I had a dream last night, that my soul was free and i could wander around wherever i wanted. I was spirit. After awhile, i tried to return to my body, mut my life cord was seathered. There was a beautiful angel there to confort me, and she explained that I had died by my own hand. I felt so PEACEFUL. For the 1st time in my life, i was really happy. I finally got my validation that there was more to this life than living in my own hell. I was finally free. I was so upset to wake up,to see that it was all just a figment of my imangineation...
I have heard my fair share of sick, twisted shit as a dancer, but what this one man asked me last night takes the cake.
Last night was a fairly steady night, as with most Wednesdays the bar usually fills up with the weekly regulars. There was a thirty something year old man sitting at the bar, alone, and I never seen him in there before, so, being bored with the current crowd of guys I was sitting with, I went over and introduced myself. He seemed very pleasant, even offering my some homemade chili he had out in the car (um, ew?) after a few minutes, I talked him into getting a lap dance in the private dance area. All was well for about, oh, 30 seconds, when he piped up and said "Fart on me" It was like the music had stopped, I froze dead in mid dance. "excuse me?" I said, and he repeated his request. I have been asked many things, but never has someone requested that I farted on them. I continued dancing, but I was too dumbfounded to say anything. After my set, he again asked me if I could, and promised big money if I could push one out. (No fucking joke) I told him I wasn't going to fart on him, and that was that. He ended up getting 6 dances total, and tipped me an extra ten, then left before I could say thank you. No wonder why he was trying to feed me the chilli.
Please be advised that it is unacceptable to tip the dancer on stage your phone number instead of money. If you do this and her shoe just so 'happens' to fly off her foot and hit you in the gut, well, you've been warned.
I know that I havent wrote in a while, but I have been super busy writing an essay on cops, corruption, the law, and being a stripper. In my next post I will tell you how it all fits together. Promise.
Although tonight has been a slow night, there is still some money to be made from the few scragglers that will occasionally waltz threw the entrance, and yet I have been sitting on my flat ass all night long.
Its 9:22, and I haven't made a single dollar yet. It is also my first day at a new bar. The first day at a new club always puts my nerves on edge, and I usually sit back and try to figure out the vibe of the place. I have yet to figure out how I feel about this place. I had to change my stage name here, as it seems like the previous owner's wife's name was Harley, and the name has a bad rap attached to it. So, if I stay here, I'm guessing that this will be a new time to reinvent myself, a new image to another nameless face that walks the halls of an empty strip club... Too depressing. I need to have an 'upbeat' attitude about this~ anything less will surely bring me down and have me leaving empty handed, no money and definitely no stories to tell.
We cant have that. I'll probably change my name to Zoe.
Published with Blogger-droid v1.6.2 at a lonely strip club just outside of Cleveland, Ohio