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.

This week has been focused mostly on getting myself organized for the upcoming new year.  The Bikini Beach Body Workouts are still coming along just fine. The end of week four has just breezed on by. The body is a little less sore, and a lot more firm! I now look forward to jump squats and pushups! Can you believe?!? The motto for my new life is "My Body is My Billboard".

Unfortunately, the way we present to the world on the outside, determines how most people perceive us to be on the inside. For example, a tired, bloated body conveys that its' owner is typically lazy, unmotivated, and unconcerned with appearances. How can a woman claim to be a winner who has it all together, if she can't even control the most basic things in life - her "self"? The same holds true for other things - like the excessive use of alcohol, over-spending, bad relationships, drugs, etc.

Realizing that we alone hold the key to our happiness is the first step to taking control of, and changing those things in our lives that make us unhappy. Just by the simple acts of reclaiming our lives and taking responsibility for everything that "happens" to us, we can set ourselves free to chart the course for our futures - to live the lives we have always dreamed of, but were too afraid of, or too dependent on others to realize.

Prison has changed me in so many positive ways.  I am definitely not the same woman I was just four short years ago.  One of the greatest changes I've realized, is knowing that I am the only one responsible for where I am right now. God didn't choose for me to be here, my parents or upbringing didn't lead me to a life of crime, the risks of being a lawyer didn't see my way in here. No, none of that is to blame. I am to blame. The decisions I made (or chose not to make) are what got me into all of this mess. Now I, alone, have to live with the stigma of being a convict, a criminal, a felon.

So what does this all really mean in today's world where everyone seems to run the risk of incarceration? Well, what it doesn't mean, is that I have to sit and cry about my "bad luck", my poor decisions, the lack of a prosperous outlook for my future in the eyes of society. It means that I have to let go of the past, and focus on building the future that I envision for myself. No one else is going to do it for me. I have to remind myself that without great risk, there is no great reward. So, with that, I have started mapping out my future, beginning with the here and now.

My present looks bleak by most standards - I'm single with no prospects of finding a mate in the near future, I'm in prison, I'm broke, and my law license is suspended. So, in other words...no husband, no job, no money, and I'm still locked up. What a catch, right? Where does one go from here?

The great news is that I've hit rock bottom, and I can't possibly dig myself any deeper without the use of heavy equipment! And, since I don't own any of that, there's only one way to go from here - straight up that same path that has already been cleared once before. Now, you might be wondering why I would choose to go down that same path. Well, the key is in the phrasing. I don't choose to "go down" that same path, I choose to "go up" it. There are so many things that I have learned on the way down, that can only be useful to me on the way back up - letting the voice of experience lead the way.

Yes, it can be scary at times knowing that I have to start all over, but it's also a very exhilarating time in my life! How many people do you know of that wish they could have a different life from the one they have now? Most of us can easily fall into that category, but because of familial obligations and expectations, or the fear of failure - they can't, or they won't. Most people would rather follow the path of least resistance, than lead the life they've always dreamed of for fear of the unknown.

So here I am, a convicted felon serving out her time in federal prison camp; I'm single and unattached; have no young children to care for; no dog to feed; no one waiting for me to get out so that I can complete them; no work obligations; no deadlines; no expectations. And, suddenly, this life doesn't seem so bad after all for now. This is the ultimate in second chances to get out there and follow my dreams. Yes, I said it. MY dreams. Not the neighbors, not the mailman's, not my best friend's. Are you feeling a tinge of envy yet?

You see, life is all about perspective. Is this the worst that could have happened to me in my lifetime? No, not even close! Will I recover from this experience? Yes, absolutely! Will I be able to reclaim my life, my hopes and dreams - find someone to love, who will love me back? Of course, I will!

And it's all starting right here, right now - today. And, just as I said earlier that my body is my billboard, my mind is the vessel that leads me to this freedom and renewal.

I'm not suggesting that you go to prison to escape your life. I'm saying that it's okay to want something different for yourself...to find a way to make it happen with your freedom and good reputation intact. You start by figuring out what it is you want out of life, setting out clear and verifiable goals, and then figuring out how you are going to accomplish them, and by when.

My beautifully toned body is just one of my many goals. It's the easiest goal to accomplish while sitting here in prison doing not much else. Everything else on my list will follow. I wish for you the courage to realize your dreams, and the encouragement to never give up until you reach your goals.

"In order for you to have the things others don't, you must be willing to do the things others won't."
                                                                                                           - Source Unknown

Until next week, dolls!

Prison Transfer Tips:

(1) Don't eat spicy Indian food - no matter how fancy the restaurant;

(2) Don't stop and get sushi - not even at a world famous spot on the strip;

(3) Buy a bag full of Dramamine;

(4) Drink lots of water;

(5) Ignore the little voice in your head telling you to make a run for it as your bus crosses into the desert.




Leaving Las Vegas to get myself to prison really sucked my butt!!! Those five hours spent there felt more like five minutes. They happened so fast, not unlike time spent with the old boyfriend.  Over with before I could even bat a fancy eyelash!  You know, the feeling of wanting more, needing more...and then it being all over with in an instant. And you can't even call the backup because this one shot's all you got. Complete disappointment! The duration - not the quality of the experience.

Well, I spent the entire first week here sick to my tummy...suffering from "gastroenteritis" as my old bf would have put it.  It's like..."ummm, no, that's not EXACTLY what I would have called it." But, I'll spare you. Let's just say you won't want to be eating the booty like it's groceries any time soon.

And, so it was that I spent an entire week laid up in bed nursing myself back to health. It didn't hurt that I landed in this desert oasis where the going is easy and the fresh fruit's aplenty.  I was back on my feet feeling healed and renewed in no time.

After getting out of that funk, I realized that making the move from the Third Coast to the West Coast was the best decision I could have made for myself to ride out the remainder of my time.  Here, there are no officers or guards on duty watching over our every move, they leave us alone to do our own thing, and they don't ask too many questions or invade our space.  I don't even feel as if I'm in prison.  The only thing missing is our complete privacy and freedom.  So, I deal with it by pretending I'm at a desert oasis fitness resort on most days, and an ashram on others. Either way, it will allow me to walk out of here (when it's time to go) looking good and feeling even better.

Take this moment, for example, here I am in cute shorts and a tank top tanning my legs while I tell you about my recent adventures.  There is not one officer in sight to tell me that I can't. Loving it!

In the last few days, I've started a new fitness routine where I am "Walking Across America", and doing Kayla Itsines' Bikini Body Guide workouts. (They are kicking my A$$!!!)

In between, I take salsa dance classes, hula classes, and do all the bench step-ups that my legs can handle.  During more relaxed times, I go for evening mediation and prayer.

The mountain views are astounding (not unlike the old bf's penis - "the biggest in his country"!). And the air is so fresh and humidity free - my naturally curly hair is loving it! Wish I had a boyfriend to run his fingers through it. I regret always telling the old bf that he couldn't touch my hair unless he was paying for it.  That shit was expensive!!! Just ask the non-bf (who is different from the old bf), who actually DID pay for it - he'll tell  you.  He had to drop some serious stacks on the do. Nearly gave him a heart attack the first time he offered to pay for it.

But, enough about all that. Those memories are from a lifetime that now seems so far removed from my current reality. Gotta keep it moving forward!

On a positive note, a new friend of mine - a gorgeous Vegas showgirl - has promised to introduce me to her cousin so that I can entertain myself with him for the next few months that I'm here.  If he's half as beautiful as she is ...Vegas, we have a winner!

As always, I'll keep you posted. In the meantime, I'll keep oscillating (in my dreams) between the old bf, and the Texas eye candy I left behind. At this point...it's almost as if any $#@& will do. But, not really..."quality over quantity" is still the motto to live by, girls!

Why Don't You Love Me?

This is the loaded question I've been asking the LOML (aka love of my life) for the past five years of knowing him. All because I had temporarily forgotten my true worth when it came to loving him. Now that I am over the self-pity I allowed myself to indulge in while in prison, I'm now asking myself why on earth did I ever love HIM?  He is extremely unavailable, inattentive, and aloof. Beyonce had it right when she said "There's nothing not to love about me. Maybe you're not the one. Or maybe you're just plain Dumb!"

You Don't Even Care to Care

The last few weeks I've spent cleaning out my prison approved contacts list - deleting a lot of my old contacts/friends/Plan B's, C's and D's. Getting ready for my new life just around the corner. I even deleted the LOML from the list. Twice. In the last week.  Only to end up adding him back in after much consideration. I wasn't just quite ready to delete him for good yet. Until today. After one last desperate failed attempt at making him love me.

I should have known it was never gonna happen from the moment he said to me that his career would always come first. I had never had a man tell me that before, so I didn't quite believe him when he said it. Neither did I know exactly how to process that bit of information. All the while I'm thinking, "Fine. No problem. Go work so you won't be up my butt 24/7."   I didn't ever stop to think that he MEANT it literally. I mean, it's not as if when I considered painting him green and calling him Benjamin so I would find him more exciting - I actually meant it in a LITERAL sense. Don't we all sometimes say things we don't mean from time to time?

Check My Credentials


His being a workaholic didn't bother me in the least bit.  I needed a man with his own life's ambitions, so that I could be free to pursue my own. So this is a quality that I actually placed on the "pro" side of the list on my assessment of him.  Not too many women I know look forward to their significant others spending more time at work than at home.  But for me, the less time I needed to spend entertaining him, the better. So, yeah...work is good. His living four states away? Even better!

It's not as if I was ever going to fit into anyone's happy homemaker role in this lifetime.  And that's when I finally realized that it's not him that's maybe not the one. Maybe I'M just not the one.  It's me that was trying so desperately to become the ideal woman I was picturing in my mind that he needed or wanted.  And then I realized that no matter how much I tried to change who I am, it was never going to work with this man, or any ordinary man, for that matter. I'm way too into doing my own thing, working into all hours of the night, doing whatever I want, whenever I want.  I have a trash mouth when I'm mad, a crass sense of humor, I get bored easily, I LIKE to be alone, travel alone, eat out alone - but I'm also a walking contradiction.  I like a man to dote on me, adore me, take care of me, buy me things, pay my bills, go places with me on long weekend getaways. But when I need him gone, he needs to know when to go. And when to come back without me having to ask. Is this too much for a woman to ask for? This is probably why I will be all alone for the rest of my life. At least it is according to my mother, my friends, my friends' mothers, and their mother's mothers.

I've Got Moves In Your Bedroom

Case in point... One of my Plan D's flew in to see me, and while out to dinner looking over the menu discussing this and trying to decide on what to order, he said, "Don't look at ME. I'm not on the menu!" And I just couldn't resist... out from my mouth came, "Well that's a good thing because I was thinking of just f*@#ing you, not marrying you." So NOT the right thing to say if you want a guy to ever call you again. Well, at the time, I thought it was pretty effing hilarious. Still laughing. I thought we were platonic! Sheesh!!! Guys can be so sensitive!

Or, this other Plan Z, who was annoying the heck out of me whining about me not wanting to go out with him on this particular evening. He said, "But I drove over 200 miles to come see you, Alexa." My response... "So! All my OTHER boyfriends cross the seven seas to come and see me!" Um... he never called me again either.  Did I mention he was Plan Z?  I thought that was a pretty clever comeback. Obviously, he didn't. Oh, well, that's why it's called "dating" and not "commitment." He can now save on his gas mileage for sure.  So, what is a girl like me to do?

Honey, You Better Sit Down and Look Around

I've been considering going for a nice Jewish guy. I met one once. Leaving a bagel shop in the Upper East Side a few years ago. He's a lawyer on Madison Avenue. I'm a lawyer, so immediately I thought "No WAY!!!". I know I'm reaching, but I've often wondered where my life would be now if I actually had called him instead of losing his business card somewhere in the bottom depths of my Gucci pocket book. Hmmmm....

Too bad we don't have Google/Facebook/Linkedin/Twitter/People Finder here in prison.  I'd be all over that by now.  Can you imagine a bored prison babe with too much free time on her hands having access to all these tools? Scary, isn't it?

Well, there's always M. Krause, the sexy German-Mexican guy I met once on holiday. He had offered to pay whatever it took for me to leave my old life and become his wife. I wonder how much he would pay for me NOW? Am I worth less for being locked away all these years, or am I worth MORE because of it? I think it all depends on who you ask.

Let's face it, I get to work out everyday to keep the booty right, and these lips haven't kissed a man who isn't my father, brother, uncle, cousin or nephew in the last couple of years. That's gotta be worth something on the single's market! I wonder if his Black AMEX card really comes without a limit... I will be saying "Si! Si! Si!" all the way to the Cartier storefront in Manhattan first stop out of here!

I Even Put Money in the Bank Account

Well, to give credit where it's due to the LOML, we did agree to date casually "until someone better came along." Five years, and countless Match.com dates later, no one better ever did come along, but I kept hoping.

So, why then, am I so obsessed with making this guy fall in love with me, when clearly it was never our intention for that to happen? I've said "no" a million times over to a million different men, and when I finally found someone I wanted to say "yes" to, this one was no longer asking.

Perhaps it's nothing more than the thrill of the chase? Mixed signals coming from his sweet kisses? The really wanting to, but being afraid of everything that comes heavily packed in my Louis Vuitton baggage?

It doesn't really matter now. I am this close to coming home and going right back to making my own way in this world - unattached and free to choose someone truly deserving of me.

And as Beyonce says.....

I've got Beauty.
I've got Class.
I've got Style, and
I've got A$$.

There is a huge disparity between going to state prison versus federal prison.  If you can avoid the state, I highly recommend it. Oftentimes, the state will pick up the charges on violation of state statute, and then the Feds will come in and piggyback on those same charges by changing the nature and scope of the alleged crime to fit nicely into a federal indictment as well.

Ask your state defense lawyer to request that your state charges be dropped in favor of the federal indictment. Most of the time, the state prosecutor will agree to do this, unless your case generates a ton of publicity and is considered a "high profile" case.  If that's the case (no pun intended), you are pretty much screwed, because...Congratulations! You've just provided the state prosecutor with a career enhancing notch on his or her belt.

But, in any event, let's talk prison - the first day, to be exact.

(This photo is not prison- just a light joke referencing "camp cupcake" aka federal prison)

Federal prison arrivals are a lot classier than state prison's. You will either arrive by private car (in the case of self-surrenders), passenger van (your ride from the airport or the local county jails - if there are but a few of you arriving on the same day), or the prison bus (which looks like a European private charter bus with bars on the windows that you can spot if you look closely behind the tinted glass windows... the U.S. government license plates are also an obvious giveaway). By now, it doesn't really matter how you get there. The point being that you've been sentenced to prison, and you've got to get there one way or another.

I had the pleasure of arriving by passenger van directly from the airport two hours away.  I managed to take in the sights during that long ride without having to force idle conversation with anyone.  I distinctly remember the hustle and bustle of big city life outside the airport, the heavy work-a-day traffic congestion, the outdoor shopping centers, car dealerships, chain restaurants, the Hindu Worship Temple, and one beautiful Mosque. 

I kind of got really excited when the Mosque came into view! I was hoping to spot my future husband through the back window of the van where I was seated in the last row cushioned quite comfortably between the warm, soft, and fluffy lady seated next to me, and the carpeted arm-rest to the right of me.  I was hoping to catch a glimpse of an extraordinarily handsome man so I could fantasize about our future together as I sat in prison for the next five years.  But, alas (and woe is me)... it didn't happen. I saw no one going in or out of any of those places along the way.  That was disappointing. Bleh!

We arrived at the prison camp sooner than I had wanted.  I was quite enjoying my temporary sojourn from prison. First a plane ride, then a land tour! Not too shabby for my last day "outside the fence."

We were transported wearing shackles, cuffs and chains, as usual - in case we tried for a daring escape before arriving at our loosely secured prison camp where anyone can freely walk out without much effort. But, Dont' Try It!!! It's rumored to cost you an "escape" charge, with a five year, day-for-day penalty added to your current sentence! So not worth it - unless you were dying tomorrow, then MAYBE it would be worth some further contemplation. But you better get that prognosis in writing straight from God first, because you just might live a little longer, and the Feds will make every minute of your extended life a living hell if you do live to see another day.

In other words, for those of you who are s-l-o-w to figure that I'M KIDDING...don't even THINK about it!!! You are not El Chapo, your tunnel has not been pre-dug for you, and when you do make your way to the shower area, it will only be to wash your ass - not your pathway to freedom!

Okay, now that we got those thoughts out of your head, and me out of further hot water with the Feds... let's talk some more about first day federal prison blues.

Federal prison camp has an intake process a little bit like the state's intake process, only much better.  Upon arrival, you are delivered to an administration area called R&D (Receiving and Discharge), where you are welcomed, given a place to sit, a hot meal, a prison issue uniform, shoes, underwear, a hygiene pack (same indigent pack - nothing fancy from Bath and Body works), and a bed roll - two cotton blankets, two sheets, a pillow case, and towels.  Here is where you are processed in, fingerprinted, mug-shotted (yes, I made that word up - like it?) and assigned to your housing unit.

After a few hours of processing, you are then escorted into the prison compound where your first reaction will most undoubtedly be ... What?!?! THIS is prison?!?!

Yes. It is.

Welcome to federal prison camp where the grass really does grow greener, the flowers bloom more fragrant, and the sweet smell of freedom wafts through the air conditioned air.

At your housing unit, you will be greeted by the Big Sisters - a welcoming committee that assigns a big sister to you by race or ethnic makeup. A little unlike a sorority's methods of assigning big sisters to new pledges, but the overall concept is very much the same.

Your big sister will walk you to your room (usually the temporary "Bus Stop" of about ten beds per room), provide you with much needed essentials (like coffee, good soap, and shower shoes), and give you a brief orientation on how to place a phone call and/or send email to let your family know that you are okay - you've made it through your first day of prison.  You both can breathe easier now.

The next few days will be filled with getting acquainted with the different programs offered (both leisure and educational), orientation, a campus tour, shopping and the issuing of uniforms.  There are no safety issues or concerns at federal prison camp. Here, you are safe and well taken care of. Tell momma not to worry.

Next week, we will talk about the state admission process to maximum security prison.

If you have any questions about prison, just submit them through the comments section down below, and I will do my best to answer them for you from my own personal experience and available resources.

Okay...talk to you then!