last night i was walking around the crowd, trying to see who might buy dances, when all of a sudden this japanese businessman came up behind me and took my hand. he said, "come with me," and led me to the lapdance area. he sat down and patted the seat next to him, "come on," he said. i sat down. he started telling me how fabulous i am, and how my hair is to die for. he seemed SO GAY and SOOOO COKED OUT, saying things like, "your ass: be-yoooooond," and "i can't. I. JUST. CAN'T."
there was some quiet time when he zoned out hard, he took his fancy glasses off a lot and put them back on and patted his pockets wildly a lot to make sure he still had his hotel key and phone. then he seemed to remember i was there, and he told me he was going to shower me with money and fine shoes when i accompany him to eugene and corvallis tomorrow. he talked about it as though it was a trip we'd planned together, one that i had prior knowledge of. i went along with it, adding that we'd drink champagne in the limo.
"what was it we want to see in corvallis, again?" i asked.
"the stadium!" he exclaimed, exasperated.
"oh! right," i said. "sorry! i keep forgetting."
then he kept wanting me to bend over in his face, and then sit back down next to him. then get up and bend over again, then sit back down. he was easily bored, yet didn't want me to leave. he stopped ordering me to get up and then sit back down, and used, instead, extraordinarily faggy hand gestures. for "turn around and show me your ass," his finger became the tiny ballerina from one of those old wind-up satin jewelry boxes. "sit down next to me now," was the less exciting yet classic, "talk to the hand" gesture, raised to my ass. as though telling MY ASS to shut up and sit down.
finally i had to get back on stage. he paid me and i put my outfit back on, but he raised his finger at me to wait. he tried getting money out of the ATM but it was out of money and only dispensed $100, which he gave to me on top of the dance money he already gave me. as he handed it to me, he did a sassy black woman chin movement in conjunction with a sassy finger wagging in my face and said, "i'm done with you!" with that, he turned on his heel and was out the door. strange fruit, you really TOLD me! i wish every time someone felt the need to tell me off, their rant was accompanied by $100. i'd just go around saying any rude funny thing that came to mind, and just watch those benjamins stack up.
(as the bartender refilled the ATM, i had to wonder what my tip would've been if she'd done that just a few minutes before. but you can't dwell on these things.)
after that, john c. reilly came in with a small entourage. he was wearing a hat to tamp down his curly mop, but his face is quite distinct so people kept recognizing him and going over to chat. i joked with my co-worker that if he got a lapdance it would be like we had our own little 4-minute movie called "lapdance, actually." we thought it was hilarious. then our other co-worker pointed out that it wasn't him in "love, actually," it was hugh grant. my how a hilarious joke can fall apart with the addition of true facts. oops. well then i said, i should go tell him "we need to talk about ...a lapdance!" you know, like "we need to talk about kevin." but that one wasn't funny, either, because that movie was just so goddamn depressing.
oh well. he didn't want a dance. and then i danced for a long time for a guy in an abercrombie sweatshirt who smelled really good. i asked him what his cologne was and he said, "very sexy for him. #2. by victoria's secret." i don't know why, but that struck me as kind of funny. he was too sweet to laugh at, though, so i stifled it.
after work i went out to eat with my co-worker and munched the fuck out of some vegan nachos. the end. xo andi
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
supermoon
did you see the supermoon? it was so beautiful. and huge. and bright. i was working that night and it was so busy since it was cinco de mayo and all the white people wanted to go out and get wasted in their sombreros (barf). i kept meaning to get outside to see the moon, and finally i dodged people and had a moment. i put the bouncer's coat on over my lil outfit and went outside and just stared at it for a long time. it was mesmerizing. i never wanted to go back inside where people were yelling "ayayay!" with fake mexican accents. i just wanted to stand under this giant bright moon. so lovely! but then people from inside came outside and wanted to interact. so i went back in and danced some more. i felt in a great, luminous mood.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
i'm down south for a little bit, mostly hanging out, but also working a little bit. i have a new client who keeps showing up in super fantastic get-ups. today he was wearing a beautiful comme de garcons suit. proof that there are fashion-forward straight men in the world. i wish more dudes dressed that way!
in other news, the studio has a new cleaning girl: an adorable baby bulldagger. not as cute as the last one, though.
i'm so tired, i'm no fun at all. i'll write more another day. xo andi
in other news, the studio has a new cleaning girl: an adorable baby bulldagger. not as cute as the last one, though.
i'm so tired, i'm no fun at all. i'll write more another day. xo andi
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
wheel! of! hoarders!
tonight i danced for this guy who's a spell-checker for wheel of fortune. they've been "on location" here in portland for the last two weeks. tonight was the last night of their shoot so he was celebrating with some fancy beer and lapdances. after we had some dances, i sat at the bar with him and had a cocktail. he told me his job title is "game show researcher," but he doesn't actually come up with the clues, he just makes sure everything is spelled correctly. zzzzzzz. i asked why they needed an entire person for that job--no offense. he took no offense and said he wondered that, too, but that he tried not to think about it because then he'd get paranoid about getting laid off. makes sense.
after that i danced for a bunch of other random guys, and then for a girl who was visiting from dallas. her pants were all damp in the crotch, and a close-range sniff test revealed that the call was coming from inside the house. so i kept my distance, which was a bummer because she was hot.
the real treasure of the night came pretty late, when a middle-aged guy with fluffy gray hair came to sit at my rack. he was wearing a light-up wheel of fortune lapel pin. he saw that i was dazzled by it. he told me he was down from eugene to attend the taping of wheel of fortune. he's always wanted to be in the audience of wheel of fortune, he said, so tonight was nothing short of a dream come true.
he looked sort of familiar. he didn't look like he was going to spend any money on dances, but the club had pretty much emptied out and i was tipsy and bored. "you look really familiar," i said.
he said, "i was on hoarders."
DING DING DING!
i got super excited, but tried to appear calm. "wow, really?" i said. he looked a little kooky, but otherwise normal. i mean, he looked like any other raggedy middle aged guy looks in oregon. he was wearing a tattered oatmeal LL bean sweater, which up here is basically a standard-issue garment and gives absolutely no clues about its wearer--he could be a hoarder, or an aging hippie, or a banker, or a literature professor. who knows.
"were you on as, like, a neighbor," i asked. "or was it your own house?"
"well," he said. "it was my house."
"oh. okay, well what was the deal, were you a collector? like way too many antiques or something?"
"no. i just collect, er, COLLECTED, a lot of items. my house was pretty filled up. and then some vandals set fire to it, and the fire department came and put it out, and then everything was just...wet."
"wow that sounds like a nightmare! it was probably a lot to deal with, all those wet items."
"you bet."
he went on to tell me that he kept meaning to deal with all those wet items, but just kept not doing it. and years went by. mold colonies developed. new dry items were crowded over the old wet items. it just got worse and worse and people complained and hoarders came out. they were unable to help him get his house under control, but it was a good start, he says.
then he told me how though wheel of fortune was a dream come true, he was a little sad tonight, too, because he found out that he was not going to be able to adopt the cat he'd been admiring.
"i saw her in the window of the pet store, and she looked just like a cat i used to have for ten years, who is now deceased. and there was an instant connection. she had beautiful eyes and a perfect little tuxedo--you know, when they have the little white chest. i really wanted that cat, but the woman at the pet store said i was on a LIST: "do not adopt to these people" list. MY NAME. so there were some bad things that came from having been on hoarders. i'm grateful for the help they gave me, but it was not without its price."
poor guy. he was really nice, though, and super interesting to talk to. after the cat story, though, i decided to quit while we were ahead so i bid him farewell. he took off his wheel of fortune pin and gave it to me! such a sweet gift, especially from a hoarder, because you know when he got home he was probably kicking himself for not having it to add to his refrigerator full of lapel pins. :(
after that i danced for a bunch of other random guys, and then for a girl who was visiting from dallas. her pants were all damp in the crotch, and a close-range sniff test revealed that the call was coming from inside the house. so i kept my distance, which was a bummer because she was hot.
the real treasure of the night came pretty late, when a middle-aged guy with fluffy gray hair came to sit at my rack. he was wearing a light-up wheel of fortune lapel pin. he saw that i was dazzled by it. he told me he was down from eugene to attend the taping of wheel of fortune. he's always wanted to be in the audience of wheel of fortune, he said, so tonight was nothing short of a dream come true.
he looked sort of familiar. he didn't look like he was going to spend any money on dances, but the club had pretty much emptied out and i was tipsy and bored. "you look really familiar," i said.
he said, "i was on hoarders."
DING DING DING!
i got super excited, but tried to appear calm. "wow, really?" i said. he looked a little kooky, but otherwise normal. i mean, he looked like any other raggedy middle aged guy looks in oregon. he was wearing a tattered oatmeal LL bean sweater, which up here is basically a standard-issue garment and gives absolutely no clues about its wearer--he could be a hoarder, or an aging hippie, or a banker, or a literature professor. who knows.
"were you on as, like, a neighbor," i asked. "or was it your own house?"
"well," he said. "it was my house."
"oh. okay, well what was the deal, were you a collector? like way too many antiques or something?"
"no. i just collect, er, COLLECTED, a lot of items. my house was pretty filled up. and then some vandals set fire to it, and the fire department came and put it out, and then everything was just...wet."
"wow that sounds like a nightmare! it was probably a lot to deal with, all those wet items."
"you bet."
he went on to tell me that he kept meaning to deal with all those wet items, but just kept not doing it. and years went by. mold colonies developed. new dry items were crowded over the old wet items. it just got worse and worse and people complained and hoarders came out. they were unable to help him get his house under control, but it was a good start, he says.
then he told me how though wheel of fortune was a dream come true, he was a little sad tonight, too, because he found out that he was not going to be able to adopt the cat he'd been admiring.
"i saw her in the window of the pet store, and she looked just like a cat i used to have for ten years, who is now deceased. and there was an instant connection. she had beautiful eyes and a perfect little tuxedo--you know, when they have the little white chest. i really wanted that cat, but the woman at the pet store said i was on a LIST: "do not adopt to these people" list. MY NAME. so there were some bad things that came from having been on hoarders. i'm grateful for the help they gave me, but it was not without its price."
poor guy. he was really nice, though, and super interesting to talk to. after the cat story, though, i decided to quit while we were ahead so i bid him farewell. he took off his wheel of fortune pin and gave it to me! such a sweet gift, especially from a hoarder, because you know when he got home he was probably kicking himself for not having it to add to his refrigerator full of lapel pins. :(
Monday, March 26, 2012
molester.
last night was great. EXCEPT this lady whose dumb husband bought her a couple of dances, and she hiked her ugly red dress up and her legs were all smooth and icky and she was thrusting her crotch against my ass and then i realized she wasn't wearing undies. just all bare cooch rubbing up on me. i felt like punching her in the face. but i didn't. i dunno. it's worth mentioning that her shoes were terrible, cheap shoes you'd see a barefoot teenager carrying after the prom. satin straps. barf.
other than that it was a super night. busy. fun.
other than that it was a super night. busy. fun.
Monday, March 19, 2012
random.
hi! i haven't written in a WHILE. sorry! i've been working a lot! but things have been great. i should write when things are great, not just when i need to vent, though, huh? ok i will. i promise. starting now.
so. i worked a ton last week and then i came down south and i was going to work all week at the massage parlor, but i quite randomly got a sewing job. i don't want to tell you too many specific details, but it's for a history magazine and it was miniature historical costumes for a certain oddly shaped, hard to handle animal. as soon as i sat down to work on it, i regretted having said yes. it was way more work than i had thought it would be, and it only paid $500. it basically took all my time all week to finish the project, and i hated it. but now that it's done, i'm pleased with my work and can't wait till the issue comes out. it will be fun to see my handiwork in a reputable magazine.
while i'm down south, i decided to clean out this closet i've been ignoring for years. i found my old apple powerbook 520c, big hunky dark gray thing. i loved it. i was thinking about putting it in the goodwill pile, but now i think it might be worth saving just for the hilarity of writing on it in a coffeeshop. the only problem is i don't have a printer for it, and so anything i wrote would have to be re-typed into a computer that can get online, because this one can't. which is another bonus, actually, to sit with it and just focus and write since it doesn't have the internet.
annnyway my point in mentioning it was that i was skimming through my old journal i kept on there, and i came across an entry from april 2, 2003.
"this girl wants a piece from me for a zine about sex work. i don't usually write about stripping, so i don't know what to write. well, i guess let's start with 'why?' i strip mostly so i will have time to write about other things and read and because i hate paying taxes. i'm so pissed that my brothers are in the war and for right now, i refuse to work on the books. i'm just NOT going to have a job where they take out taxes till my brothers are home and not dead. also i like stripping because i hate working regular jobs, and stripping allows me to not have to work very much. i've already worked so hard and so much for anything i've ever had in my life that i feels like it's time to take it a little easy and just get by on being charming and pretty for a minute. not that stripping's easy, because it isn't. but i don't hate it like every other job i've had, and it pays well. i like to work a whole bunch in the beginning of the month, get my money together for next month's rent, and then just relax after that. i'll spend an entire week just reading in the park and not going to work once after i've got my money together: the good life."
i had recently started doing private sessions with a few guys from my club and craigslist. light stuff. pee, some foot-worship, mutual masturbation. i didn't have a cell phone yet, that's how many million years ago this was. so the thing was that they'd email me and i'd call them at an appointed time from my land-line, and we'd set up a meeting. seems so Ye Olde now. but that's how i did it, i guess, and i didn't know any better, and i didn't have anybody to ask. eventually i figured things out, i guess.
"today i did a really stupid thing. i forgot to do a *67 on my phone when i was setting up a date with a new guy i'm going to see. i hope it turns out okay, since caller ID has now supplied him with my legal first and last names. i haven't met him yet so i don't know whether i should be freaked out. i'll see him tomorrow and i guess then i'll decide whether i have to change my number. arg! i wish i had a cell phone."
later i just talk about random things
"talked to mom today. she said last night she had a dream that my brother was home on short leave from iraq and that she went into the living room, where he was asleep on the couch, and smacked him on the knee with a hammer. he woke up and screamed, 'mom! you broke my knee!' 'i did it for your own good,' she replied."
i love old journals. they're so...DATED.
ok that's enough random rambling for today. more later. xo andi
so. i worked a ton last week and then i came down south and i was going to work all week at the massage parlor, but i quite randomly got a sewing job. i don't want to tell you too many specific details, but it's for a history magazine and it was miniature historical costumes for a certain oddly shaped, hard to handle animal. as soon as i sat down to work on it, i regretted having said yes. it was way more work than i had thought it would be, and it only paid $500. it basically took all my time all week to finish the project, and i hated it. but now that it's done, i'm pleased with my work and can't wait till the issue comes out. it will be fun to see my handiwork in a reputable magazine.
while i'm down south, i decided to clean out this closet i've been ignoring for years. i found my old apple powerbook 520c, big hunky dark gray thing. i loved it. i was thinking about putting it in the goodwill pile, but now i think it might be worth saving just for the hilarity of writing on it in a coffeeshop. the only problem is i don't have a printer for it, and so anything i wrote would have to be re-typed into a computer that can get online, because this one can't. which is another bonus, actually, to sit with it and just focus and write since it doesn't have the internet.
annnyway my point in mentioning it was that i was skimming through my old journal i kept on there, and i came across an entry from april 2, 2003.
"this girl wants a piece from me for a zine about sex work. i don't usually write about stripping, so i don't know what to write. well, i guess let's start with 'why?' i strip mostly so i will have time to write about other things and read and because i hate paying taxes. i'm so pissed that my brothers are in the war and for right now, i refuse to work on the books. i'm just NOT going to have a job where they take out taxes till my brothers are home and not dead. also i like stripping because i hate working regular jobs, and stripping allows me to not have to work very much. i've already worked so hard and so much for anything i've ever had in my life that i feels like it's time to take it a little easy and just get by on being charming and pretty for a minute. not that stripping's easy, because it isn't. but i don't hate it like every other job i've had, and it pays well. i like to work a whole bunch in the beginning of the month, get my money together for next month's rent, and then just relax after that. i'll spend an entire week just reading in the park and not going to work once after i've got my money together: the good life."
i had recently started doing private sessions with a few guys from my club and craigslist. light stuff. pee, some foot-worship, mutual masturbation. i didn't have a cell phone yet, that's how many million years ago this was. so the thing was that they'd email me and i'd call them at an appointed time from my land-line, and we'd set up a meeting. seems so Ye Olde now. but that's how i did it, i guess, and i didn't know any better, and i didn't have anybody to ask. eventually i figured things out, i guess.
"today i did a really stupid thing. i forgot to do a *67 on my phone when i was setting up a date with a new guy i'm going to see. i hope it turns out okay, since caller ID has now supplied him with my legal first and last names. i haven't met him yet so i don't know whether i should be freaked out. i'll see him tomorrow and i guess then i'll decide whether i have to change my number. arg! i wish i had a cell phone."
later i just talk about random things
"talked to mom today. she said last night she had a dream that my brother was home on short leave from iraq and that she went into the living room, where he was asleep on the couch, and smacked him on the knee with a hammer. he woke up and screamed, 'mom! you broke my knee!' 'i did it for your own good,' she replied."
i love old journals. they're so...DATED.
ok that's enough random rambling for today. more later. xo andi
Sunday, February 12, 2012
awesome.
this past work-week was awesome. i had my period all week, and i just often make a ton of money when i'm bleeding. pheromones! also i'm usually in a great mood because finally getting my period is such a relief after a week of PMS.
monday night i worked at the newer club, i'm not really new there anymore so i guess i should give it a name. let's call it the Lil Guy. it was pretty dead, i think maybe people were hungover from watching the superbowl? i dunno. but it was sooo slooow. i ended up doing okay, though. it just takes one good customer.
tuesday, after a bit of drama, i saw my bodybuilder massage client. the bit of drama was that he keeps wanting more and more mutual action, and i'm not into it. i don't want his finders inside me, i don't want him sucking on my tits, i don't want him begging me for sex, i don't actually want any of it. i thought i had communicated that the last time i saw him, i told him that i liked him, and was available for relaxing massage with a sexy ending, and that's all. well on tuesday i got a text from him saying wanting to know whether we could spend three hours together, and if i could bring a lot of toys and have multiple orgasms for him. also he mentioned that he would like many as well. i know that could be a very lucrative situation, but i didn't feel up for a three-hour jerk-off marathon with him. i already think he takes viagra and it's borderline carpal tunnel time as it is. so i thought about it for a moment and decided i had to break up with him, so to speak. i texted back that it's been super great getting to know him, but that i feel he wants a lot more sexy fun than i'm up for, and that there are tons of hot girls interested in that so he should find one who's a better match. he texted back, apologizing profusely, and promising to stop asking me for things and to just relax and enjoy a massage. so i saw him and it was fine, plus he tipped $100.
after that i worked at my regular club. it was bonkers busy and it was a super fun night.
then wednesday and thursday were my days off. two in a row! super rad. and friday i worked at the Lil Guy. i was super hungover but it's warm and dark in there, so i didn't mind working. i had a couple great customers. pretty mellow.
last night i worked and it was bonkers again. i danced for a lot of computer guys in for some software conference. and also this guy bought his adorable girlfriend some dances, and didn't even want to come in and watch, which was sweet. i only had one asshole, who kept telling me to "be real. quit being fake with me." i was like, "what are you talking about?" he goes, "you've called me 'sweetie' twice! it's so fake." i said, "well would you rather me call you a 'rude, demanding, red-headed asshole?" that shut him up.
now it's sunday and i don't have to be anywhere or do anything except take a long bath, read, and eat. i'm going to go buy some new jeans, too. xoxoxox
monday night i worked at the newer club, i'm not really new there anymore so i guess i should give it a name. let's call it the Lil Guy. it was pretty dead, i think maybe people were hungover from watching the superbowl? i dunno. but it was sooo slooow. i ended up doing okay, though. it just takes one good customer.
tuesday, after a bit of drama, i saw my bodybuilder massage client. the bit of drama was that he keeps wanting more and more mutual action, and i'm not into it. i don't want his finders inside me, i don't want him sucking on my tits, i don't want him begging me for sex, i don't actually want any of it. i thought i had communicated that the last time i saw him, i told him that i liked him, and was available for relaxing massage with a sexy ending, and that's all. well on tuesday i got a text from him saying wanting to know whether we could spend three hours together, and if i could bring a lot of toys and have multiple orgasms for him. also he mentioned that he would like many as well. i know that could be a very lucrative situation, but i didn't feel up for a three-hour jerk-off marathon with him. i already think he takes viagra and it's borderline carpal tunnel time as it is. so i thought about it for a moment and decided i had to break up with him, so to speak. i texted back that it's been super great getting to know him, but that i feel he wants a lot more sexy fun than i'm up for, and that there are tons of hot girls interested in that so he should find one who's a better match. he texted back, apologizing profusely, and promising to stop asking me for things and to just relax and enjoy a massage. so i saw him and it was fine, plus he tipped $100.
after that i worked at my regular club. it was bonkers busy and it was a super fun night.
then wednesday and thursday were my days off. two in a row! super rad. and friday i worked at the Lil Guy. i was super hungover but it's warm and dark in there, so i didn't mind working. i had a couple great customers. pretty mellow.
last night i worked and it was bonkers again. i danced for a lot of computer guys in for some software conference. and also this guy bought his adorable girlfriend some dances, and didn't even want to come in and watch, which was sweet. i only had one asshole, who kept telling me to "be real. quit being fake with me." i was like, "what are you talking about?" he goes, "you've called me 'sweetie' twice! it's so fake." i said, "well would you rather me call you a 'rude, demanding, red-headed asshole?" that shut him up.
now it's sunday and i don't have to be anywhere or do anything except take a long bath, read, and eat. i'm going to go buy some new jeans, too. xoxoxox
Sunday, February 5, 2012
not awesome.
usually i love working saturday nights, but last night was one of those nights where the place is packed with huge groups of people, and hardly anybody is tipping. take, for example, the bachelor party of 10 who seemed to have very little to talk about amongst themselves and sat with their eyes glued to the stage for an hour without tipping even a dollar. this is a small club, and they were taking up a significant portion of it. i finally walked over to them, held out my g-string, and said, "hi guys! you've been watching me dance for an hour, and haven't tipped yet. time for titty tax." one of them grudgingly put a dollar in my g-string, then they all just looked at me like, "go away." but fuck that. "thanks," i said, to the lone tipper. "now i'm sure the rest of you cuties can find at least a dollar each, right? i mean who comes to a strip club without bringing any dollars?" they hated it, but each did cough up a dollar.
all night i had to politely remind people sitting AT THE RACK to tip. so annoying. one guy told me he'd start tipping when i started dancing "more enthusiastically." i suggested that he do it now, instead, as he and his girlfriend been sitting there for two sets already without tipping. he said, "nope." i asked them to move and make room for tipping customers, then. they declined. we don't have a bouncer, so this guy and his girlfriend were able to just continue to sit there for like an hour without tipping. awesome.
and then there were the non-tipping blonde girls who kept demanding more pole tricks. and the guy who told me i'd make more money if i cut my hair into a bob and also if i got a boob job. (wait, i'd make more money if i got a boob job?!!! OMG i NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT. ...DUH, i know i'd make more $ but the the thing is that i actually LOVE my tiny, perky, extremely sensitive tits, and i don't want foreign objects stuck to my chest and i don't want to possibly lose even one tiny bit of nipple sensation, as my own sexual fulfillment is actually super important to me--weird, right? and then there's also this little thing called MINDING YOUR OWN MF BUSINESS.)
then there was the guy who kept yell-purring like the world's drunkest cat until fell off his barstool, and just laid there till his friend dragged him away. there was the regular who kept begging me to let him eat me out. and telling me how obsessed he is, and how he thinks we could have a lot of fun if i'd just go home with him, and how he's a sadist and would love to tie me up and test the limits of my psyche. i got SO CREEPED OUT. i told him that's never gonna happen and please not to ask me for a dance again, ever.
OH and did i mention that a pipe burst downstairs, rendering the dressing room off limits for the whole night? people seem so much more annoying when there's nowhere you can go to escape them/get yourself together between sets.
well the good thing is that often when there's a super annoying night, it's followed up by an awesome one. i'll let you know.
all night i had to politely remind people sitting AT THE RACK to tip. so annoying. one guy told me he'd start tipping when i started dancing "more enthusiastically." i suggested that he do it now, instead, as he and his girlfriend been sitting there for two sets already without tipping. he said, "nope." i asked them to move and make room for tipping customers, then. they declined. we don't have a bouncer, so this guy and his girlfriend were able to just continue to sit there for like an hour without tipping. awesome.
and then there were the non-tipping blonde girls who kept demanding more pole tricks. and the guy who told me i'd make more money if i cut my hair into a bob and also if i got a boob job. (wait, i'd make more money if i got a boob job?!!! OMG i NEVER THOUGHT OF THAT. ...DUH, i know i'd make more $ but the the thing is that i actually LOVE my tiny, perky, extremely sensitive tits, and i don't want foreign objects stuck to my chest and i don't want to possibly lose even one tiny bit of nipple sensation, as my own sexual fulfillment is actually super important to me--weird, right? and then there's also this little thing called MINDING YOUR OWN MF BUSINESS.)
then there was the guy who kept yell-purring like the world's drunkest cat until fell off his barstool, and just laid there till his friend dragged him away. there was the regular who kept begging me to let him eat me out. and telling me how obsessed he is, and how he thinks we could have a lot of fun if i'd just go home with him, and how he's a sadist and would love to tie me up and test the limits of my psyche. i got SO CREEPED OUT. i told him that's never gonna happen and please not to ask me for a dance again, ever.
OH and did i mention that a pipe burst downstairs, rendering the dressing room off limits for the whole night? people seem so much more annoying when there's nowhere you can go to escape them/get yourself together between sets.
well the good thing is that often when there's a super annoying night, it's followed up by an awesome one. i'll let you know.
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
chili-dog day afternoon.
when i got to work today, there was a naked tweeker girl in the dressing room. she started talking the moment she saw me and did not stop till she was dressed and on her way out into the world, spilling the contents of her broken-zippered backpack all the way. she was sooo skinny. just all ribs and elbows and pelvic bone. i'm tiny, but i wouldn't describe myself as "skinny," as i have tits and ass and muscles and even a lil' potbelly at christmastime. anyway i was changing out of my street clothes and she goes, "oh, are those gap jeans?"
"yes," i said, preparing myself to ignore whatever rambling anti-capitalist sweatshop speech i was about to receive.
"i love gap jeans," she said. "what size are they?"
"i like them too. these are a size 0."
she goes, "oh. zero? well i wear a DOUBLE ZERO. i tried the zero's on before and they were just hanging off. i'm 10 kindsa tiny."
"yeah, you're pretty slender," i said just for something to say, since she was looking at me like, "what do you have to say about that?!" and i wanted her to look away.
"yep. i'm only 105 pounds," she said, and then repeated, "i'm 10 kindsa tiny."
have you ever heard that expression, "ten kinds of tiny?" yeah, me neither. i imagine it was something a customer said to her once. must've struck a chord with her and now she's using it as her repetitive self-descriptive.
"how much do YOU weigh?" she asked, rather smugly.
i thought about lying, saying something like 125 or whatever so she could relax into her role as the Skinniest Person in the Room and shut up already. but i dunno, why should i lie to this random tweeker? so i said, "108."
"you only weight three pounds more than me?" she asked, skeptically. "well how tall are you?"
"5'2.''"
"okay, see: i only weigh 105 but i'm 5'6''. so yeah, i mean i'm just TINY."
"emaciated," "deathly thin," "precariously bony," was more like it. but i'd never say that. i don't want to be on a tweeker's bad side. or their good side, either. i just wanted her to STOP TALKING TO ME. then finally she got dressed and left.
i went and danced for a while, then sat at the bar, drinking water. i'm trying to lay off the sauce for a while, till my stomach stops hurting. it's been exactly one week now. one week and one day, actually. so i am not as bubbly as usual.
this guy sat down next to me and was talking and kept spitting a little. a sizable dollop of spit landed on my arm and then i couldn't even hear what he was saying, because i was fixated on this glob of spit on my arm. it was not that huge, but i felt sober and irritable, and i wanted it off. before i realized what i was doing, i kind of wiped my arm on his sleeve.
he goes, "what are you doing?"
i couldn't think of any good lie so the truth would have to suffice. "um. well... you spit on me and i was just wiping it on your shirt."
"oh. okay," he said, and continued on with whatever he was saying. i felt relieved that he wasn't offended. i'm not usually rude like that. or maybe i am? no. usually i'm sweet.
later i was sitting at the bar playing scrabble on my phone and just really enjoying how toasty warm the club is, i mean the heater is on truly and totally full-blast (i know i mention this a lot when talking about the tiny new dive i'm working at, but i just want you to know how unbelievably FUCKING COZY it feels to be so warm in the middle of winter, especially when you're mostly naked). a guy was sitting next to me, but we weren't hanging out or talking. anyway my co-worker played that otis redding song, "try a little tenderness," and i said, "oh. this reminds me of Pretty In Pink." then suddenly the guy started lip-synching and doing a crazy ducky dale dance on his barstool. it would've been cute, but he was about two inches from my face, and something about it was just too dramatic too close. plus that's one of my all time favorite movies and i'd have been content to just close my eyes and watch the record store scene in my mind. i smiled and offered a few polite chuckles. he didn't stop till the whole song was over, though, which i found so annoying. if i had been tipsy, i'd probably have loved it and joined in. but drunk people just aren't as entertaining to me when i'm sober. i'm sort of a drag.
hmm what else. well a canadian guy came in and wanted 4 lapdances without asking my name or seeing me dance at all. absolutely no pre-amble, just walked in and asked for a dance before he even took off his parka. i'd like for that to happen more often.
i guess that's all for now. oh, except you might be interested to know that there's a lunch special at my new club, and today it was a chili-dog with fries and a PBR for $6. does a chili-dog seem like a particularly strange thing to eat at a strip club, or is it just me? just wondering.
"yes," i said, preparing myself to ignore whatever rambling anti-capitalist sweatshop speech i was about to receive.
"i love gap jeans," she said. "what size are they?"
"i like them too. these are a size 0."
she goes, "oh. zero? well i wear a DOUBLE ZERO. i tried the zero's on before and they were just hanging off. i'm 10 kindsa tiny."
"yeah, you're pretty slender," i said just for something to say, since she was looking at me like, "what do you have to say about that?!" and i wanted her to look away.
"yep. i'm only 105 pounds," she said, and then repeated, "i'm 10 kindsa tiny."
have you ever heard that expression, "ten kinds of tiny?" yeah, me neither. i imagine it was something a customer said to her once. must've struck a chord with her and now she's using it as her repetitive self-descriptive.
"how much do YOU weigh?" she asked, rather smugly.
i thought about lying, saying something like 125 or whatever so she could relax into her role as the Skinniest Person in the Room and shut up already. but i dunno, why should i lie to this random tweeker? so i said, "108."
"you only weight three pounds more than me?" she asked, skeptically. "well how tall are you?"
"5'2.''"
"okay, see: i only weigh 105 but i'm 5'6''. so yeah, i mean i'm just TINY."
"emaciated," "deathly thin," "precariously bony," was more like it. but i'd never say that. i don't want to be on a tweeker's bad side. or their good side, either. i just wanted her to STOP TALKING TO ME. then finally she got dressed and left.
i went and danced for a while, then sat at the bar, drinking water. i'm trying to lay off the sauce for a while, till my stomach stops hurting. it's been exactly one week now. one week and one day, actually. so i am not as bubbly as usual.
this guy sat down next to me and was talking and kept spitting a little. a sizable dollop of spit landed on my arm and then i couldn't even hear what he was saying, because i was fixated on this glob of spit on my arm. it was not that huge, but i felt sober and irritable, and i wanted it off. before i realized what i was doing, i kind of wiped my arm on his sleeve.
he goes, "what are you doing?"
i couldn't think of any good lie so the truth would have to suffice. "um. well... you spit on me and i was just wiping it on your shirt."
"oh. okay," he said, and continued on with whatever he was saying. i felt relieved that he wasn't offended. i'm not usually rude like that. or maybe i am? no. usually i'm sweet.
later i was sitting at the bar playing scrabble on my phone and just really enjoying how toasty warm the club is, i mean the heater is on truly and totally full-blast (i know i mention this a lot when talking about the tiny new dive i'm working at, but i just want you to know how unbelievably FUCKING COZY it feels to be so warm in the middle of winter, especially when you're mostly naked). a guy was sitting next to me, but we weren't hanging out or talking. anyway my co-worker played that otis redding song, "try a little tenderness," and i said, "oh. this reminds me of Pretty In Pink." then suddenly the guy started lip-synching and doing a crazy ducky dale dance on his barstool. it would've been cute, but he was about two inches from my face, and something about it was just too dramatic too close. plus that's one of my all time favorite movies and i'd have been content to just close my eyes and watch the record store scene in my mind. i smiled and offered a few polite chuckles. he didn't stop till the whole song was over, though, which i found so annoying. if i had been tipsy, i'd probably have loved it and joined in. but drunk people just aren't as entertaining to me when i'm sober. i'm sort of a drag.
hmm what else. well a canadian guy came in and wanted 4 lapdances without asking my name or seeing me dance at all. absolutely no pre-amble, just walked in and asked for a dance before he even took off his parka. i'd like for that to happen more often.
i guess that's all for now. oh, except you might be interested to know that there's a lunch special at my new club, and today it was a chili-dog with fries and a PBR for $6. does a chili-dog seem like a particularly strange thing to eat at a strip club, or is it just me? just wondering.
ying yang
last night this guy at my rack was looking at me super lasciviously. i mean, people look at me like that a lot, but this was that big bad wolfish way, like "i wanna eat you for dinner." i immediately disliked him, but i was totally certain that he'd buy dances. so after my stage set, i kinda nosed around among the club and made sure there wasn't anybody else who wanted my attention, then sat down with him for a minute. after a moment or two of small talk, i asked if he wanted a dance. he said, "well, tell me about your lapdances..."
i said, "i'd rather show you."
he goes, "okay, but i want you to tell me about it first."
even with cute, nice customers, i'm not inclined to go into tons of details to sell a dance. my feeling is: you either want one or you don't. take a chance dude, it's only $20 and 4 minutes of your life. (i'll hustle a lot more in a big club, but in my tiny little club the stage tips are good and so i don't feel the need for the hard sell.)
i said, "okay. well. it's a good time. i'll get naked and dance in your lap. feel like it?"
time for quick decisions, you're not buying a house. he goes, "okay! let's do it!"
i led him back to the dance nook, and danced for him. he kept trying to kiss me and i told him i don't like kisses at work. he expressed shock and dismay, "not even on your tummy? how about your arm? can't i kiss you on your arm?"
"no thank you," i said.
the song ended and i felt really done leaning away from his smooches. but he said, "can i have another dance? if i give you $25 instead of $20 will you put your tongue in my ear?"
"EWWWWWW NO!" i exclaimed.
"okay. well can i have a dance anyway?"
he was annoying but not so annoying i couldn't dance 3 or 4 more minutes for him.
this time it was just question after question. i realized that that must just be his "thing"--needling you with questions to which he already knows the answer is "no." i'm always happy to indulge a fantasy by doing basically nothing at all, and i obliged with many no's.
"can i have one taste of your pussy?"
"can i wait till you get off then drive you home?"
"will rub your face in my crotch now?"
"will you nibble my earlobes?"
"will you sit on my face?"
"can i just have one kiss on the lips?"
NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, and absolutely not.
then he wanted more dances, and i would've kept dancing for him but he quite randomly pulled my hair really hard and laughed, and i got a glimpse of him as a possible serial killer.
after that i had a really rad customer. he had curly hair and thick glasses and was 6'8''. something about him was just so cute and fun, and i liked dancing for him. he wanted 5 or 6 dances, and then when i came out of the dance nook, the other guy was gone. :)
it's funny how if one customer is creepy and annoying, the next one will almost always be exceptionally rad. i mean it--the extremes come in pairs.
i said, "i'd rather show you."
he goes, "okay, but i want you to tell me about it first."
even with cute, nice customers, i'm not inclined to go into tons of details to sell a dance. my feeling is: you either want one or you don't. take a chance dude, it's only $20 and 4 minutes of your life. (i'll hustle a lot more in a big club, but in my tiny little club the stage tips are good and so i don't feel the need for the hard sell.)
i said, "okay. well. it's a good time. i'll get naked and dance in your lap. feel like it?"
time for quick decisions, you're not buying a house. he goes, "okay! let's do it!"
i led him back to the dance nook, and danced for him. he kept trying to kiss me and i told him i don't like kisses at work. he expressed shock and dismay, "not even on your tummy? how about your arm? can't i kiss you on your arm?"
"no thank you," i said.
the song ended and i felt really done leaning away from his smooches. but he said, "can i have another dance? if i give you $25 instead of $20 will you put your tongue in my ear?"
"EWWWWWW NO!" i exclaimed.
"okay. well can i have a dance anyway?"
he was annoying but not so annoying i couldn't dance 3 or 4 more minutes for him.
this time it was just question after question. i realized that that must just be his "thing"--needling you with questions to which he already knows the answer is "no." i'm always happy to indulge a fantasy by doing basically nothing at all, and i obliged with many no's.
"can i have one taste of your pussy?"
"can i wait till you get off then drive you home?"
"will rub your face in my crotch now?"
"will you nibble my earlobes?"
"will you sit on my face?"
"can i just have one kiss on the lips?"
NO, NO, NO, NO, NO, and absolutely not.
then he wanted more dances, and i would've kept dancing for him but he quite randomly pulled my hair really hard and laughed, and i got a glimpse of him as a possible serial killer.
after that i had a really rad customer. he had curly hair and thick glasses and was 6'8''. something about him was just so cute and fun, and i liked dancing for him. he wanted 5 or 6 dances, and then when i came out of the dance nook, the other guy was gone. :)
it's funny how if one customer is creepy and annoying, the next one will almost always be exceptionally rad. i mean it--the extremes come in pairs.
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