I keep a LARGE bag of stickers at work, and when I need a little stress relief, I will sit down and play with glitter and stickers. (Yeah, it's silly, but uh... it works for me, alright?). I haven't done this as much as I like lately, as we are preparing for a major audit on the job right now, but when I get a chance, I sit down and work on a card or two.
One that was really funny was a card I made back in April. It was for my book club sista Tracey. Tracey is a REALLY funny chick, and she always refers to herself as the "Best Dancer down at the Pink Pony". The Pink Pony is a popular Atlanta strip club.
Tracey's praise and rantings about the Pink Pony use to amaze and confuse me to no end. I mean, I could tell that she was a professional woman. But she danced at the strip club at night after work and was proud of it??
You know me. I am always learning from people and their situations. I figured that, if this woman could be so proud of being a stripper, well, I could be proud of myself too, in anything I do.
I thought of it as "Pink Pony Pride".
One day, I mentioned this to one of my other book club sistas.
"That Tracey know she love the Pink Pony lounge."
"Girl, don't pay Tracey no mind. She's just joking!"
I was embarrassed that I believed the rantings. It was all a big joke!
But a funny one, no less.
I've wanted to start something new. It has been an interesting idea of sorts. I've wanted to include a short story, some 300-500 words or so, with my cards. This idea is a bit grandiose, but I tried it (once), lol. It looks as if I have to know something really quirky about the person for it to work. (You've seen a bit of this around my blog). Alas, I don't write these much, even though I would love to. I don't pay THAT much attention to people's quirks!
But here's the story I included in Tracey's card. She gave me permission to post it.
It is called Pink Pony Dreams.
Enjoy, and have a great weekend!
Pink Pony Dreams
By LadyLee 4/22/08
The moment had finally come.
Everything Tracey had hoped and dreamed for in life was about to come true.
She was about to get her turn on the shiny silver pole.
She was making her debut at The Pink Pony.
“A dancer,” she whispered to herself while she stood behind the velvet black curtain leading up to the stage. “I’m a Pink Pony Dancer.”
She smiled. She adjusted the bright purple tassels swinging from her nipples and straightened her g-string.
She first saw the advertisement for Pink Pony Dancers on a billboard on I-285, the freeway she took to and from work. Normally, she paid the billboards no mind, but there had been a bad traffic accident, and traffic had come to a stand still. She looked up and saw a picture of a tall leggy blonde dancer pointing straight at her, as if to say. . .
Tracey, we want you. We want YOU to be a Pink Pony Dancer.
Tracey made her way to the median and got off at the next exit. She sped all the way home, running red lights and stop signs as she went. It was a wonder she didn't have a wreck! She parked all crooked up in the driveway of her home, not even bothering to pull the key out of the ignition. Her man Ray-Ray ran outside to see what all the commotion was all about.
"Tracey," he yelled.
She jumped out of the car and ran to him. He caught her in his arms.
“Baby," she said as she backed away from him. She held her hand to her chest, trying her best to catch her breath. "They lookin’ for dancers down at the Pony!”
He smiled, his gold tooth twinkling in the afternoon sun. “Yeah Tracey, you know what's up with that. You gotta go audition. You know you can do it!"
Yes, Tracey already knew she could do it. After all, she’d danced for Ray-Ray at home… often.
But she went to bed that night, a bit disturbed and troubled by it all. She had no idea how she could audition and become a dancer. She had no pole experience. There was more to exotic dancing than bending over in front of some strange man’s face and shaking your behind.
She woke up the next morning and Ray-Ray had done the unbelievable: he’d set up a pole in the living room and anchored it in a large slab of wood. He said he’d bought the pole, but Tracey knew better. She saw a green“Martin Luther King, Jr. Blvd” sign in the closet when she went to retrieve her jacket from the hall closet. A bullet riddled stop sign lay behind a large poster board she'd used last year in a presentation at work. She didn’t say anything to him about that, though. Just got her jacket and headed for work.
He and she both knew she needed that pole.
So Tracey practiced. She practiced so much and so many times that she’d burned her thighs on that pole, sliding down the wrong way on it. She even bumped her head n the floorquite a few times when doing the difficult upside-down maneuvers.
But with practice comes perfection.
After working hard on her dance moves every night, her confidence was on fire. She went down to the Pony and auditioned.
The owner clapped his hands slowly when she finished. He hired her on the spot.
And now… she was about to make her debut. She could hear the DJ cue up a little Uncle Luke…
“Work it out, work it out, work it out now. Work, work…it… out now…”
The music embraced her body. The bass vibrated her teeth and bones. It was that old school club music, something the younger dancers knew nothing about, and it suited her well.
She ran up on the stage, got low a few times for the cheering crowd. (She’d perfected that “scrub the ground” move with her ass long, long ago, you see.)
Then she jumped on the pole, grabbing it higher than any dancer ever had…
And she danced.
Danced like she never danced before.
I ended the story with:
Happy Birthday Tracey. May all your “Pink Pony Dreams” come true.