oscar De La Hoya came to visit my elementary school after he won the gold medal in the 1992 Olympics. Ms. Tomomitsu, my fifth grade teacher, told us that we were going to go to the auditorium to listen to a boxer. To me, boxers were old men like Chavez and I didn't understand why someone like him would come and talk to us. But the idea was better than staying in the classroom and learning about states and presidents. I had no idea who Oscar was when he came out. I continued to believe that  he was an older man because he was wearing a helmet or a mask. I think it might have been the face guard boxers wear when they spar. As soon as he took it off, all of the girls in my class fell in love while I just fell into a crush. He was wearing his gold medal and he talked about being from East L.A. just like us and attending Garfield High School just like we would in a couple of years. During the Q&A session, the administrator chose one of my friends, a class bully. My buddy asked Oscar if he had a girlfriend because she had an older sister for him. Shows you bullies can be considerate. At the end of the assembly, his people passed around copies of his autographed Olympics picture which I'm sure is boxed somewhere in my parent's garage.

Born in East L.A.: me, Oscar De La Hoya, Cheech Marin

I am now further connected to the sport because my boyfriend is a boxing fanatic and guru. He too was a Chavez fan and wished he could have made boxing his career. He boxed for a time as a teenager and then took on the sport again in college as an exercise regime. We almost broke up soon after we got together because I was a De La Hoya fan and so was my family. Leo was at my house when we watched our first boxing bout together, Oscar versus Fernando Vargas. Oscar took out Vargas in a corner in a beautifully executed manner. My mom and I screamed with joy while Leo sunk into the couch where he growled at me if I directed a word to him.

I've been to the Staples Center twice and sat in luxury box seats.  I've sipped the complimentary beer and munched on chips and popcorn as I watched fighters take on their opponents on the big screen. You see, the box seats are way up high and the ring looks the size of a, well, ring, like those that fit on our fingers. So we were forced to watch the punches from the big screen, without the background noise of the commentators or Letterman's score card. In actuality, one is better off watching the action from the comfort of our own homes.

You can meet celebrities at the Staples Center, big deal. (With Bernardo Osuna)

I told ya, free beer. Pictures don't lie.

See, little ring.

But this time it was different. Oscar would potentially be 30 miles from my home and I couldn't let the opportunity of meeting him escape. I bought two general admission tickets and planned an outfit around my Mervyn's-bought Oscar De La Hoya '92 tee. I'm not kidding. I got black skinny pants from G-Stage last week for $16.99 because my black jeans are fading. Then I found a pair of beautiful Jessica Simpson shoes half off at DSW. My attire was done. The only thing missing were the accessories and I wanted to play off the red outline of the letters on my shirt. I had red hoops and a red bracelet, but I needed a ring. Luckily I found one on sale at Macy's and I was ready to go.

"You are beautiful, no matter what they say, words can't bring you down.."

Since I'm on vacation and not doing anything fancy, I warned Leo that we were going to seize this outing to have a nice dinner before meeting Oscar. We arrived at Pechanga and decided to dine at Paisano's, an Italian restaurant. I've had dinner at said eatery in Rancho Cucamonga but the menus were different. Nonetheless, the food was delectable. We started with the cheapest wines on the menu, White Zinfandel for me and Pinot Noir for him. Then I ordered cheese and spinach ravioli in pesto sauce and Leo got the rigatoni bolognese. Oh man, oh man, was that food scrumptious! I took a bite out of my ravioli and almost melted. Then I dug into Leo's dish and almost fainted. Pasta had never tasted so delicious. For the first time in my life, I allowed another person to eat off of my plate because I wanted to eat off of theirs. I should have taken a picture but I'm trying to quit taking pictures of food so I can upload them and enjoy it instead of making you jealous.

Me with my t-shirt and wine. The restaurant was beautiful.

Next, we headed to our feature presentation. I had imagined a large arena like the Staples Center but it turned out to be a ring in the middle of a banquet room. Even though we were nine rows behind the  ring, the view was excellent--close enough to see all of the action but far enough from the boxer's sweat that showers the audience with every punch. 

Fools in front of us who paid $20 more for "reserved" seating.

I think I look slim here :)

There were six fights scheduled, most of them only four rounds. The folks sitting next to us asked a worker if Oscar was going to be there and she had no clue. Women, I tell you. She said he has made appearances before but didn't know if he'd be present that night. I made it my mission to stalk the first couple of rows around the ring for Oscar's baby-face throughout the night. But he was a no-show. I had even towed my Sharpie so he could autograph my shirt. Then I would have a reason to put it in a 3D frame that I could find at the swap meet to display it in, like some girls do with their over-paid Quinceañera keepsakes. Oscar De La Hoya was MIA, but I found another idol of mine, Mr. Tae-Bo himself, Sir Billy Blanks.

See the cap? Billy is under it.

I'm not going to complain because I didn't get to meet Oscar and steal him away from Millie. I had a great time with my boyfriend. And now I can have sweet Paisano's Italiano dreams....

My Personal Stylist

My friend Sophia entered a fashion competition called Project Style at our local outdoor mall on Thursday. She was given one hour and $200 to put an outfit together. She asked me to be her model because she just gave birth two weeks ago although she already looks great. I accepted the challenge of being on stage in front of a lot of strangers, celebrity judges and hosts like Ellen K from KIIS FM, and walking a short runway. The prize was $1,000.

Mi estilista y yo

Hair- me
Make-up- MAC, but Sophia was the director
Earrings- $9 from Macy's
Collar- $11 from Macy's
Blouse- $29 from Macy's
Bracelet- $9 from Macy's
Purse- $20 from Macy's
Skirt- $80 from Guess
Shoes- $22 from Macy's

There were five competitors. When Ellen K asked an audience member for her favorite style, the lady pointed to us. She called the skirt I was wearing "a classic." When Ellen K asked one of the judges for her pick, the girl also complimented my attire. So when Ellen K was given the results and said there was a unanimous decision, I almost started jumping up and down for Sophia. But Sophia's name was not projected through the speakers.  The d-list celebrity judges voted for a girl whose style I later compared to Kim Kardashian: striped pencil skirt, white racer-back blouse, waist-high belt, faux leather jacket, and sky-rise high pumps. Her attire was typical of what you see on female A-listers on late night interviews. Nothing new. Nothing unique. Nothing that would set her apart from the rest. Sophia might not have won the money, but the endless amount of compliments we received inside and outside the VIP lounge were as good one-thousand dollars. A little girl approached me before the competition to tell me that I was very pretty and another asked me if it was okay to take a picture with me after the event. That is how a real stylist gets paid.

 

My look from behind (Victoria Gardens Facebook)

I'm sure this was the judge looking straight at me, admiring Sophia's styling techniques (Victoria Gardens Facebook)

Contestants, Ellen K, and the winner second to last (Victoria Gardens Facebook)

My friend Esmeralda came to show support

Candid moment

Leo: "I thought this was a style competition." He couldn't come to terms as to why Sophia didn't win.

There were two perks to helping Sophia out. One, we were told by the guy working at Guess that we looked like "out of towners." We giggled like middle school girls when he said that. His words were the ultimate compliment because that meant that we are different, not a production of the mall "conveyor belt," as it was once put in Gilmore Girls. Sophia and I create our own fashion rules, whether it be make-up, hair, or clothing, and we appreciate knowing that our efforts are admired. Two, I got to keep all of the clothes! I guess I had to keep the attire because they fit my body but Sophia didn't even want to take the jewelry for herself. Thank you very much, friend.

If anyone is having difficulties putting an outfit together for any occasion, you can borrow my stylist Sophia at a charge. She will also most likely have what you need hanging in her closet, but rentals are extra.

Read about the master herself at http://lasophialasophia.blogspot.com/2012/09/project-style-fno.html.

Sneak Peek

Project Style 2012