Part of the entertaining I have to do while in Austin involved an all-girl excursion to what is probably the ninth best (out of 10) strip club in town, the Crazy Lady. Initially we'd tried to see a band at the Hole in the Wall, but upon discovering they'd already played, decided that the strippers might be more fun. We were let in for free and settled in to scope out the talent. The first three to arrive, before myself and another friend, were told "Don't sit with the male customers that you don't know. But if any of them bother you, let us know and we'll take care of it." When I walked in, one of the managers recognized me from another club (though god help me, I couldn't remember which) and realized that, oh, we were cool, since one of us is a stripper. He was also kind enough to send over a round of kazis because, you know, chicks like sweet shots. I'm sure the waitress was thrilled when I ordered bottled water but we tried to take care of her.

There wasn't one pair of fake boobs in the club, though I saw a couple of pairs that would have been good candidates. The talent level wasn't terrible, but it wasn't great either; no total knockouts in the club. There were, however, a few girls who were hot enough to buy lap dances from. The guest of honor got one from a naughty nurse (who used to be a doorgirl I worked with) and a blonde with glasses and a ponytail with a gigantic back tattoo that made me laugh. It was quite a piece of work involving a pinup in Daisy Dukes . . .

While we were there they ran a flashdance, where all the dancers come out on the floor and do mini-dances for two dollars; they were actually more than mini, about a minute apiece, leading me to think, "These girls are working way, way too hard for two bucks." One of them, who had a knockout figure, was brand new and one of her moves was to straddle my leg while bouncing her crotch on it. But it wasn't bouncing as much as pounding, and it hurt me and made me worry about the sensitivity of her pudenda. Another dancer, while balancing herself on my arm, pinched it between the chair arm and her entire body weight, nearly bringing tears of pain to my eyes. I sincerely hope I have never caused physical pain like that in the course of a dance.

The first dance I got was from a very slender and cute girl who really needed to let her eyebrows grow out, but had a tiny, round, perfect ass. She was soft and sweet and sold the dance based on the fact that she was the only one to walk over and ask to join us. Props to the dancer who will approach the table of five women. Of course, we had money on the table, so she was also apparently smart.

Another girl caught my eye with her black lingerie, long, curly, dirty blond hair and gorgeous face, so I requested a dance. She sits down, introduces herself, and I ask her how long she's been there.

"I haven't danced in about two years. Last night was my first night back. I'm a widow; I just lost my husband of 13 years."

I was sorry to hear of her loss, and of course I have sympathy for anyone for whom this is the case, but I was left speechless by this particular conversation opener. As a sales technique it pretty much ensures one dance, but probably not a desire to keep her around . . . she kind of made up for it with a terrific lapdance, but oh, god, isn't it like stripper rule #3 not to talk about things like that? I know it's part of some girls' hustle to break out the sob stories, I just can't believe I was on the receiving end of it. So strange.

What I learned from this evening is to stick with Palazio and Perfect 10 for my recreational outings in Austin, by the way, although the Crazy Lady is good for slumming (as is of course my club of choice for working in Austin).