Hitting the road

The damn Sirius is out and it's a weekend and I'm driving 1200 miles in the next two days. I've become accustomed to listening to it on long drives and will miss having access to NPR in the middle of nowhere. But the iPod's fully charged, I've got a thermos of coffee, a carton of cigarettes (can't buy American Spirits where I'm going. There are actual Native Americans there.)

So it's off to the small town titty bars in the not-quite-yet frozen North of the U.S. Where we cover our nipples and have little restraints for the guys to stick their hands. Where I have been offered the spoils of hunting, which is probably what was offered to the very first woman to get naked commercially. Where there's nowhere to eat after 10 p.m. save the one truckstop restaurant, so that means nowhere to me since I don't want to go to the one place everyone from the bar will be.

These are good places to work, though, and I'll feel very productive. Also, they pay you to work. The clubs do, that is, not just the customers, and this is really, really uncommon. I'm always amused when endorsing a check from a strip club.

Time to start driving.