The movers are here and my office is empty save for the desk and computer (and the large sandwich I'm eating now). Once it's all packed up, we'll hit the road for Portland. I figure we might make it as far as Indianapolis tonight . . .

Early on last evening I sold one of my thongs for $50 to a customer. Little did I know how happy I'd be about that decision later on, when the night was dead dead dead. There was a female customer who had covered herself in glitter lotion so just having her breathe on you would leave the shit all over your face. There was a mixed group, six total, two May-December pairings that may or may not have been for profit, and one of the women was waaaaasted and hopped up on the stage. After being admonished by the bouncer, one of her female companions said, "You don't want to kick us out. We're going to spend a lot of money." Hahhahhahaha. I think they threw down about seven singles their entire time at the tip rail, and the drunk one kept shouting "Ass-and-titties! Ass-and-titties!" Her "date," who was about 75 and using a cane, kept trying to hold her down, instead of doing what he should have, which is toss a ton of money at the dancers on stage so we'd smile and nod at her drunkenness instead of asking the manager why they hadn't been tossed yet.

Thank god for panty guy and the guy at the end of the night, otherwise it would have been a total loss of a night.

You know what's embarrassing? Having the DJ announce your web address while you're onstage, then watching a customer pull up your blog on his phone. Then asking you, "So, which of these girls are pregnant?" Hah. That was fun. Now I feel like I should begin each post with "Oooh, I was soooo horny doing this lapdance for this totally hot guy last night. I seriously thought about pulling his pants off right there."

But really . . . maybe I should put a photo at the top at least in case this happens again. I didn't ask him to announce it, by the way, just told him about it.

Last night was strange; a kind of slow, young, and drunk crowd, though I managed to squeak through with a decent enough night, and a really great conversation about hating the president during a set of dances.

I don't have much time left at Concepts; it looks like we'll be hitting the road November 30th. We got our first moving quote and it made me want to throw up: $7500. Fortunately a more reasonable one showed up with the next company. But all the packing remains; ick.

Marketed as protecting your sensitive work; really so whoever's sitting next to you can't tell you're looking at porn.

I haven't been into work yet this week; I have some weird ear thing going on. When I went to the doctor, the nurse first took my temperature in the healthy, non-irritated right ear, and it was 98.5. Then she took it in the inflamed left ear and it was 99.6. So I have my little bottle of drops and am avoiding my daily river swim. Hah.

Overheard last weekend in the dressing room:
Girl 1: "Wow, you get home fast!"
Girl 2: "Yeah, I drive about 80 the whole way home."
1: "You can do that, though, 'cause you have a license."
2: "Who has a license?"

Happy week in Cincy; Mark Mallory was elected mayor, and I think this is the first time I've watched the election results and been happy since 1996.

So one thing of note about being in a tiny little club like Concepts where the dances are done in a small, communal area: nothing dirty happens. I mean, they're grindy lapdances, but there is no way to get away with pussy flashing, customer touching, nipple licking, etc. And I want to mention how pleasant this is for strippers--when everyone gives pretty much the same dance, it's sales skills, personality, and looks that make you money (plus your unique variations on the theme) rather than what you're willing to do. Unlike back in Austin where your mileage level can make or cost you money to a certain degree.

I'm looking forward to Portland where it's even lower contact (though I have to admit to a certain fascination with the idea of working in the lingerie modeling studios, otherwise know as "jack shacks" because the customer "takes care of himself" while watching the "model").