strike a pose: vogue vogue vogue vogue

today i was walking down the street on my way to my favorite thrift store and i saw one of my massage clients. he was delivering juice to a bodega, as that's his job. he has a fresh juice delivery company. anyway he was standing with his dolly, chatting with a couple other guys. i smiled at him, and he did this INSANE slapstick comedy double-take and almost dropped his dolly. i winked and made a tiny telephone gesture with my thumb and pinkie.

i didn't find anything good at the thrift store. not even one thing! i come from a huge family of thrift store lovers. our love is mostly steeped in necessity as no one in our family has ever really been able to afford to buy brand-new clothes, but my grandma and my mom always say that even if they had tons of money, they'd still shop at the salvation army because it's more fun. we have a strict rule when we thrift: if it's not at least as cute as what you're already wearing, then you don't need it. well, i was wearing an extremely mediocre outfit today and i STILL didn't find anything. ho hum.

so. that was a bummer. but as i was leaving the store, my juice guy--let's call him rasheed--called for an appointment. that cheered me up. if i'm not finding treasures, i may as well be making money, you know?

when rasheed arrived at the studio, he went on about how different i look out in the world, how surprised he was to see me wearing jeans, how i looked cute but VERY DIFFERENT. i do look very different out in the world than i look at work, it's true. i look about 100x better naked than clothed, and i usually look somewhat boring in casual wear. i work some rad looks when i go out at night, but i haven't ever gotten the hang of looking cute during normal daytime hours. this can be rather disconcerting to people who are used to seeing me either naked or out in fabulous nighttime looks. kind of like, have you ever seen your favorite drag queen at the grocery store? it can be oddly disappointing.

i think a lot of my clients think about me as existing in that studio alone. like, i live there or something. a guy has told me that he likes to think that i'm always hanging out in beautiful lingerie waiting for his call.

in rasheed's case, he found it exciting to see this ordinary girl on the street and know he had a special connection with her. (his words, "special connection." cute.) he's a really great client, btw. super polite. clean, attractive, big muscles. i have to be careful with him, though, because he comes almost as soon as you touch his cock. the first time i saw him, he came before i even touched his cock! but each time he comes to see me, he lasts a little longer. today i managed a good 10 or 12 strokes before he shot up onto his shoulder. when he was leaving he said, "thank you. that was very lovely."

then a guy came to see me who i met at the strip club where i work. i was dancing for him and he kept saying, "i wish i could get a little closer to you." we chatted and he mentioned that he was visiting from down south. so i gave him my work email address and he wrote to me yesterday. he was nice. easy. oh--and he brought me july's vogue magazine with marion cotillard is on the cover because he says we look alike. sweet gestures like that never fail to surprise me.

then i hung out with my co-worker for a bit. she was looking helllla skinny. great actually, model-esque, but please don't get any skinnier. such a thin line between svelte and scary. she told me she just started drinking tons of coffee in the morning and ate only one meal per day, around 4pm. i winced. i always hate to see people i adore develop eating problems. such a slippery slope. easy to start, hard to stop. but i didn't say anything to her about it, people DO NOT want you telling them what/how to eat.

now i'm home. just relaxing. i just watched "the real l-word" online and it was truly tragic. an hour of my life that i will never get back. but i keep seeing those girls wherever i go. out at bars, poolside in palm springs, on my friends' facebook pages. so i wanted to see if the show was good. fail. when does the new season of "eastwick" come out? i want a crappy show to watch that i actually enjoy! please! why is that so much to ask!

okay wellll, goodnight. xo andi

YUMMY

tonight i saw a client, the one with the chocolates and the extraordinarily messy apartment. he couldn't get off for some reason. stayed super-hard for a long time, practically gave me carpal tunnel syndrome. then he needed a break, and when i went to start again it was like starting from scratch. i looked at the clock and realized i'd been there for an hour and a half. i said, "i'm going to have to get going soon-ish." i hadn't seen the chocolates anywhere around and i hated to think about leaving without one.

he was like, "oh! okay. totally, you probably have someplace to be."

i went to wash my hands and when i came back, he was sitting there holding the goods! it's such a special box, by the way. i love the way it looks. you can only get these chocolates in france, or so he tells me. i had a hard time choosing, but i ended up with a sea turtle. it had an extra-dark chocolate shell and inside was a dark chocolate ganache that had a slight bit of salty crunch to it and also the vague hint of cinnamon. it was almost like a cinnamon toast ganache. every time i have one of this guy's chocolates, it's better than the last. this was THE BEST chocolate i've ever eaten. EVER. soooooooooooooo goooooooooooooood.

$200 in 4 minutes! RAD!

yesterday i was at this all-day/all-night party with my friends when i got a text from the bachelor party company i work for. (when i say "company," i mean this one girl i used to dance with who has a small company of girls she sends out mostly to bachelor parties, but also stripper-grams, birthday parties, two-girl shows, arm-candy dinner dates.) she wanted to know if i could do a birthday party at midnight.

i had to think about it for a minute. i had planned to stay at the party all night and take MDMA. i love that drug so much but i know it is positively terrible for your brain matter, so i only indulge in it once a year. always either at this one gay pride party that i was at yesterday, or in guerneville, the little gay river town i like to go to. hmmm, an easy $200 later, or ecstasy now...

well, i chose the money. i decided that having to work later would be a really good excuse not to get super wasted. and also a good excuse to save my ecstasy date for later in the summer. i like having it to look forward to, actually.

so i danced and danced for eight hours straight. surrounded on all sides by love and ten years worth of friends. i hated having to leave at 11pm, but my feet were hurting and everyone was starting to look a bit ragged anyway. not in a way that was unattractive, but actually just in a way that was making me feel a teensy bit left out.

the words of my mom, the timeless party-girl, were in my head as i left to go put on my stripper get-up: "always leave the party while it's still fun."

the birthday party was at a bar down the street from my house. i went home and you-tubed the song they wanted, "you can leave your hat on," by joe cocker. also they wanted me to look like a burlesque dancer, not a stripper. so i put on some nude fishnets with black lines up the back, mary jane stripper shoes with big bows on the toes, and a black lacy bra/tiny panty set that looks kind of vintagey. i curled my bangs under for a bettie page wig effect. (my hair's been looking very wiggy lately: perfection.)

i don't particularly like dancing in bars, and when i got about a block away i felt oddly nervous. i ducked in to the piano bar across the street and ordered a sidecar, not too sweet. i felt warm and happy sitting in one of the city's oldest bars, surrounded by aging queens, listening to warbly-voiced singers belting out showtunes. i felt like i could be in another time, sitting there drinking my old-fashioned drink and looking all cute.

feeling much better, i crossed the street and went to my gig. i was supposed to dance and then do the cake and lead everyone in happy birthday, and then hang out for about 20 minutes sitting on they guy's lap, etc. well. i danced to half of the song, the guy was so embarrassed and uncomfortable, he was beet red and sweating bullets. after like two minutes, he said, "thank you. okay. thank you," by which he clearly meant, "stop. please. stop." so i went and got the cake, lit the candles, fed him a few bites. and then he goes, "really. thank you," and took my shoulders, gently turning me around and sending me packing. sounds rude but really wasn't. sometimes you're just done.

so i got paid and left. i was worried for a minute that they would feel ripped off, but when i was a block away i got a text from the guy who ordered the stripper in the first place and it was like, "that was great! you were perfect! so cute! thanks!" so i figured it was okay.

my friend was playing records down the street at the dyke bar so i stopped in for a minute to say hello, and it felt like the old days for a minute. i used to always go there after working a party. i'd sit there by myself with a thousand bucks burning a hole in my purse and i'd feel rich but lonesome. i used to have this feeling, like is making a lot of money with no one to spend it on like when a tree falls in the forest and nobody hears it? a useless riddle and what am i even talking about? but i did used to feel somewhat existential about my wealth. i don't now. i just feel lucky whenever i'm not broke.

okay. bye for now.

feelin' homey

yesterday was a really good day. i woke up in my sunny apartment (down south) and luxuriated for a bit in my pink sheets, just listening to the oceanic hum of morning traffic and the tinny yips of tiny city dogs. finally i got up and went downstairs to the coffeeshop, where they always have the worst music playing. i think they own two cds: sarah maclachlan and ani difrianco, both were likely left behind by lesbian baristas in the '90's. oh, also sometimes they'll play the soundtrack from RENT. haha. additionally they have mediocre coffee and the middle-aged asian couple who owns the place never recognize me or remember my order, ONE MEDIUM COFFEE TO GO PLEASE, though i've lived upstairs from them for 8 years. kind of hilarious. why do i go there? it's right downstairs. it feels familiar. and i can put jeans on under my snoopy nightshirt and just go out like that because everyone else goes to the cooler, better coffeeshop half a block down so i don't have to worry about seeing anybody i know.

i came back upstairs and sat at my desk, drinking coffee and writing a letter to someone cute, and then i got a call from a regular so i went to the massage studio to meet him. entering the building, i had the warm feeling of being in the place you enjoy and where your money is. a hard feeling to describe, but as i rode the elevator, my heart felt happy. i unlocked the apartment and though i hadn't been there in over two months, it felt like i'd never left. i went to my cubby and everything was there just as i'd left it. i like working with girls who won't touch your mac lipsticks, fancy lotions, and betsey johnson shoes while you're away. anyway the girls i work with have chanel lipsticks and louis vuitton shoes so what would they want with my crap. but still: it's just the point that no matter what kind of things i had, they wouldn't ever take them: quality people.

i had 15 minutes before my appointment. i took a shower and remembered how much i totally love the piping hot showers at the studio, how you can just stand there forever under the hot stream and it won't ever run cold. i dried off and put on a little makeup and a cute bra/panty set. i lit some candles and put on music and then my client arrived. it was a guy i like a lot, who i've seen probably 5 or 6 times, but when i opened the door i suddenly couldn't remember anything about him. he looks a lot like this other guy i see who has yucky smelly foreskin. i couldn't remember if he was that guy or the other one. i put him in the shower and went to get him some water and when i came back he was face-down on the table. i went through the whole massage not knowing whether i had foreskin to dread or not, until the last part where i turned him over. WHEW! not the foreskin stinker.

he was an easy guy. he loved when i wouldn't let him come for a while. i remembered, finally, who he was and that he's a tiny bit submissive. so before i let him come i made him ask me "pretty please," a few times until he used a voice that was sweet enough for my liking. and then he laid there for a moment and said the same exact thing he always says after he comes: "ahhhhhhh another soul made happy." it's almost like a verbal tic. like when someone sneezes and actually says "atchew."

when i came out of my session, my two favorite girls were in the living room. rachel and i forget what i named the other one! anyway i was happy to see them. they were wearing identical outfits, which happens a lot and never stops being funny to me. especially since they have the same fancy purse. did i tell you this story already? how i came back from new york with a particularly realistic looking fake louis vuitton and they both admired it, and then the next day they each went and dropped $700 on the exact same purse, except theirs were real (duh)? mine is already suuuuuper ragged and fake-looking. theirs still look brand new. i guess some luxury items hold up more luxuriously than their counterfeits. anyway they had on the same outfit yesterday: black tank top, $200 citizens of humanity "jeggings," black shorty ugg boots. expensive comfort. they both looked really cute, though. they could kind of wear anything and look cute. they're very good-looking girls.

so. we shot the shit for a while, and they told me something HILARIOUS! remember those crazy pimps i used to work for? well they had all these fake handles on the escort website we all use, and if you got on their bad side, they'd use these monikers to write bogus bad reviews and shit-talk you on the message boards. well they got totally called out and now those handles are useless. plus everyone found out that when they were messaging with these certain young girls, it was actually these weird old pimps doing the dirty talking. hahahahaha. i can just imagine the wild drama over at that house when the shit hit the fan. i'd liked to have been a fly on that wall. those ladies have such a propensity for hysteria, even finding a pube in the sink will set them off, so THIS must've been pure pandemonium!!! LOLZZZ

i went down and worked out in the little gym. it was nice, i like working out in front of a window with fresh air blowing on my face. plus, i've gained ten pounds up in portland and it felt nice to begin to get pro-active about getting my bikini bod back. don't get me wrong, i still look HELLSA GOOD but i could look better, more toned.

then i had another client. i've written about him before--NO! MICKEY! NO! well, i'm glad i got the number wrong in my phone when i saved him as NO because he's actually become a favorite client. he quit smoking and took care of his backne, and he doesn't gross me out at all now. also he gave himself a makeover and now that he can get laid he's having this sexual revolution. it's fun to hear about in his nerdy stuffed up voice. he just recently heard of "rimming," for example, and he wanted to know whether he could try it on me. i told him i don't like it very much. (the fact is that i LOVE IT. i love anything ass-related, so i like to reserve these things for my personal life.)

then i ate a hasty dinner at whole foods, bought some headphones, and rushed home. i had a party go to. i wasn't that excited about it, but it ended up being IMMENSELY FUN.

today i'm not working. i'm spending time with myself, and then going to another party. ho-kay. bye for now. xo andi

dear readers

i tried to install google analytics so i could see how many people were reading, and where they were. but i'm easily confused in matters of the computer, and i mixed everything up and couldn't make it work.

are you out there? if you're reading sometimes maybe leave a comment. i'm such a ham, if i know people are reading, i'll totally be inspired to write more.

xo andi

bitch bitch bitch

work today was slow, which seems to be the case a lot lately. i barely "broke a bill," as the girls like to say. (meaning, i barely "made over a hundred dollars," but i'm sure you already knew what i meant.)

i worked with a girl i like a lot, she's been working at the club for 18 years! amazingly, she's still totally hot. anyway today she decided we are friends, and that was nice. last time we worked together i was telling her how, as a rule, i never buy a cocktail for myself while i'm working. if i can't get a guy to buy one for me then i just don't get to drink. she thought that was silly. "i buy myself cocktails all the time," she said. "why should my fun depend on whether or not someone wants to buy it for me?"

we all have our own ways of doing things.

so today was super slow and about halfway through the shift, i was sitting at the bar with my co-worker (well, she was sitting at the bar, and i was sitting next to the bar, on the edge of the stage, declining to dance for the one derelict non-tipping customer who was there) and i mentioned that i didn't feel like dancing for free today, that i wanted to go out in the sunshine since it was the first sunny day we've had in a long time, and that i felt heart-sick and full of PMS. my co-worker surprised me by ordering us a round of cocktails. "my treat!" she announced. it was a particularly sweet gesture since neither of us was making money.

after a cocktail, i felt considerably more cheerful. like, "okay. i might not make any money today. and i might be sitting in a dark, frigidly chilly over-air-conditioned strip club in the middle of the day missing out on the first warm sunshine in ages. and i might be feeling totally emo and overly sentimental and crazy as hell. but i'm a smart, pretty girl with a lot to look forward to in life, and things are gonna be okay." abrubt alcoholic paradigm shift? maybe. except i'm really not an alcoholic.

then some guys straggled in here and there. i gave a few dances. one guy was from canada. he smelled bad and he kept saying, "in canada the girls let you touch them more." "a lot more." "i wish we were in canada." "you're so hot, i wish you lived in canada."

i said, "yeah, i wish i lived in canada, too. then i could go to the dentist and get my teeth fixed, and it wouldn't cost me my life's savings."

he goes, "no, i meant i wish you lived in canada, so we could hang out," implying that the main thing standing in the way of our love was the giant boner-killing condom known as the us/canada border, because if i lived in canada i'd obviously make myself totally available to him.

another guy i danced for was wearing sweatpants. sorry, sir, as much as i'd love being able to feel everything in its explicit entirety through that thin membrane of worn heather-gray fleece you've got draped across your lap, i'm gonna have to cite oregon's no-contact rule and decline to grind.

the other guy i danced for was a nice, good smelling guy wearing normal pants. he didn't talk too much, just enjoyed being danced for.

after about ten million hours, it was time to go home. i fell asleep on the bus and woke up two blocks past my stop, disoriented and oddly carsick. i had formulated a long to-do list before i left work, but when i got home i indulged in a giant snack attack which necessitated a good deal of lying on the couch with a book afterward. then i had a hard talk with someone, which necessitated another lengthy horizontal literary escape session. and now it's nighttime and, having done nothing even remotely productive all day, i feel rather insane. i'm gonna just get into bed with my book even though it's only 10:30pm, and have a fresh start on the morrow.

dancin machine

i've been working a bunch since i came back from my trip to austin. it's not been terribly exciting, but i've had 4 good shifts and one bad one.

the bad one was last wednesday afternoon. it was extremely dead in the club, all day. i only gave ONE table dance, and the guy was such a hannibal lector. he didn't want me to dance, he just wanted to examine me, in detail. how much do you weigh, how tall are you, how big are your feet, what's your waist size, all that. i kept waiting for him to start calling me "clarice." he wanted me to continue "dancing" for him, and though i hardly EVER refuse someone a dance if they're not grabby, i was getting the creeped out feeling that he was measuring me for his freezer until he had time to make a tiny suit out of my skin, so i told him i needed to go to the bathroom. when i came out, he was gone. whew.

then i worked on saturday and it was fine. a dorky mormon dad-type took a shine to me and wanted lots of dances. he said something that kept me laughing all night because it was so weird. he goes, "wow andi. your pussy is so beautiful. truly perfect. when i look at it, it makes me want to hug it. with my mouth. may i?" haha. as if.

last night i worked and the club was empty when i walked in, and normally this would be a bummer, but i was feeling tired and bedraggled so i was almost relieved. i went downstairs and put on my makeup, and when i came back upstairs to start my shift, there were a bunch of people. mostly girls, though. oh brother. ready for a sweeping generalization? ok: girls are so annoying to dance for UNLESS THEY ARE DYKES. groups of straight girls aren't good tippers, they want to make comments to you, they think you care what they think about your body or your dancing skills, they want to hear lady gaga, it's their birthday, blah blah blah.

there was this one girl who was SUCH an annoying loudmouth. a group of good-looking guys came in and were sitting at my rack, tipping well and being fun in general. the girl had some jealousy issues she was working out or something because she felt the need to come over and try and commandeer the attention of these cute guys. she came over and stood behind them and was saying things like, "tip her more! she's so cute!" oh ye of the streaky blonde ponytail and green track jacket: sit the fuck down!

i put up with it, but then when i got back onstage a little later and she was doing it again, i told her i didn't need her help because the guys were tipping fine, and asked if she would please sit down and relax. people HATE IT when you ask them to relax. (i should know: i'm kind of high-strung sometimes and i fucking hate when someone tells me to relax!) so then she did sit down but she wasn't happy about it. she started bitching about me to her friends and then eventually they all left. good riddance.

then i danced some more. did some table dances. sat at the bar with a guy who was on vacation from sacramento. he was talking about how this was his chance to get away from his kids and grandkids and just let loose. he had dentures that seemed a little too big, and they were causing him to spit a lot when he talked. it was grossing me out so i guzzled the cocktail he bought for me and then jumped up, telling him he should celebrate his vacation with a double-lapdance. i grabbed my co-worker real quick while he was excited about the idea. we danced for him and he said he was in heaven, etc etc, and that he didn't want it to end. he joked that it was time to cash in the 401k to spend on strippers. "we're gonna have a good night, girls," he said. ALL TALK. after that ONE dance he went took an extended visit to the bathroom and then skedaddled out the side door. i went downstairs and washed his spit off my arm with some antibacterial soap, which i'm sure was unnecessary but made me feel fresh.

the night went on like that. big talkers, lots of girl customers, some lechy couples, and some cute guys too. it was an okay night anyway, though. not great, but fine. i got bored pretty late and hurt my arm on the pole. i woke up this morning in crazy arm pain. i'm babying it today and hoping it feels better soon because i'm going down south to work for a week and a half and i need this arm to be in good shape. i'm hoping to make a nice chunk of money so i can buy a car because i'm learning to drive! i even drove on the freeway for the first time yesterday.

actually, i did drive on the freeway once a long, long time ago. i had a stepdad who was teaching me to drive on this old beat-up yellow station wagon with no speedometer. he used to get mad at me when i made mistakes and scream at me or smack me. anyway once he took me up to the tippy top of this crazy bluff along the columbia river gorge, near corbett i think. the car's steering column pulled to the right, and off to the right of the road was a giant craggy cliff that seemed always too close. i wanted to pull over and let him drive, i was terrified and having an extended anxiety attack, but he wouldn't let me and also there wasn't any place to pull off. so after a million miles of steep narrow road and switchbacks, we finally got to the top of this cliff. beautiful view of the gorge, but really windy. i begged him to drive us home but he wouldn't. i said i was too scared to drive back down that road, and he directed me to an alternate route home but it ended up being I-84. i couldn't tell how fast everyone was going, i felt like i was driving way too fast and way too slow all at the same time. it was super scary. i was really mad that he was making me do this, we bickered, he smacked me. so then i was driving down the world's most windy freeway with no speedometer and hot angry tears impeding my vision. i swore off driving after that. but now i'm learning.

and so i've got to not do any pole tricks for a while and also lay off the homosexual arm sex because my arm needs to feel better so i can massage some menfolk next week and amass a lump sum of $$$ and get myself a cute little car! i want one of the new VW bugs. not a brand new one, but one from the 2000's. when they first came out i thought they were so ugly, but they've somehow grown on me and now i WANT ONE!!! i think i'd like it to be black or silver. or maybe even white!

okay that's it for now. xo

polka dots

hello from austin. i'm visiting a friend here and doing a little work. it's super hot and fun and rad here. lots of good things to eat and drink, and the people are good.

i worked at the club on thursday before i left, and took this picture. nothing much to report. xo andi

back to work.

i haven't written in quite a while. this is because i was feeling BEYOND BORED at work, and then i went on vacation to the mayan riviera, and now i'm back and working a lot so i shall resume my pen.

my first day back to work was monday, which i had forgotten was memorial day until my mom called me on my way to work to make sure i was going to my family's BBQ. it started at 2pm, but i was working till 4:30 so told her i'd come at the tail-end. i was like, "well, it will either be totally busy, or totally dead." i knew there wasn't going to be an in-between.

it was the very least lucrative shift i've had since moving up here. $52. i didn't care very much, though, i was just thinking of the hamburger and hot dog i was going to wolf down the moment i walked in the door at my aunt's. which is what i did. YUM. i didn't eat the buns, but i DID eat a piece of my grandma's birthday cake and it was amazingly delicious. but since i'm gluten-free it gave me the worst stomach-ache ever and i STILL have that stupid stomach-ache. plus my tummy is sticking out, angrily.

i think i'm going to have to cancel my "birthday cake rule." a very long time ago, i decided that even though i have celiac disease (google it--can't eat gluten), it's just too sad to go to birthday parties and not eat at least a tiny sliver of the cake. it triggers my childhood food scarcity issues. watching other people eat yummy things when i can't have any makes me feel super extremely tragically left-out. it's like i'm instantly transported back to the school cafeteria and i'm watching all the other kids eat lunch while i pretend that i "forgot" mine. it triggers my adulthood "i love cake" issues, too. just looking at a birthday cake will make my stomach start growling. but i'm just going to have to get over it, it's NOT WORTH the shooting pains, bloating, and nausea. not to mention the diminished white blood cell count.

soooooo. anyway. that was fun.

i worked last night, too. i made $400, so much better than monday THANK GOD. it was one of those nights that are fun. i liked the girls i was working with, and almost all the customers were good. this little baby dyke came in to use the bathroom and get out of the rain and she counted out her change for a beer then sat at the rail. i let her sit there for 2 songs without tipping but a big party came in and were obviously going to tip so i asked her to start tipping or sit elsewhere. she didn't have even a dollar so she moved. then i did some dances and whatnot and when i got back up on stage she was sitting at the rack with a fresh beer in her hand, a smile on her face, and an middle aged dude at her side. BABY HUSTLA!!! she got him to give her ones to tip with, and then to buy her a couple of dances! hilarious. she just turned 21 in april, and is clearly wasting no time.

oh, one funny thing about the little dyke was that she tried to get all "pretty woman" on me. she was like, "you know, you don't have to dance for me. you can just sit next to me and talk." i was like, "it's okay, i'll dance. it's more fun." i wasn't interested in having precious moments with her.

there was a group of guys having a work reunion, and they bought each other dances all night long, plus one guy bought the whole bar a shot of patron, so my boss was happy. they were extra rowdy and obnoxious but i liked them. except for one guy who kept saying "show me your pussy!" and i was finally like, "dude. you're in a strip club, OF COURSE i'm going to show you my pussy. now stop saying that, please." he seemed to try to stop, but it slipped out a few more times over the course of the night. i think it may have been some sort of verbal tic.

another guy i liked was a short chubby little businessman. he was nice. he bought 6 or 7 dances from me and kept telling me how "absolutely gorgeous" i am. no complaints here.

a guy i DID NOT like was this sensitive little indie rock boy. i told him i liked his sebadoh t-shirt and then he was obsessed. (for the record: i don't even LIKE sebadoh, i was just making conversation.) he was like, "you know who sebadoh is?" i was like, "no, i totally slept through the 90's. plus i'm a stripper so i only listen to lady gaga and usher." jeeeeez. anyway he wanted to know how much it would be to just sit with me for 20 minutes and talk. i said, "how about you pay for 3 dances and i'll sit with you for 5?" then he kept hemming and hawing and i realized he thought i'd just sit with him for zero dollars because of our indie rock connection. which i probably would if the club was empty. but it wasn't. after that he gave me puppy-dog-eyes all night. it was annoying, but also kind of funny.

well. that's it for now, i suppose. working again this afternoon/evening. i'll let you know if anything interesting happens.

xo andi.