Take life by the pole

When I turned 16 I ran out and got my driver’s license.

When I was 24, I graduated from college with a degree in journalism.

This weekend, in Las Vegas, I will officially become a certified pole dancer. I’ll get a certificate and everything.

I’ve wanted to take one of these courses for a long time, but it’s not like they are plentiful in Napa. I think they should be, though. Gyms in big cities boast that these are the most popular fitness classes they offer. I’d love to cruise down to Exertec and bust a move on some poles while burning hundreds of calories.

My girlfriends and I will actually be in Vegas for my friend James’ bachelor party. But we figured that while the boys were off watching actual strippers do their nasty thing at some high-priced club, we should make sure we had the equally awesome moves when we got home.

The class boasts the following facts: It’s open to anyone 18 to 80. More than 25 actual strip club moves taught. Includes choreography with boas, chairs and poles.

Well, thank heavens there was a choreography session. I’d hate to see them just let us jump up on any old pole without any advice. I can just see the pole burns now.

And 18 to 80, huh? I guess I’ve met some spry 80-year-olds in my day, so I shouldn’t doubt their skills. If there’s any in my class, I need to be sure to give them major props for keeping it spicy.

No pole at home? No problem! A simple Google search tells me you can buy one for a mere 100 bucks. I’ll have to look at my lease and make sure there isn’t an “anti-stripper-pole clause.”

The packages range from $40 to $125. We have opted for the cheap one, which included the class, a cocktail and, of course, a license showing I’ve completed the class and am a “genuine Las Vegas stripper.” The cocktail is genius, because leaving your inhibitions behind may not be easy for everyone. For my sake I hope it’s a strong drink.

As far as I can tell, the more pricey classes just include things like T-shirts. I can picture the T-shirt without laying down the $125. It will be teeny tiny and have some saying like, “I survived a Stripper 101 class. Wanna be my pole?”

I figure at the end of the class, I will not, by any means, be an expert pole dancer. I will most likely start giggly and nervous about my good friends seeing me all sexified, but I figure the skills I learn may come in handy later on a Vegas dance floor.

They don’t call it Sin City for nothing.

Girl on the Go appears every other week, alternating with Jennifer Huffman’s Surrendering to Motherhood. Contact Michelle at mchoat@napanews.com.

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