There just isn't any excuse for being dormant that long. I have been on the road, but I did have decent internet access--at least last week.

This morning I woke up at 8 to head for the oral surgeon's office. I'm sitting here now with a mouth full of gauze and a brain full of Vicodin; the perfect time to catch up. I'm also trying to quit smoking; you can't when you've had your wisdom teeth out, plus the pain medicine makes the cravings easier to deal with.

So, let's see, where was I? South Carolina . . . I was picked up at the cute and tiny Savannah airport by the club manager's sweet and funny girlfriend. After a trip to the grocery store, I was deposited in a condo with one other girl, though we had separate bedrooms. This girl seemed OK, though she'd been burning some pretty cheap and stinky incense and candles. I don't mind a scented candle, but that really stinky incense is nasty.

It was Super Bowl Sunday--and the cable was out in the condos, due to a dispute the manager of the club/owner of the condos had with the condo board. Had we been able to receive broadcast channels, it wouldn't have been a big deal, but even with the bunny ears there was no way. Smoky, my roommate, had no idea why I was so frantically messing with the television. I mean, she didn't know the Super Bowl was on. I ended up heading to a sports bar for the duration of the game, which worked out just fine.

So the next day, Monday, was to be my first at the club. It's a cute and little club, well-maintained and nicely furnished. But oh my god, it was DEAD DEAD DEAD in there. I bet on the best night the week I was there they had fewer than 50 people through the door. And there were no girls whatsoever. And the ones they had were questionable at best. Now, a couple were nice to me, and I don't want to insult them, but these girls either had decent bodies and buttafaces or pretty faces and guts hanging over their g-strings. I had to hear so many comments from customers about the other girls, culminating with, "You're the only one here who looks like she should be a stripper." It was one of those situations where, when a customer tells you you're the best-looking girl there, you're not sure if it's a compliment or not.

Moneywise, it sucked. My take-home on my best night was $209--a ridiculously low number. I mean, it was insane. I thought I would go out of my mind with boredom.

It seems as though they should be doing much better--they really need to work on fixing the girl situation. Give them free house fees (rather than $30 and then $10 off of each $30 dance all night), pay them, do something, because you cannot run a club with three or four girls working. Maybe you could if they were all hot, but that is so not the case here. Nice, sure, several of them (the skinny ones--who still weren't too hot--were all insane and doing massive amounts of coke), but not gorgeous.

Even though it was a bust, I am considering giving it one more shot during the week of a major golf tournament in April. I think that would make a huge difference in the girls working there and the clientele.

I'll try to think of some interesting anecdotes. The DJ had recently been promoted from washroom attendant, and he was hands-down the worst DJ I've ever worked with. He would come on the mike, drop the music way down, and start talking over the song; his transitions were really abrupt--like in the middle of a verse he would switch songs rather than trying to do them smoothly at all. He's a young black guy and he played all of this shitty 80s rock. I mean, the same 20 songs every damn night. He was sooooo bad.

One night an 18-yr-old came in after a school dance, of all things. I did a couch dance for him and the entire time his mouth was agape. I would have felt a little dirty if I hadn't started doing this at the same age.

Sigh. Once again, I'm well aware I'm no beanpole, and I certainly don't think women need to be skinny to be sexy. But I draw the line at a gut. You should never, ever see a gut on a stripper. It's not the venue for challeging accepted ideals of attractiveness.