xmas eve eve

(this is from dec 23. i thought i'd posted it, but it was saved as a draft. oopsie.)

i got called in to work tonight and it was pretty slow at first, but since i wasn't on the schedule and was just covering for someone, all the money i made felt kinda like bonus money. i had a few good customers, and then i was sitting at the bar drinking a water. and this cheap loser who had been sitting at my rack earlier came up and stood behind me. he started talking to the back of my neck. i turned around a little to get him out of my neck zone (which is a highly personal area, btw--i'd much rather rub my ass on someone's dick with only a sweatpants barrier than have anyone who's not my girlfriend breathing, touching, or even vaguely nuzzling my neck). but when i turned, he was then like an inch from my face. unable to win, i moved to the next barstool and instead of going away, he sat down in the seat i'd just vacated.

"how's your night?" he said. a question that is just awesome from someone who has been watching you get naked over and over again for hours, but has yet to tip even one dollar.

"it's going alright," i said.

"not making much money, huh?" he said, and before waiting for me to answer he goes, "well i wonder why that is. maybe it's because when you get guys coming up to gynecologist row, A K A 'the rack,' you just ignore them and they go away. maybe some people don't like uptight snobs."

gynecologist row? BARF.

i said, "actually my money's fine tonight."

"well, i doubt that. and anyway it could be a lot better if you didn't play favorites at the rack. maybe then some people would get a lapdance from you."

his tone was mean, and bordering on hateful. "rude," i can deal with, but "hateful" just feels dangerous. still, i couldn't stop my self from saying, "yes. i do play favorites at the rack. my favorites are polite gentlemen who are tipping generously. not skeezy tightwads like yourself."

"i was only trying to give you some advice. bitch!" but at least then he went away.

i think i've mentioned that often when someone is really gross, someone truly sweet will come along shortly.

i was on stage a little while later having a fun time dancing for a bunch of cute people who were tipping well. i looked up and there was this movie-star looking dude at the bar. super handsome and well-dressed, and i liked him right away. he had a cloud of visible good energy around him or something. a little difficult to explain, but i feel this way from time to time about people, and they usually turn out to be great. he was looking at me and smiling so i smiled back and then continued dancing. the next thing i knew he was standing at the stage, making it rain in an expert manner (not just tossing clumps of bills and hoping for the best, which some people do when they realize they don't know how to do it like a rap star). it was beautiful, $250-ish dollar bills like snowflakes in a flurry, raining slowly down on me. then he goes, "merry christmas, beautiful!" and left.

in all my years of dancing, that's the first time that's happened to me. i mean, $20, $50, even (rarely) $100, sure. but $250 or $300 or however much it was looks a lot more magical. everyone really loved when that happened, too. it changed the whole mood of the club, and from then on it was CASH MONEY all night. i reallllllly needed a good night like that. it's crazy how a few crappy shifts in a row can sort of wreck you for the month. also crazy how one great shift can remedy your immediate financial woes.

if i'm ever rich, i am totally going to do things like that all the time.

emo

hi. i haven't written in a loooong time. i got dumped again (same person, different year) and have been VERY BUMMED. and by that i mean morbidly depressed. i really LOST IT this time, i've never cried so much in my life--crazy crying, where you can't get anything done, and you cry so much you end up barfing. full emotional meltdown times over here. a full two months of it.

it's embarrassing to have that kind of meltdown over a lover. but i've never been as in love and i dunno, i just really thought i'd met my person who i was gonna be with for a long time (forever? eek?). i've always been guarded and withholding in relationships, but this time i feel like i put  *almost* my whole self out there, or tried to at least. to have someone know me better than anyone has EVER, and to not want me was (and still is) devastating. it brought all my feelings of self-doubt and worthlessness and unlovability to the surface. i felt like a walking wound, my heart literally, physically ached in my chest.

my co-worker saw that i was struggling and referred me to this spiritual healer. i went to see her and she led me through some visualizations and stuff that really worked in terms of closing up my heart chakra till it's healed a bit. my chest stopped hurting immediately, and that raw feeling got less intense. i wouldn't say i'm feeling "better," but i have gotten to a point where i am able to dissuade myself from lying on the floor all day blowing my nose on my nightgown.

from a work standpoint, heartbreak sure is a moneymaker. i've written about this before, how guys just cannot get enough of you if you seem broken and vulnerable. i wasn't able to wear eye makeup to work for several weeks because my crying jags were unpredictable and i never knew when i'd need to go hide in the bathroom for a bit. i think i look younger or easy or something without makeup because CHA-CHING, dude.

so. the moral of this story is that i'm getting back on my feet emotionally and starting to get things done like writing and sewing and cooking normal meals for myself. and also that a bedraggled, puffy-eyed stripper is just irresistable so don't be afraid to take off that snot-covered nightie and go to work after an emo day, girls, if you can force yourself to do so.

xo andi

thanks, bros.

i spent all my rent money on a fancy new sewing machine, thinking "whatever, i'll make it back." but then i went to work last night and it was so dead. i sat with a rich-looking guy for a while, and he turned out to be a dud. got a few dances from a regular. then the rich dude wanted me to sit with him again and i said, "sorry but i have to go put on my eyelashes." he was like, "why? it's dead in here." but i just had a feeling like my money was on its way, and having my eyelashes on is part of the way i like to greet my money.

well i glued my eyelashes and waited. the club filled up, but it wasn't anybody great. i was kind of freaking out around 1am. i texted my ex to see if i could borrow rent money for a couple days. he said sure. but i was hoping it wouldn't come to that.

then these two young guys came in. my co-workers didn't pay them any attention because i guess they really didn't look like spenders. i had a good feeling about them, though, so i went and chatted a little between sets. they were 22 year-old canadians on a roadtrip, and they were super polite and cute. when i got back on stage, one of them came and lined up several folded dollars on my rack. when i collected them at the end of my set, i saw they were actually 1's folded on top of 20's. STOKED.

so i went and had a drink with them. they didn't want lap dances, but the next time i got on stage they rained about $200 on me. they did it again on my next set, too. then one of them complained that he had drank too much and was getting the spins. the other one said, "just drink more, bro! that's what i did and i feel fine!" but the spinny one looked green. they left, and i said a lil thank you to the universe.

beefcake bubble bath

i was in new york last week. the plan was to work a bunch, but it ended up being mostly a vacation. i did see a couple massage clients, though. one was an outcall in central park west (is that what you call the part of the upper west side that is right next to central park? i'm not a new yorker).

i showed up to the guy's apartment on the 7th floor of a big brownstone building. and let me tell you first of all that the place was like no other apartment i've been in. it was a total palace and very classy rustic, like walking into a chic mountain lodge. real bearskin rug. huge overstuffed oxblood leather couches. HUGE tv blaring a game (i can't remember what it was, maybe olympic basketball? i dunno).

the client invited me in, and was real stiff and awkward, wouldn't really make eye-contact. when people don't make eye contact, i get nervous and immediately identify my exit route, should i need it. i didn't see my "donation" anywhere, i hate having to ask. JUST PUT IT WHERE I CAN SEE IT. DUH. so i asked to use the restroom because i had to pee, and also because i was hoping when i got back he'd have left my $ out. the bathroom was super girly, with a pink chenille robe hanging on the door and a floral scrunchie on the doorknob, screaming: "wife in the hamptons for the weekend."

the donation still wasn't out, so i asked for it which made him bristle. i felt annoyed like, "yeah, i know it's awkward, your fault dude." with that taken care of, we went into his bedroom. i started to fold back the duvet so we wouldn't get oil or cum on it, and he said, "oh don't do that yet. let's go sit in the hot tub." it was a realllllly hot day and the last thing i wanted was to get into a steamy hot tub. he could see that i was reluctant, and he said, "i made it kind of cool, so we could cool off." ok. sure. i followed him to what i assumed was gonna be a little deck or something, but it was actually just the other bathroom, where there was a BATH TUB with jets, all fired up, bubbles and everything. i was thinking THIS IS NOT A HOT TUB.

he slid into the tub, and i was standing there. i really didn't feel like taking a bath, but i could tell he didn't want the possibility of a stray blonde hair in his bed so i got in the tub. like the ocean, i don't turn my back on a new client ever. so i got in facing him, despite his manhandling efforts to position me with his dick resting in my ass crack. NOPE. it was awkward and weird. the guy was rude, kept begging me for a blow job, asking me to sit on his dick. he jammed his big fingers in my pussy, it felt gross and i told him not to do that again. he kept trying and and was just manhandling me so much. i hated being there but i had a feeling things wouldn't go very well if i tried to just leave. so i dirty talked him till he was super hard, got him off, took a quick shower and got the hell out of there.

listen, i arrived there with the intention of giving this guy an awesome massage, not rushing, leading him through some fun times before the happy ending. i like to provide a quality experience for my clients. but if you're gonna be a weirdo, never make any eye contact, beg me to suck your dick, insist on keeping a sporting event blaring on every tv in every room of your house, and manhandle me to the point where i'm afraid of you, i'm gonna want to leave as soon as possible.

 i threw on my clothes and when i checked the time upon getting back outside, i saw that i'd only been there for a little over half an hour. whoa. record time.

after that, i just kind of didn't wanna work anymore and my phone was barely ringing anyhow. so i just went to the beach a lot with my sister, walked around town, window-shopped, and went to museums. i needed a vacation anyway.

rape vibes

i had a majorly creepy client today. when i checked his references, the girls both said he was fine. one did mention that he was "very...eccentric," but she also said he was safe and polite, so i felt ok seeing him.

he was late. and then he started talking and did not stop for the whole hour. he wanted to know what my fantasies are. i told him mine were a little boring lately, but that i would love to hear about his. he said he has really wild ones, very taboo. "teacher and student stuff," he said (which is hardly taboo. but let's go with it). so we talked about that for a while, what he'd do to me if i were his student, etc. then he said, "are you sure you don't want to share your darkest fantasies with me? i might be able to help you with them."

umm.

"another girl i was seeing, for example," he said, "had a very twisted fantasy. a RAPE fantasy." dramatic pause. "she'd been wanting to act it out for years, but really needed to find the right man for the job. she needed someone strong, powerful." another pause. "i was able to help her realize her fantasy. it was quite fulfilling for us both."

i hugely doubted that a massage girl would ASK this dude to rape her. or to faux-rape her. or any of it. i didn't even want to start thinking about whether this rape had happened in any way. the whole "she WANTED me to rape her" thing is never something you want to hear from a strange man with whom you're naked in a small room. and with whom you have no desire to have sex.

i felt creeped out. i knew he was trying to shock me, and maybe even to scare me. but i just acted like everything was fine and finished the massage. he kept asking me to do extra things, like would i blow him for more money, and could he get on top of me, i told him i wasn't into it. i was so glad to see him leave, and i put him in my phone as a "NO/don't see."

hi! i've been working a lot, but i keep forgetting to write. well here's a pic from last year. i had PMS so my tits looked all awesome. xo andi

bar night

(this entry is from a few weeks ago. i thought i had published it but i guess i accidentally only saved it as a draft.)

on monday i was down south. i got really sick and was looking forward to flying back up to portland at 9:40pm. then i missed my flight. i got to the airport a few minutes too late to check in. such a stupid mistake. after being turned away at check-in, i sat down in a chair and bawled my face off, audibly, and i didn't care who heard. then i got out my computer and booked a new flight for the next morning. i dragged myself out of the chair, away of the airport, back onto the train, and back into the city.

my subletter had returned from her weekend away and was back in my apartment, so i couldn't go home. my best friend was on vacation in new york, and my other good friend just moved to LA. i could've called someone randomly, out of the blue at 10pm, and asked to crash, but i couldn't think of who to call. especially since i sneak in and out of town all the time without calling my friends, and some of them have started to take it personally. so i decided to stay on the couch at the massage parlor. i texted my boss to make sure it was ok, and she said sure.

the thought of spending the night there was kind of a bummer. i wasn't bedtime-sleepy yet, and there really is nothing to do there if you're not working is to read, and the book i'm reading had just taken a depressing plot turn. i wanted to try and salvage my mood at least somewhat, so i thought, "when i get off the train, i'll stop into walgreens and buy a bottle of wine and some snacks. then i'll just drink wine till i pass out, and when i wake up it will be time to go to the airport." sounded like a perfect plan. i do love a good excuse to eat junk food and drink wine to excess.

i got off the train and rushed to walgreens just in time to see them pulling down the metal gate. closed. i looked at my phone. 10:01. FUCK. of course.

so i started walking down the block to the massage studio. i was almost there, but i found myself filled with panic and dread at trying to sleep there stone cold sober. i passed a crappy-looking bar that i'd never noticed before. i didn't actually decide to go there, so much as my feet turned me around and walked me into the bar. my butt was pulled onto a barstool, as if there was a giant magnet in my back pocket. it was a little weird, actually.

i ordered a fernet with a ginger back. i must've looked kinda pathetic with mascara streaked down my face from crying before, because the bartender poured me a double and said, "this one's on me."

i was tempted to knock it back and order another, but decided to take it slow so i wouldn't have to go to bed as soon. i'd just taken one little sip when what do you know, but a friend from the massage place popped in and sat down next to me. we've known each other for years. 12 years, in fact. we used to work together at a peep show. i still remember the first time i saw her. it was on her first day of stripping, ever. she came into the dressing room all tall and hot and shy. she looked super normal with her clothes on, but as soon as she took them off it was like BAM: jessica rabbit. tiny waist, flat tummy, curvy hips and HUGE perky teardrop tits. i liked her (had a crush on her) immediately and invited her out to do things with me so often that eventually she started saying yes. we used to go to the most random parties and people would get excited and want to share their drinks and drugs with us. we had so much fun being reckless and hot together. we hung out a lot for several years, then she ran into some troubles and we lost touch, but eventually we started seeing each other around again. and then we ended up working at the same massage parlor. we don't hang out very much anymore but we still love each other a lot.`

so. it was pretty perfect that she happened to pop in to that weird little crappy bar at exactly the right moment. she sat down and the bartender asked if she'd like her usual. she goes, "yeah." so strange that she goes there often enough to have a usual, and that the usual is a heineken and a hot dog. but i guess we all get into our little routines.

we just sat there drinking and laughing for hours. guys kept coming over, buying us drinks, then realizing that we weren't gonna pay them any attention, and going away. it was really really nice. and then when i was good and drunk, i went down the street to the massage studio, made myself a little bed on the couch, and passed out before i even had a chance to be bothered by the place's persistent underlying cum smell. i woke up and scrambled back to the airport, got on my over-priced full-fare flight, and was back at work at the strip club tonight.

gay

last night these two hot girls were sitting at my rack with their cute guy friend. they seemed intimate with each other, i thought they were a threesome. they tipped a lot and at the end of my set, one of the girls asked if i'd do a dance for the guy. i said sure, and then she goes, "can i come watch? i'll give you another $20." so nice not to have someone wanting to watch for free. so we went to the lapdance area and i asked the guy, "is this your girlfriend?" and they both laughed and said no. they were just friends and this was the guy's bachelor party.

i danced for the guy and he was freaking out and he got a giant boner. the girl was super into it, too, and was really sexy. a big-chested fancy lady with sort of a butchness to her. i had motorboated her cleavage while she was at my rack, and it was super soft and bouncy feeling. NOM NOM NOM.

anyway when the dance was done, the guy goes, "wow. that was amazing. i'm gay and that was the closest i've ever been to a woman. THANK YOU."

!!!

a guy came into my work today and goes, "do you remember me?"

i felt as though i had never seen him before in my life. "oh totally," i said.

"well so i saw it today! it's out! on the newsstand! although i saw it at the library," he said. his thick louisiana accent was ringing some bells, but was it just that he reminded me of sookie's brother on true blood?

i racked my brain. whaaaaaaat. what what. finally, i had to confess. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"wow! see that's how cool you are. just doing so many cool things you can't even keep track of all of them. but i never done anything this big, so you can believe i'd remember if MY pictures were in _____ magazine."

then i remembered. i had met the guy at work several months ago when i was delirious from having stayed up all night finishing some historical costumes for a spread in a fancy magazine. (i wish i could tell you what it was, because it's pretty awesome. but alas, anonymity calls.) anyway i had forgotten this was the month the issue came out.

"wow! i forgot! i wanna see it."

he goes, "i'll go down the street to the bookstore and get one for you. do you have six bucks?"

i gave him the money, trusting he'd come back. he seemed pretty earnest.

i kept dancing, and wouldn't you know it, here he comes about an hour later with the magazine. so exciting! we sat at the bar looking through it and he shared my outrage at not being credited for my work.

i said, "wow, i'm really stoked and surprised you remembered. thanks for coming in."

he goes, "well i called to see when you were working. i couldn't remember your name so i asked what the girl's name was who was not very tall, dark hair, bright outfits, real slender, and looks like susan sarandon, and right away they were like, oh that's andi." what a cute description.

punk'd at the colon clinic

my favorite aunt almost died a few weeks ago due to a burst colon, and it got me thinking about my own colon health. it was my birthday week and i've been eating so many fried things and drinking too much and eating birthday cake off of girls' titties. as a result, my body just feels NUTS.  i could use a little digestive fresh start, so i decided to schedule a colonic.

i googled "colonics," and didn't read much about any of the places, just picked one that wasn't too far from my house. i showed up a few minutes early and was greeted by an extremely friendly bulldagger, which i've always taken to be a good sign. she gave me an intake form to fill out. under "occupation," i just put "dancer." such a handy euphemism when you don't feel the need to LIE, but would rather not write "stripper." i finished the rest of the form, gave the clipboard back to the friendly dyke, and sat back down in the waiting room.

a few minutes later i was greeted by a different butch dyke, who led me back to the irrigation room. she went over my intake form. she said, "what kind of dancer are you?" 

"a stripper."

she lowered her artsy eyeglasses and peered over them at me in a meaningful way, like someone on tv who has realized that their terrible suspicions have been proven true. after several seconds of silence, she announced, "well. you're not going to pay for your colonic today."

i didn't know what to say. i felt confused about what she was even SAYING. did she think i didn't have money? i blurted, "huh? i have money. i can pay upfront if you want."

"i'm not going to take your money," she said.

"oh, um..." i stammered, disoriented. it occurred to me that she was waiting for me to leave? i gathered my purse and stood up. "do you want me to leave?"

she did not want me to leave. she said i should stay and have a free colonic. i felt like i was being punk'd. she told me she used to work with women in the sex industry, and that she didn't want to perpetuate the violence and oppression against us, that not taking our money was her way of not participating in that economy. "it's just something _____ (girlfriend's name) and i decided all those years ago when we started the clinic."

i couldn't decide whether i should leave or not. i felt totally weirded out, but also like i should feel grateful for a free colonic. often when i get overwhelmed like this, i become very sleepy and my impulses to fight or flee become dopey and hard to tell apart, and then i just end up sleepwalking through whatever the situation is and waiting for it to be over. which is what happened.

she showed me the contraption i'd be sitting on, and gave me some lube and a butt nozzle. i put on a robe and got situated. when i walked in, i had felt ready to let loose. but after realizing i'd entered a sort of second-wave feminist lion's den, i felt oddly nervous and i couldn't let go of anything. i just had a lot of water swish around inside of me and then come out still looking like water. i felt very uncomfortable.

the woman made a few more comments, saying that i was probably having trouble submitting to the colonic because my job is so stressful. i told her, "stripping's not that stressful. i just show up. i used to do a lot sketchier sex work. THAT was stressful." it's weird when you want to defend yourself but only end up saying something that makes the person feel all the surer of your pitiful position. what i meant was stripping's so much less stressful than going out on an outcall, or hoping someone's not a killer or a cop. that stripping's easy in comparison and i feel lucky to have found my niche in the sex industry.

she said, "don't worry. you won't always be this constipated. i was a victim of prostitution myself and i suffered terribly. but now i poop all the time."

i felt like, "DUDE! i'm not that constipated! i just can't poop in front of YOU!" but at that point i was also like, "surely this is almost over."

the woman seemed truly kind-hearted, and i could see where she was coming from, kind of, and i LOVE when one human person gives a no-strings-attached free gift to another human person. but i dunno, i just felt too uncomfortable to enjoy it. i mean, here you are with a tube up my ass, i just don't want any subtle proselytizing. it was actually pretty exhausting and awful, and when it was over i wasted no time at all putting my clothes on and getting the hell out of there, and then i went to my car and cried. i do store a lot of my stress and unresolved emotions in my digestive system and i'd hoped to leave some of that behind, but alas: no go.

"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

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.

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

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. :(

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