Sunday, September 22, 2013

my dick in a box

i have  co-worker who loves dancing to kitschy novelty songs, like storm large's "my vagina is 8 miles wide," and other songs i can't remember the names of, though i've heard them all one million times. well last night she played that adam sandler/justin timberlake song, "my dick in a box." it was slow for a bit, so i was sitting with my other coworker having a drink at the bar, and when that song came on, she turns to me and says with nary a hint of irony, "this song always makes me feel so festive." i said, "whaaaaat?" and she goes, "i just love christmas songs."

Thursday, September 19, 2013

beach town

last weekend i went out to the coast to work at a little seaside club. my friend worked out there last month and said it could be good, and i wanted to get out of town for a couple days so i called ahead and texted pictures, and the lady said come on out.  i decided to make a little trip of it.

the shifts there are very long. they start at 4:45 in the afternoon and end at 2:30am. almost ten hours!! i didn't want my entire day to only be driving and work, so i left town early-ish so i could stop at some thrift stores on my way out there. i found some great things. my two faves were a tie-dyed garfield t-shirt and a tiny cropped motorcycle jacket.

when i got to the coast, i checked in to my hotel, which is the oldest hotel in town and has a rustic wild west vibe. it's not decorated western, but the actual building has that air. like it could've been a brothel at some point, or just the nice hotel in the rugged little fishing town. my room was only $70 per night, because it's kind of hostel style, with a shared bathroom, an it was SO CUTE! just really perfect. high ceilings, old fixtures. a little sink, and an old desk. there were two big windows that looked out over downtown and if i stood on the bed, i could see the ocean. i liked the room so much, but no sooner had i checked in than i had to leave for work. sad.

i drove to the club, and it, too, was in an old timey building. the manager showed me around, and left me in the dressing room to get ready. "the girls have been warned, they are not to bully you," she said. "if anybody bullies you, just come right to me."

"uh oh," i thought.

i did my hair and makeup and the girls trickled in one by one till there were 8 of us girls in the teeny tiny dressing room. i did what i always do at a new club, just totally kept to myself.

there wasn't a dj so the manager had one of the girls show me how to use a big old desktop PC to play music for my sets. and then there were just several hours of hanging out not making money or doing anything, really, besides sitting around looking at instagram and getting up on stage every hour or so. the bar only serves beer and wine, but there is a bar a few doors down that all the girls go to on their break. everyone gets two scheduled 15 minute breaks to go have a real cocktail down the street. how cute.

around 8pm i started to feel super antsy. i'd been there three and a half hours and barely had $40 in my purse. i was thinking i'd just leave, but then this guy materialized out of nowhere and wanted 5 dances. so then i decided to stay a while. after that i did some more dances for a different guy, and the place started to feel worth my while. none of the other girls had sold any dances yet, and they were definitely throwing me shade, which i pretended not to notice.

at 10:30 i was sitting with a customer, and the bartender came to tell me it was time for my scheduled break. i don't drink beer or wine, so i'd just been drinking water for the last 6 hours, and i felt ready for a stiff drink. the guy i was sitting with offered to go buy me a drink there, and he seemed nice enough, and it was only three doors down, so i was like, "sure."

we went down and had a drink. and then he wanted to take a shot with me. i don't usually have two drinks right in a row like that, but i felt pretty sure i wasn't going to get all the way dressed and come back on my next "break," so i thought "why not." then we had to rush back to the club. on the way back the guy said, "ok i'm ready for my kiss."

i said, "haha. what? no."

he said, "please?"

"no thanks," i said. "i have to get back to work."

he grabbed my wrist and tried to shove me into this teeny alleyway--not so much an alleyway as a narrow crevice between two buildings. i said, "knock it off! let go of me!" he didn't let go, just started leaning in for a kiss, so i stamped on his foot and punched him on the inside of his elbow, and his hand let my wrist go. i said, "get outta here!!" but he followed me into the bar anyway. i felt embarrassed for going to the bar with him, i mean how dumb am i? it just seemed fine, but now that i think about it it wasn't very smart. and he seemed to be a bar regular. i had a feeling if i complained about him it wouldn't do much good so i just tried to ignore him leering at me for the next hour until he left. asshole.

one of the house girls was having a birthday that night. she didn't say how old she was turning, but i'd guess 48 or 49, and i'm not exaggerating. most of the girls gave her presents. body spray, etc. one girl gave her a victoria's secret bag and i thought, "ooh, nice," but it wasn't cute lingerie, it was a sparkly tube dress from charlotte russe. what a misleading bag! i wondered if the birthday lady was disappointed. if she was, it didn't show.

listen, i have to work on my other projects, because there is no way in hell i'm gonna be a 48 year old dancer, working on my birthday, wearing a pink light-up tiara and getting wasted on mike's hard lemonade.

as the night wore on, the customers just got weirder and weirder. i sat for a long while with a john lithgow look-alike. the physical resemblance was uncanny, and he had a deep television voice like john lithgow, too. the guy said he used to work in radio as a news reporter for 30 years till he got downsized last year, and now he works in the fitting room at ross dress for less. he didn't seem stoked about it, but neither did he seem particularly bummed, just matter of fact: i got downsized, now i work at ross. i didn't have the heart to hustle him after that so i went and talked to other people.

i went to the dressing room, and this girl started talking about how her sister always gave her shit about being a stripper, calling her a whore, but then always wanting to borrow money. she said, "i mean, we're not whores! i'd say we were a close cousin to the prostitute, though. i mean we are being sexy for money, even if we're not having actual sex." the next time i went in there, she was saying, "i mean, do i really care what any of these guys think of me? or even any of the other girls?! NO. i don't. i just really don't." there seems to always be a girl who hangs out in the dressing room a lot, for whatever reason: the dressing room philosopher.

i talked for a while with a doctor from new york who was in town on his very first fishing trip. i can sense when a customer is about to drop a bunch of money on me, and this guy was very close. UNTIL this super wasted baby stripper came up and draped herself all over him, telling him how she was almost late for work because "these mexicans don't know how to drive," and then chronicling the entire profanity-filled fender bender in inane detail. she just went on and on and got louder and more slurry. she sat in his lap ON HIS BARSTOOL, and then fell down, at which point the guy just got up and left. i was so annoyed. this girl was just messy in general, had been stripping out of a ratty jean skirt and abercrombie t-shirt all night, and was a super messy dancer, all angles and unpointed toes. i had felt bad for her, but now i disliked her.

i did a lot of dances in the last two hours and i don't remember much about anyone except the last guy i danced for, who was probably one of the very most bizarre characters i've ever met. he was about 4'11'', and wore a drapey silk shirt and pants like an '80's popstar in a music video. very lionel richie / billy ocean. he had a mullet, and it was like no mullet i've ever seen up close, very extreme, very curly. i think he was indian, he was brown and had an indian sounding name, but i'm not sure. and he had a super thick new york accent. when we got back to the lapdance area he just wanted me to sit and talk to him. he told me how his wife had died nine months ago to the day. a lot of the things he said seemed like rehearsed lines, turns of phrase he'd employed over and over to talk about his tragedy. other things sounded like blatant lies, but i listened politely as if he were telling me a true story. i asked how long they'd been married. he said, "well since i was 25 and she was 31.'s see...i guess that would make it 29 years." i feel like most grieving widowers would know how long they'd been married without having to perform quick math.

finally the night was over. i felt like i was gonna fall over with exhaustion. i went to my hotel and had a little snack in bed all cozy. the next day i went to antique stores, and had delicious food, and went to the beach, it was so nice.