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