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.

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

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

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.

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.

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.

snow night

last night as i drove to work, huge snowflakes started falling from the sky. tons of them. suddenly there was a light dust of snow on the ground. i wished i had had time to turn around, leave my car at home, and take a cab. i was in a hurry to get to work on time, though, so i just kept driving to work, and by the time i got downtown it had started blizzarding. i mean giant amounts of snow just fluffing down. i felt nervous about having to drive home in the snow later. i just learned how to drive last year, and i've never driven in snow. i really started freaking out for a minute, but then i decided to work first, worry later.

it ended up being such a good night. the place was bizarrely packed, and it was one of those rare nights where almost every single guy i offered dances to actually wanted one (or several). the boss cranked the heat up so it was nice and toasty, and the club took on a sort of lodgey feel. guys were coming in with snow in their hair and everyone was in a good mood.

right around 1:30 i poked my head out the door just to check on things. there were 4 or 5 inches of snow on the ground. i decided i'd drive super slowly to the parking garage up the street and leave my car there, then try and get a cab. but then an hour later when i was leaving, the snowstorm had become a crazy rainstorm and the snow was getting quickly washed away down the gutters. so i just drove home.

brokeback lapdance.

last night was a pretty great night at work. except that this awkward thing happened. five guys came in from longview, washington, where they all work at the same paper mill together. they were all in their early 50's except for one guy, who was celebrating his 35th birthday. the young guy wanted a lot of birthday dances from me. then after a while he gave me $20 and said, "go get the bald guy i'm with, he needs a lapdance. he's so confused, he's been in a relationship with a man for a few years but he's finally over that. doing good now, he's got a girlfriend and all that. anyway, i'm gonna treat him to a lapdance with you." ...uh... so i didn't really know what to do, i mean this guy's sexuality is not my business, and it's not really my job to advocate for him with his co-worker/friend. but on the other hand, it's not that fun to give a dance to a gay guy who is going through the motions in order to appear straight to his co-workers. anyway i gave the guy a dance. it was uncomfortable. he was very stiff and appeared uninterested and miserable, though polite. so. then the young guy wanted more dances, and after those dances, he gave me more $ and goes, "okay now i'm gonna treat the guy with the mustache to a lapdance. he's the guy the bald guy was in the relationship with. he's straight now, too." whaaaat. i mean, what do you say? i'm just trying to make a living here, please don't put me in awkward situations. the mustachioed man was even more reserved than his boyfriend. he put his hands in his lap, as if guarding his man parts from my dancing. i wanted to be like, "hey it's ok, i'm a lesbian. let's just sit this one out," but that would've been so presumptuous and weird. so i just kind of air-danced and then a million years later the song finally ended. other than that it was a stellar night, just one of those nights where i feel in a great mood and the customers are good, etc.

warm, cozy

hi! i just got home from a mid-shift at one of my new clubs. there are a few things i like about the club:
first of all, it's super warm and cozy. it's nice not to be covered in goosebumps for 5 or 6 hours straight.
the clientele is mostly attractive hipster dudes who tip fine, and then blue-collar guys getting off work and wanting dances.
the dressing room is clean and you get your own little station.
the bartenders are nice so far.
they give you a shift meal, which i don't usually eat but i think it's a cute gesture.
it's easy to park right in front of the club, and the meters are 3 hours, so i don't have to keep putting my clothes on and running outside to avoid parking tickets.

i really hope i continue to like this club. goodnight. xo andi

i'm boring and pooped out.

i keep not getting enough shifts at my club, so i got a job at two additional clubs. one is a tiny cozy little dive. i've only worked there twice, but i had good luck both times. the other is a bigger club, "the world's first and only vegan strip club." i ate a huge bowl of chicken soup before my first shift. nobody seemed to be able to tell. i've only worked there twice so far, as well. i did well the first night, but then i worked during the afternoon/evening on new year's eve, and it wasn't very great AT ALL. i made enough money that it wasn't a total waste, but i just had a miserable time being there. it was freezing cold and it's hard to hustle when you're walking around with goosebumps and icy feet, and you're too grouchy and cold to be charming. almost all the girls wear legwarmers there, and i thought it was their club fashion fad, but now i realize it's actually just to keep their LEGS WARM. i am bringing a pair to my next shift. when i got home i had to thaw out in the bath for an hour before i didn't feel like i wanted to cry.

i had a day off today, my first in over a week. 'twas grand. i went thrifting with a friend and ate and drank and was merry.

i'll try and write more. i can't think of anything super interesting. i did finally buy a little notebook to keep in my stripper purse, so i'm sure in will get around to using it soon-ish. xo andi