"i'm done with you."

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 decided to 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. in fact, my joke fell like a lead balloon.

oh well. 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