I am a very nice girl. I have a very nice apartment on the gulf and a very nice college degree and a very nice boyfriend who also has a very nice job and we go to church together every Sunday and go on nice dates to nice places and just met each other’s nice parents.

Reader: Why am I reading this blog? This girl sounds like a total stuck up bitch! But wait…

Wait… I had a very nice boyfriend. The trouble started with a jar of pink Manic Panic and some not-so-nice girl highlights. And the very nice boyfriend saw them and told me “only people who want attention dye their hair crazy colors” and three weeks and three thousand arguments later, I was getting dumped while we waited to be seated for another very nice dinner date because, as it turns out, I’m not such a very nice girl after all.

So then I was a not so nice girl with no prospects, fading pink hair, and ten extra pounds from all those dinner dates. The thought of hacking the fat off with a dull knife held more appeal than the idea of going to the gym, and my short attention span made running in place for 30 minutes basically impossible. But if Heidi Montag taught me anything, it’s that cutting off the body parts you don’t like never helped anyone, so I guessed I’d have to find something else to do.

One of the ladies at work is a stone cold fox and also super friendly (traits that don’t often go together) so I ask her what she does to work out… pole dancing??? And so this blog and my pole dancing career began…

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