This was the final week of the twelve week long torture that was the Bikini Body workouts. It appears that I won't have to be doing the bathroom runway walk of shame after all.  It will definitely be the "eat your heart out, loser ex-boyfriend" sexiness strut.

It was a lot of huffing and puffing, bitching and moaning, and cursing out the trainer with her perfect Samoan Barbie doll body - the Bitch!!! She, and her, "Come on, girls...you can do a hundred more squats. I know you can! Come on!!! Ass to grass! Ass to grass!"



Ugh...f@#k you! and your rock-hard abs, and show-horse legs!

Okay, I just had to get that out of my system. Passive-aggressive, much? F#@k you, too, Self! And the old boyfriend - for good measure! Just... F#@K. Everybody. OKAY!?!

Anyway, I was out for a five mile run at the crack of dawn this morning. Because. I. Felt. Like. It. Who does that!?! And, what is wrong with me? I ruined a perfectly good day to just stay in bed and be lazy, by being motivated to go run? In the cold? Before sunrise? What?!?

So, I'm running and running, and actually enjoying it, when all of a sudden Adnan Sami and his call to prayer, the "Azaan," comes on my MP3. Totally transporting me to the first time I met the old boyfriend when the call to prayer unexpectedly rang on his alarm, which he had forgotten to reset.  He scrambled to shut it off, but it was too late. That beautifully haunting sound will forever stay with me, reminding me of him and all of our theological conversations about things we don't really understand. Why the Azaan popped up on my playlist at that moment - I really don't know.  I was in the zone, running to "Work It Out" with Pitbull and Lil Jon... "Go ahead, girl, work it out. So sexy, so fine, so fiesty." Yes, all of that and more! And then...needle scratching on vinyl...scrrreeeech...ugh! Complete hard-off!!! F#@k you, old boyfriend!!!

Why do we women do that to ourselves? Resurrect the past like we can make a future of it? Clearly things didn't work out with the ex. That's why he's an EX! Only, with this one, we never broke up. I just got sidetracked into prison. But, it's not as if he's been breaking down prison walls to come and see me. So, get over it, Alexa. A better man will come around. Must. Be. Patient.

OMG! Just as I punctuated that last sentence... you won't believe it, but the Azaan just came on...again! What the f#@k? I was just shaking my butt in my chair to Pitbull's "El Taxi," as I'm writing this. I can't explain this. Maybe there's a connection with Pitbull and God? I'm not even gonna try.

Okay, let's move on and talk about my banging body that I've been working so hard to attain.  I was getting so discouraged because I'm not long, sleek and skinny with no appetite. Just the opposite. I'm short, curvy, and I like to eat. More of a JLo type than a Jennifer Lawrence. Then I found myself watching the Univision Latino news report where the women all have bodies like mine, and they dress the way I like to dress - you know, dresses way too short and way too tight, full-on makeup, hair extended to the butt. Then I thought...hmmmm...I'm gonna be alright, after all.

Sometimes, being in prison, it's hard to remember just how beautiful and sexy we are. Our prison sanitation worker uniforms don't do much for our self-esteem. At least they're a deep green which match perfectly with the color of my eyes. That's the only good thing I can say about this outfit. Well, that, and our butts look great in these pants. Someone at design goofed with this one. I don't think they expected our butt cakes to look so yummy in these ugly green pants. Suckers!

I'm taking the next month to focus on diet and nutrition, then it's on to round two of the Bikini Body workouts, along with the Victoria's Secret leg workout. Then, after that, it will be time to bite the bullet and take some prison pictures so that I can have them uploaded on here. I had been trying to keep myself from doing it. I mean, who wants to remember prison, right?

Ah, well, yeah...maybe not. I don't particularly want to find my prison photos in the family album years down the line. I'll be like, "And this was your grandma, when she was in prison..." So, not cute. We'll leave that for the Teresa G's of the world. Perhaps, I'll dig up the old mug shots and post those instead. I can't help that those are out there. Freedom of Information Act and all, you know?

Ok, thank you for checking in. It's coffee time for me.

F#@k my life, twice over! I can't help but laugh out loud at the tragic comedy that is my love life. I'm spitting out my evening cappuccino trying to suppress some serious laughter so I don't choke to death on it.

So, as it turns out, my new friend literally just walked out of my room after giving me some seriously devastating news. Well, devastating to ME. To Caitlyn Jenner...not so much. He's gay, people!!! He's gay! The hot, hot, hot...muy caliente caballero...tall, dark and handsome hottie...is gay, gay, gay!!! What the f#@k!!!

Well, to answer my previous question of "who wouldn't want a prison babe like me"...well, HE, for one, wouldn't! Absolutely, for sure, without a doubt, he wouldn't!

My friend just found out herself a few days ago when he decided to come clean with her. Well, THANK GOD! for his high level of integrity. Otherwise, we would have wasted so much time doing the mating dance with his two left feet. Bummer for me! Oh, joy for the lucky man who gets him in the end. (Just made myself laugh out loud...ugh!)



Ironically, my roommate is writing a letter to her new pen pal. His last name is Begay! Seriously, folks!?! Is this the Universe's way of inserting humor into my dire situation of being desperately single and all alone in this world?

Well, at least that explains WHY my friend hadn't moved in the direction of forcing a love connection between me and her brother. In her defense, she did finally muster up the courage to come and give me the juicy details as to why she hadn't made the introduction. I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for her - to find out that her brother is gay, and that he had been hiding it all of his life. Come to think of it, I imagine that it was way more difficult for him to finally admit the truth to his family.

But, damn! He looks so good! I should have known he was too good to be true for me. An anomaly among 40-year old men. The "he works out a lot" statement should have been the first tip-off. The perfection that was his picture should have been the second. Double damn!!

Well, this brings me back to square one, with absolutely no prospects in hand. At least I did learn something from this brief experience. I learned that I would much rather be single and wait for a man, not unlike Texas Taquito, who has everything I really desire in a man - tall, dark and handsome, sexy, intelligent, educated, successful, a great physique, a great smile, beautiful teeth, strong hands, a head full of thick dark hair, dark eyes, looks sexy in a suit and tie, and equally so in denim. Ummm...why did I ever leave that man behind? Somebody please remind me.

Oh, yeah. Because I'M IN PRISON!!!

I think it's time to pull out all the stops, and just accept every introduction to all the friends, brothers, uncles, and cousins of the women here who have offered. I just have to learn to say yes! every time someone offers. Or at least a half-assed, "Sure, why not?"

This situation is so pathetic. I'm so pathetic!

At least I still have you guys to keep me company throughout the cold and lonely nights left of my incarceration. What would I do without you?

Ok, I have to admit that the thought did cross my mind for a brief instant to call the old boyfriend. But, then, I told myself, "No!No!No!No!NO!!! Don't do it!"

There is no way I could ever see him through the same rose-colored glasses as before. Certainly not after the perfection that was my Texas Taquito, or seeing the deliciousness of that Mexican hottie - even if he did turn out to be gay - he still raised the bar on the type of hotness I would much rather have. After those two, the ex-boyfriend fails to even engage the prison goggles I sometimes have to wear in order to have something decent to look at while I rot in my cell.

Well, ok...Maybe that's taking it a bit too far. It's not fair to him for me to say that. For one, I don't really live in a cell. And, for another, I'm certainly not "rotting" away in here. As a matter of fact, prison is doing a fine job of preserving me. It's really true that we walk out the same age we came in. It seems that the ageing process slows while we are in prison. I'll have to research the phenomenon when I leave here.

Ok, well, so much for all the excitement surrounding the introduction to this handsome specimen of a man. On to the next one. Sadness.

This is the last to final week of the Bikini Body Guide workouts, and then it's the Big Reveal Day! Or, as I like to call it...the walk of shame day!



The body is a bit far from perfect, so it's going to take a lot of guts to sashay down the bathroom runway (way after lights out when everyone is asleep) in just my white cotton prison granny panties. That's the punishment to endure for not sticking to the diet and nutrition plan entirely. Or, it COULD turn out to be the "eat your heart out, loser ex-boyfriend", sexiness strut. Right now, it's still a toss up. Still have an entire week to decide on which way it's going to be for me.

The pressure is on! It's like, just give me cake, please. And, I don't even LIKE cake! (Frosting...well, that's another story entirely.)  Just the thought of not being able to have any, has the effect of me craving it constantly.

F#@k my life!!! Today, I had a gigantic piece of super moist chocolate cake with peanut butter sugar frosting. Yum! Well, I ate half of it, and gave the rest away. But, regardless...what happened to my usual "just fruit, please"? Ugh, motherf@#ker!!! Which just reminded me of the old boyfriend. "Why do you call me motdherf#@ker, Alexa? I do not f#@k my mother." OMG!!! It's just a figure of speech!!! A term of endearment, if you will! Aaaahhhh!!! Get me out of here! Give me CAKE!!! I'm hangry!!!

Well, I work out. That's my new excuse for having the cake. And the accompanying deliciousness that is my daily sugary cup of cappuccino. Well, twice daily.

I won't be feeling so confident when I walk out of here a hefty size 4 (after all the working out / pigging out that I've been doing) when the whole world here is a double zero! Even a size 2 is considered "curvy" around here. A four is a fat cow in need of diet intervention. Or at least a gastric lap band, juice fast, colonoscopy, and a month-long cleanse. Maybe with a little purging in between. But just a little. Nothing too serious.

I have seriously considered giving up meat once again to see if it will make a difference. But then, I'm in prison, so, technically, I HAVE given up meat. At least anything that resembles meat, that is.  I still occasionally eat the "not suitable for human consumption" pseudo beef they serve us. But I do try and stay away.

What am I gonna do to survive all of this culinary torture?  It's not like I can just stroll into a Trader Joes and pick up some fresh veggies and a hot side dish to go hiking with.

Oh, which reminds me to tell you that we are making some progress with the Mexican brother of my new friend here. After days and days of patiently waiting, and at the risk of sounding desperate for a man, I reminded my friend that I was still waiting to see her brother's picture. And...WOWZA!!!! The man is HOT! As is, MUY CALIENTE!!! Tall, dark and handsome, divorced, ONE adult child, educated, has integrity, a great career..uh, oh...maybe a little too good for a convict like me?  Nah! Just kidding. Who wouldn't want a prison babe such as myself?

Which then also reminds me of a lecture we were given the other night that still has us rolling on the floor laughing at ourselves. We were told to make sure we don't walk around here half-exposed because "no one wants our 12 cent an hour ass" around here. So much for my slowly improving self-esteem. We just got capped with a shot of cold blooded reality. But, I know they were not referring to ME. "I" earn 17 cents an hour. Not 12, like some of those other girls around here.

So, regardless, I'm still waiting on the actual introduction to this handsome Mexican man, and I couldn't care less about impressing anyone around here. My 17 cent an hour income is no limitation or impediment to what I'm looking for. The man I'm holding out for will not be needing my prison wages to complete him financially. He'll probably tell me just to keep it and have fun with it, as he should.

Okay...goals for the week:

(1) Must work on rebuilding fractured self-esteem
(2) Keep the assets well hidden
(3) Don't even look up at the nightly man parade that comes in to count us
(4) Keep stalking new friend pressing for introduction to her hot brother
(5) Eat Less. Work Out More!!!

Damn! I called my lifeline this morning for some advice, only to get the equivalent of a dead buzz on the other end of the line. Well, I might as well have, for all the brief moment that he took to dismiss me.

My best friend, my confidant, my rock!...crumbled to man pieces over domestic baby mama drama issues! And, this is why the "no kid zone" flag flies permanently perched atop my fabulously bejeweled tiara.

I had to do everything to refrain from blurting out "What about meeee?" in the middle of his rehashing the crisis of the moment. So, instead, I politely empathized, and mentally ran from that situation.  Not that he gave me much choice. Anything having to do with the police, and unstable exes - I'm out!

So, yeah...what about me? What about f*#king MEEEE?!? (Hmmm...good question!) No, it's not a proposition. It's a panic inducing inquiry... what the f*#k about ME?!?!?

Another great reason to vote for single-dom. I'm definitely better off all alone in this world, rather than having to deal with such issues. Prison is WAY less scary in comparison.

So, why was I calling in the first place? Because I'm panicking now that the time is winding down for me to leave here. And, because I'm human, I'm a woman, and I'm all alone in this world without a man to support me, to encourage me, to remind me of how great I am, and to tell me that everything will be okay. You know, someone to stroke my hair and say "Now, now...you're gonna be okay. I'll make sure of it."

And then the light bulb moment strikes again! Of course! I'm gonna be okay. Why? Because when haven't I been? I've always been way more than just okay.  I'm a hustler chick, a go getter chick, a bow down (to) and don't F*#k with my stacks kinda chick...I'm Weezy da Boss!!!


The good thing about having a best friend like this, is that he is a successful go getter himself. And he's smarter than me. Two great attributes to look for in a rock to lean on when you feel that you just can't go on.

The better thing is to realize that while you might get tired, confused, and disoriented on the journey, the rock is only a temporary resting stop, but you must depend on your own strength and perseverance to move along the path to success.

I forgive my friend for not having taken my immediate needs into consideration this morning.  I know that next week, next month, or next year when I decide to call again, he will be there for me as (almost) always.  At least he wasn't with a patient when I called. Now, THAT would have pissed me off if he didn't step out to take my call. If my cardiologist friend does it in the middle of surgery, surely he can leave his pain managing for a brief instant to attend to MY needs.  I mean, how difficult is it to tell the patient, "Here, take this pill for the pain, and call me in the morning?" Men! I swear!

Well, because I AM the boss of me, I have to figure sh*t out on my own as always. Or, maybe I'll wait for another day to try again, and let HIM figure it all out for me (as always)!

I was really just wanting him to figure out for me whether I want to live at or near the beach, in a historic apartment building, or in a modern high rise. Do I want to be a music industry impresario, or a movie mogul? Should I go blonde, or rock the sultry Latina look? Benz or Bentley? (Meaning, which one is he going to buy for me this time?) Boobs, Botox, or both? Single or married?

Aaarrgghhh!!!! So many decisions to make!!! Weeezzzyyyyy....where are you?!?!?