At work, doing a table dance for a really, really drunk guy:

DG: If you ever have a little boy, and you catch him goin' ta one of these places, whaddyou gonna tell him?

Me: You'd better be tipping well.

booo!

My first night in Vegas gets an F for fuckin' sucked! Not the worst first night I've had at a new club, but down there. It was easy enough selling dances on the main floor but hard to sell more than one or two, and I had little luck selling VIP; when I finally snagged one, and had him ready to go for the nicest (read $500/hr with a $250/hr bar tab) room in the house, his CC was declined. Actually, they wanted him to call, I'm assuming because of out of town charges, but it wasn't happening. So my night went rapidly from sucky to all right to sucky in the space of half an hour, time for which I was paid exactly nothing. There's really nothing I could have done about that (believe me, I tried to help the guy find alternate CCs or ATM cards), so I just bid him goodnight and then was ready to go.

My traveling partner fared better, though not spectacularly well, and reports from the others at our after-hours breakfast weren't great either, with the exception of one lovely who'd spent four hours in a skybox at Sapphire. We're weighing our options for tonight -- return to the same club, which we are somewhat familiar with at least, or try another? There are so many options here. With clubs that are open 24 hours, you could at any moment be working somewhere.

Oh, also, it's really sunny and warm, and I forgot to pack a swimsuit, so I hung out by the pool in one of my work bikini tops and hot pants (I didn't want to rock a stripper thong poolside).

Anyhow, onward to recoup my remaining travel expenses and start turning a profit -- initial Vegas expenses include not only hotel, airfare, and car, but also a $45 sheriff's card and a $100 business license. You can see a very funny example of the license paperwork on Avalon's site.

Casa Diablo, blowing up the internet

In the Times, and of course, in WW. It's hardly surprising, considering the "huh?" appeal of its tagline.

Sorry the stripper blog has been short on actual stripping lately. I promise I've worked this month, just not much. Oh! Apparently enforcement in Seattle is stepping up, as there's been an influx of WA strippers in town, fleeing the possibility of an arrest for the crime of giving a lapdance. After spotting some new hiresdoing coke in VIP last week, the manager at the big club called the cops and had them arrested. The thinking being that it's better to have the cops come to the club because you called them.

I have been too flaky to remember to put in a little club schedule for the past two weeks (they have to be in by club closing on Wednesday), but finally remembered last night a 2:30 a.m. to call and put in a request. Though now I have friends going to Vegas to work during the Final Four, so I left those days open in case I decide to hop a flight out there.

Also, I'm considering a hair color change, which should indicate how restless I am right now.

Miss ND isn't having a lot of luck with her stripper bookings this week. First she had a cancellation called in last Wednesday, which is why I'm here for a second week, then one of the girls missed her train into town, not arriving until Tuesday, and finally, after work on Tuesday the third dancer, too timid to talk to her, left a note telling Miss ND she had to return home to attend to family matters. Fortunately there's a fill-in; I've worked a shift here before with only two dancers and that equals thirty-minute stage sets, and, well, fuck that.

Three drinks were spilled railside last night during my last set; people were very, very drunk. 22-year-olds were trying to crawl over the rail onto the stage, some jackass asked me to pick up his beer bottle without using my hands, and a seventy-year-old man waggled his tongue at me. I no longer even have the mental energy to get pissed off at idiot customers, though, after I lost it on one guy Tuesday afternoon.

"You seem smart. I hope you're saving your money. I bet that other girl doesn't. She looks like she's on drugs. I mean, you can tell she's out of it. But you're not on drugs, are you?" On and on, asking me what I do with my money and talking shit about the other dancers. I had to make it stop, because I can't listen to that crap for free, and asked for a dance, which he of course turned down, offering to tip me a $20 for sitting with him a while longer. But you know what? It wasn't worth it, and I showed my ass.

"No, I can't really sit here and listen to you insult the other girls while asking me extremely rude personal questions. Who the hell tells other people what to do with their money in the course of polite conversation (note: I realize how ridiculous it seems to refer to strip club conversation as "polite)? Would you tell the guy who cuts your hair that you hope he's saving his money?"

I'll listen to a lot and let it wash over me, really, I will, but racism and unmitigated insults of other dancers (and discussions of my finances) can set me off. Fuck you, dude. Stay out of the fucking strip club if you can't get over your contempt for strippers. Getting that out of my system helped a lot, I've got to say, and now I'm just, well, whatever. The stupid comments fly by accompanied by dollar signs.

Then there was the guy who, in total seriousness last night, told me, "I think you provide a very important service to society. I really do," while feeding me a stack of singles at the rail. Talk about telling me what I want to hear.

Eh, I was spoiled early last week with a trio of attractive, generous, fun customers. Really spoiled. It's not often I get to enjoy myself that much at work, much less several days in a row. And I'm tired and burnt out, though richer. I need to have dinner cooked for me, a hot bath, and a roll in the hay. Three more days.

Peelers, not penalties

I didn't do it on the ice, but I did strip in a locker room. There was a hockey tournament in town this weekend, and one of the teams was filling up my rail yesterday. "You should come tomorrow morning! Give us a pep talk!"
"What time's your game?"
"10:30 in the morning."
"I'll be sleeping!"
"Come on, you can come down there, do a little show before the game. How about $250?"
"I don't know, you guys, that's pretty early."
"You can sit on the bench with us during the game.'
"OK!"

That's what sold me. Because on the long list of places I've danced (hotels, stages on bales of hay in a barn, literally in a swimming pool, office of a software company), I've never fulfilled my desire to work at a sporting event. That is how I found myself awake at 9 a.m. yesterday morning, sucking down coffee and making an attempt to be cute at an ungodly hour. I pulled on breakaway hotpants and a gingham top, threw my jeans and sweater over it, tossed my heels, iPod, and tiny speaker in a bag, and headed out to the rink, which is just past a bunch of cows in a frozen field out north of town.

One of the guys came out to get me and I was escorted into the locker room. It smelled, you know, like a locker room full of hockey equipment and players and the equipment of hockey players. Any floorwork was out because I am not doing the splits onto the floor of a locker room. Luckily there were benches all around the walls for me to dance on, so I made a circuit of the room, speaking and shaking motivationally. Players shotgunned Keystones. Then it was game time and a jersey was tossed my way.

It's freezing in a hockey rink, did you know? brr. Fortunately the game was short, and hey! My team won! Of course, last night at the club I had to deal with all the opposing teams, who wanted their own pep talks. If I swing through here again when this is going on I could probably book a very profitable day of nothing but locker room dancing.

Here's something else I've never seen before: a hockey player rolling up dollar bills and wedging them in the spot where his front tooth used to be to tip the dancers. I wish I had a picture.

One week down, one to go

I just had a two-hour long massage that cost me $75 including a $20 tip which the provider tried to tell me was excessive. Are you kidding me? That $75 gets me an hour before tip most places. I feel so much better now after my 50 hour workweek and the ridiculous amount of money I made. Pole class has been fun but I've overexerted myself a bit.

There was a dancer cancellation for next week so I'll be here until next Sunday, too, though I doubt next week could possibly be as good as this last week. If it's even close, though, I won't need to work until about March 20th, so I'll take it.

Miss ND and I were in the dressing room last night when she asks me, "Are you ever giving a lapdance when you just think, 'Why? Why am I doing this?' when you're dancing?"

"Sure, why not. It's like any other job." Of course I think that sometimes.

Well, hours later, it's the end of the night, and I'm dancing for a pretty nice customer who I'm trying to keep happy, while Miss ND has one of the drunker and more obnoxious dudes back there. In the dance area there are two chairs that face each other, as Miss ND and I are when we both are facing away from the customers. I look at her, and she's mouthing "Why? Why?" and rolling her eyes. I almost lose it laughing, and I don't want to kill my customer's buzz, so I shoot her the finger in front of my crotch.

Hey, two girl dances are illegal here. Two women can't dance together. A lapdance can only be one performer and one customer. I mean, you change that and you'll have a man wanting to dance for a man, or hell, a man and three women, a man and a child, a man and animal.

It was a good week for the most part. The hotties were only here the first part of the week, though everyone was pretty nice with a few exceptions. I also got offered $700 for private dances, and $5K for an overnight, both of which I turned down. I did take another, different outside the club offer that I'll talk about later.

I need some knowledge of top 40 music; I just made a work CD and the only mainstream music I have dates from the 70s. At Mary's, Modest Mouse and Kings of Leon count as totally mersh tunes so I really lack typical tittybar music. I need some Rob Zombie or fucking Nickelback or some shit so I don't annoy the hell out of these people with Ghostland Observatory and the Black Angels.

One more week and then -- Austin! For two weeks, two burlesque performances, and a whole shitload of music. I so look forward to it, having skipped SXSW last year. Now, I sort of like music again, more than I have in several years.

I am in that little town Tara mentioned

Tara and HatMa were here last week and she had an interesting time. I usually don't find the time for anything, because, like she mentioned, it's a nine-hour workday and a six-day workweek. It's always worth it, but there's not time for much else than a few hours of errands and online time. I'm not taking a day off to, well, what, drive to Canada? This is the same place where I can listen to the CBC on the radio. I love the radio here; on the FM stations there are all these ads for tractors and weedkillers.

It's been busy so far at the tiny bar and I guess the winter is making these guys a bit crazier than usual. Most of my solicitation offers previously have come from the older guys, the kind I expect to, well, need a hooker. This week they're coming from healthy young men who should be getting plenty on their own, only there's no single women around. The high offer I got was $5K and the low one was $700 for "just some dances, no touching." If I honestly believed that last one, I would have been tempted, but, well, I really don't do that sort of thing. It's flattering to get offered so much. Still, you'd think these dudes would at least break me off a $100 tip or something if they've got that much cash lying around.

The local customers here rule. They bring us dinner and candy and go start our cars at the end of the night so they're all warmed up by the time we leave. They're bar fixtures and nice to have around.

Many of these guys, like myself, are here for the money. Sometimes I get a long look and a "What are you doing here?" I ask what they're doing up here, and they're always working, getting paid enough to come out here. "Just like me!" One of them said, "I came up here for the money, and now I'm trying to get the money to get out," which is eerily similar to many a stripper's plight. Escape, they all want to escape from the little town.

Two couples in their forties were at the rack on Monday while Miss ND, the dancer booker/bartender/dancer was on stage. They weren't tipping, and towards the end of her set she gave them a gentle reminder that they were, of course, sitting at the "tip rail," so named because you fucking sit there to tip. One of these women said, "You can't tell us to tip you! You're just a stupid stripper!" Actually, she can, and she is indeed a stripper. In a strip club, guess who gets to decide what you can do? The stupid stripper! Of course they get kicked out, giving her the finger the whole way (did I mention these women were in their forties?) and then this: "Bitch, if I see you in the street your ass is mine!" To this Miss ND mutters, "If you see me in the street you won't recognize me because I'll have my hair extensions out!" Oh, snap!

I had an hourlong massage yesterday. It was excellent and it cost $40. This was not a massage school, it was from an actual therapist, and that's what you can get a massage for here. Crazy. I wonder if there's, like, bargain plastic surgery or laser hair removal here too in addition to the haircuts, waxing, and massages?

I can't just let a rambling, and truth be told, more personal than usual post stand alone like that today. Life isn't like that; even when it's serious there are funny moments. And oddly, though my mood has been bad lately, my money has been good. I feel like a big faker sometimes smiling, thinking, "Oh, lord, please don't let my smile look too fake. These people deserve to have fun tonight, and not have a depressed stripper bring them down." It's such a weird thing, working in the social world, trying to put on my extrovert skin.

But some people make it easy. Some people are hot couples who let me occupy all of the time I have between two stage sets by dancing for a beautiful woman. I got to the point where I didn't feel I was working, and kind of wished I weren't, since it was just too much fun to play sexily with her. Rarely do I get to dance for a woman like that; not a housewife out for a little fun, not a giggly girl getting her first dance, but a gorgeous grown woman fully inhabiting her own sexuality.

And they didn't even ruin it by giving me their hotel key, though I think that would have been one of the harder offers to turn down (unlike the guy earlier in the night, whose rather unoffensive dirty talk was delivered in a tone that made me uncertain of his sexual orientation).

Speaking of which, I joined two guys at their table and started chatting with one, who pointed to his friend and said, "His ex-boyfriend was --"
"Hey, you just outed me at Mary's!" exclaimed the friend.
"Oh, please, you think you're the first? We're three blocks from the drag show," I told him. It's true, too, I have seen transvestites, transsexuals, and garden-variety gay guys and lesbians all at the rack at Mary's.
"Oh, good. I'm just going to hang out and look at all of these men with their hard cocks after they get all excited!"

Have I mentioned how much I love Mary's lately?

Oh, it was such an awful weekend, but things started looking up on Wednesday night. It's interesting how, when one of the clubs where I'm working bites big time, the other one usually steps up. This week it's Mary's turn to pay the bills. And this one is an extremely onerous tax bill, a nasty check I wrote to pay my Jan 15th quarterly.

Why, yes, I pay taxes. I am part of that 10% of strippers who understands the concept of being self-employed and its application to the IRS. One of the things that blows my mind is how this is rarely, if ever, explained to new dancers. I mean, they are given the paperwork to fill out when they have their IDs photocopied, but there's no "So now you don't have proof of income unless you pay taxes" pamphlet that's given out. I've seen this bite people in the ass more than once, because it's the IRS, and they can pretty much do whatever the fuck they want to do.

I don't want to make myself out as being more responsible than I am, because I am not. I am not responsible at all. For instance, I actually did not file for three years once. Then I discovered that after the three year mark, if you are caught not filing, some extra bad things can happen. Also, it would have been unfair to Mr. Wayward to bring this into our marriage, so I had to get straight with the IRS. I went back and combed through all of my bank accounts and records, filed, and paid a shitload of back taxes. It sucked, and it still sucks, because I am on the hook for it for, oh, $12K still. So I speak from experience when I tell strippers to file.

Self-employment does open up a lot of deductions employees can't take, though there's something called the "housewife test" that either an IRS employee or accountant came up with. It applies to everything from shoes to breast implants, and it goes like this: If it is something that a "housewife" (I kind of hate that term, indicating that what we're compared to isn't other working women but this mythical creature who, instead of housework and childcare is out there having light lunches and getting pedicures all day) would spend money on, it isn't a viable deduction.

Gym membership? No. Lots of people buy those. Highlights? No. Neon pink clip-in hair extensions? Yes. Bra and panty set? No. Fishnet dress? Yes. Breast implants under 1000 ccs? No. Ginormous breast implants over 1000 ccs? Yes, because no one besides strippers and porn stars, and few of those, get fake titties that big. In fact, the biggest breasts I personally know top out at 800 ccs.

I need to find out about continuing education deductions, as I'm taking a six-week pole dancing class (advanced dancer technique) starting Sunday. But none of these really make up for paying the self-employment tax. Though I do believe in paying taxes, I hate what the government is spending money on right now, namely, not this country.

So. Mary's on Wednesday was like Mary's on an extremely packed Saturday; there were a ton of out-of-towners from all over, so I'm guessing all of the Broadway hotels were packed. They were generous with me and each other. At one point someone bought the (packed) house a round, tying up the bar for a good long while. The last time I saw someone do that, there were eight people in there. This time there must have been 80. It was exhausting but fun. I'm thinking today's afternoon shift will be considerably more mellow, but it is Friday, so anything could happen.

I got my boob bedazzled

Sunday afternoon was the lovely wedding reception of one of my Mary's coworkers, esteemed contortionist and pole monkey Blaze, who can also be seen most Sundays at Sinferno. As befits a petite tattooed whirlwhind of a gal, it was held at the piercing parlor responsible for many of her body modifications, Straight to the Point. It was pretty much the most fun stripper wedding I've ever attended, and I came away from it with some marital aids and a piercing. It's been, oh, ten years since the last time I had something pierced, but I just couldn't resist the peer pressure (although closed for the occasion, the staff was still on hand to ornament those who wished to be poked).

I spent some time talking to a couple of women who'd know Blaze before she was a dancer. "She was just the most wholesome wife and mother, just this cute little thing, and one day she calls me up and says, 'I'm dancing,' and I asked, 'What kind of dance are you doing' and she told me 'Naked! Come and see me!'" And here she is marrying another lady, and having the time of her life.

After the first couple of hours, the men were kicked out and the Pure Romance saleslady set up. I was one of two women there with any interest in anything that might involve a penis. Though everyone liked the glittery body paste, which she told us also made her kid's Tooth Fairy money very sparkly.

Then my turn under the needle came. They call these piercings anchor piercings, since the post of the jewelry screws into a small, flat foot under the surface of the skin. I think it's something they're still perfecting. But oh, it looks so pretty. I watched a couple before it was my turn, and one of our friends videotaped the whole thing. First the needle goes in, then the piercer makes a small space, then the anchor/base/foot goes in, and finally the post with the jewel is screwed into the base. In total I would say the whole process took about thirty seconds. It hurt while she was doing it but that wasn't very long. She did ask me beforehand if I had implants (no), though I am not sure how the piercing process could possibly go deep enough to hit one. I was told to spray it with sterile saline several times a day, keep it clean, and keep it from being moved about. As far as picking the location, I saw a dancer at the Acrop with one on her breast, so I'm just copying her because it looked so pretty.

Here is my bedazzled boob (pics are somewhat safe, no nipple). These pictures are from Wednesday, three days later. There is a little bruising as you can see, though I have been taking arnica. The redness around it isn't because of the piercing but rather from the bandaids I keep over it while I sleep. My delicate breast skin hates adhesives of any kind, which is one reason I despise working anywhere that requires liquid latex.










On Tuesday night I worked at Mary's with one of the other girls who'd gotten pierced at the party (same type, different location). We had an entertaining time explaining the process to curious customers. Oh, also, it was a pretty terrific night, like the kind of night I used to have there all the time. It's been iffy there for so long that I was just thrilled with the results. During my second set of the night a customer handed me a $50, I got $20s on stage again, and danced for one of the cute young guys who used to be a regular there. And the jukebox was fixed! It has a light in it again so we don't have to point a flashlight at the cards anymore.

How far away can you be and still tip a stripper on stage?

Yesterday a customer tipped me from very, very far away. Nearly 3000 miles, in fact. One of Mary's most beloved regulars recently decamped for the East Coast, and he must miss us as much as we miss him, because the bartender came over yesterday to the other dancer and myself as we were changing places to hand us each a $20, telling us, "Mr. Good Bourbon called and had me charge tips for you guys on his credit card over the phone." Doing something I've never seen before in my stripping career is pretty hard, but this man did it. Way to make us smile from a continent's distance!

I am a fish with lungs spiritually

Tell me if I overreacted, friends. As you can see by my sidebar, I read a lot of other stripper blogs. Not every one is written impeccably, but they all have stripper stories, which I like to hear. I also am interested in the way other dancers handle life its ownself. But it's like a virtual dressing room over there; I'm not going to always agree with everyone, and such was the case with one entry yesterday on CaseyDancer's blog (the one that ends with a plea for a book deal):

I always said I don't want a mate who is "OK" with me stripping - only a creep would be "OK" with that!

You can read my response and hers in the comments that follow. Here's the kicker of her response:
Sure, strippers can marry & have boyfriends, but I don't believe their level of spiritual intimacy can evolve to the degree I'M looking for, while she's still stripping. So, any man who is "OK" with it, in my eyes, just isn't very evolved. Hence, a "creep".

I can't imagine the pain it must cause her to feel this while while both dancing and in a relationship! To believe that only a guy who hates her job is not a creep; to believe she is harming her own spirituality by dancing, to have spent 22 years in an industry catering to and employing those she sees as fundamentally flawed. How awful for her.

Now, I just asked Mr. Wayward if it's true we're not spiritually evolved. His response?

"It depends on the form of spirituality you choose. I'm highly spiritually involved."

"That's true," I said, "You do have a fully formed life philosophy. What do you call it again?"

"I'm an existentialist."

And it's true, we do create our own meaning (or not; sometimes there's a dash of nihilism in there, for me).

What a fitting way to end a day that started at the D2 like this:

Guy at bar: "I had this great professor in Europe who would talk about the differences between the ways men and women act in stripclubs; women would be rambunctious and men, he said, sat there 'with a nearly religious reverence.'"

Me: "A professor actually said that? How fabulous!"

GAB: "Yeah! He was great! So, you're familiar with Freud's theory of sublimation, right?"

Me: Nodding, like it's the most natural thing in the world for a customer to ask. And because I've read a book about sex. Or two.

GAB: Goes on for, like, fifteen minutes about Freud, European attitudes about America, etc. etc.

So that was the morning. The in between part was fine, especially the parts where we had goodlooking tradesmen in (carpenters, glaziers) spending money. And the part where I got a mystery $20 on my stage from a guy who left immediately after. He was like the stage tip fairy, dropping a $20 and disappearing. I do love the weekend day shifts at the D2, I really do. Nights are full of partiers and groups, but the days bring in the mellow, more mature, spendier guys on the weekends. Let's hope for a continuation tomorrow.

The sun is out!

I-5 is still closed at Centralia, though, meaning that road and rail traffic is essentially closed between Portland and Seattle. There was so much rain this weekend that my mother called from thousands of miles away to make sure we hadn't been washed away. And, of course, I had a friend in from out of town last night who got to see some truly stereotypical Oregon weather. Stripaholic was here for a college friend's wedding, so we enjoyed dinner at Clyde Common and drinks at Mary's Club.

Dinner was good, though there was some kind of mix-up with our order, resulting in something like an hour's wait between appetizers and the main course. Free dessert for us! Great food, though. I have to hit that before 6/after 11 happy hour sometime for the awesome burger.

Mary's had a solid lineup and is warmly decorated for Christmas. I so enjoy taking visitors there, because I always remember how unusual Mary's seemed to me the time I went there. No contact, no table dances on the floor, no DJ, a jukebox on the stage; it is a completely different environment from the big clubs most of us are used to. So every time I take a fellow big city stripper there I can experience the confusion and curiosity all over again.

As she's blogged about lately, Stripaholic is having some foot trouble that's making her consider at least a partial career change. Like myself, the sort of work she's interested in would result in a serious pay cut and curtailment of free time, so we mulled over alternatives. She's got a far wider range of skills than I do, though; in addition to being a great saleswoman, she's also a talented artist, photographer, and writer. Technically, I've been paid for a couple of those things, but like her, I always sigh when I think of the pay cut that would come along with pursuing those paths fulltime. Stripping spoils us considerably what with the freedom and the fast cash. It's a nice problem to have, but it does screw you up for other work. Fortunately it also helps you realize that jobs aren't the only alternative.

Funnily enough, there's other writing I should be working on right now. My compensation will be minimal but definitely worthwhile, so I'd better stop procrastinating soon.

Speaking of procastinating, and changing plans, I was supposed to be in North Dakota this week and next week, but the nasty weather here and on the way there made me chicken out. I truly detest driving in bad weather, something I credit to having been in my one and only car wreck (as a passenger) because of the rain when I was 15. I mean, I just hate it. If the visibility is poor and I'm on any kind of curvy highway, and trucks are passing me and throwing a ton of spray on my windshield, my heart rate goes up and adrenaline floods my bloodstream. Shit, I was on my way home from work on Saturday and a car going in the opposite direction on the highway went through a big puddle and threw a 15-foot-high wall of water onto my car. It was as if I was in the carwash for a second until my wipers cleared it away and it scared the hell out of me. Two days of rain, slush, snow and mountain driving would have driven me crazy and exhausted me. As Miss ND said, 'You're such a wuss!"

Not taking that trip allows me to stay at home, which is a relief on several levels. I'll make less money, but get more done and not stress myself out before Christmas. I don't get to enjoy this town enough. The year I was in Ohio, every time I landed at the CVG airport or drove into town, my heart sank. I was home, but no, that was not where I wanted home to be. It's the opposite here; when I drive into town or land at PDX, I feel so happy to be here. I love my city for misfits. It's a wonderful home.

Since I thought I'd be out of town I didn't put in a schedule for Mary's and will be at the D2 all week; I haven't worked more than two or three shifts there in a week in I don't know how long. I forgot how I missed some of the girls and customers there. Although big, it's still here, so it's a laid back place. This is going to be a good week with the weather clearing up a bit and a lull in activity before Christmas. I think I'm going to go out and get a new outfit in preparation. Wish the stripper stores in Portland didn't suck so much. For a town with so many strip clubs, you'd think we'd have a better selection of places to buy 7" heels and thongs.

Do the holidays make me sick?

Let me share an interesting fact about my recordkeeping. I'm not the most consistent blogger or journalist, but I do keep pretty good financial records of how much I made and where and when I earned it. So if I am trying to remember when it was I got the flu one winter or when I was out of work sick, I can look for the weeklong gaps in my incoming cash flow.

Some strippers are much more anal about this than I am and create amazing Excel documents breaking down their earnings by the hour and customer. I only break it down by weekly, daily, monthly and annual averages, average earnings by club and by the shift within the club.

I'm under the weather today; I could feel it coming on yesterday morning with a cough and a tickle in the back of my throat and immediately started with the Emergen-C and Super Lysine. I was just now wondering if I got sick after Thanksgiving last year and looked at my records; I wasn't sick. My car went into the shop, I sold some stockings on Ebanned and did some sewing work for a friend, but I wasn't sick. Also, the Sunday after Thanksgiving was four times more lucrative last year than it was this year! The little club was as quiet as could be last night, and that combined with my desire to huddle in the dressing room knitting and feeling ill rather than socialize contributed to one of my lowest-earning nights of the year.

Oh, also, the lightbulb inside the jukebox is busted, so we're using a tiny flashlight to read the track listings when we pick our music. It's pretty funny, standing up there nearly naked and peering into the jukebox with a small, fading flashlight in your hand looking for that Goldfrapp track you want to play.

Thanksgiving was my holiday payoff day this week, thanks to serious understaffing at the big club and one really good customer. Hooray for working on holidays! Though the bonanza is kind of cancelled out by me being ill and not working tonight.

So, T-day customer was enjoying some dances with me when I suggested that he'd really enjoy the VIP room more. He agreed, but needed to use a credit card. Normally this is not a problem at most clubs as they realize that a $250+ purchase may require more cash than typical patrons have on hand, especially if they've been in the club a while (or aren't experienced clubbers and know to hit their own bank's ATM before coming so as to avoid extortionate ATM and credit card service fees). But they must be working out the kinks here, because here's how this went.

Me: "We're going to do a VIP and he wants to put it on his card."
Manager 1: "Well, the only way to do that is to do a cash advance at the bar."
Me: "But he can, right?"
M 1: "Yeah, he has to go to the bar with the card and his ID, though."

Wow, that sounds hard. Forget it, $250 isn't worth that.

So I go get a waitress to come handle this. But she can't. So I ask the bartender. Who directs me to manager 2. Who has to get the customer's ID and card, take it to the office, photocopy it, get the cash, bring it back, hold on to the room fee and my fee for the VIP, and have the customer sign. This process takes at least twenty minutes to complete.

It is not supposed to be this hard to spend money in a strip club. Oh, and they are collecting a 20% service charge on his cash advance, as well. Now, I like that they aren't doing to me what most clubs do, which is taking a 10% bite from my end. I am getting the full fee. But 20% is really, really bad. That's just, well, usurious. I think 5% (or a service charge equal to that charged by the card company) is acceptable. Charging the customer 20% on his cash advance -- on the cash advance he's getting to spend in your club is downright hostile.


And pretty common in most clubs; 10-15% is probably the average. I really, really recommend always taking cash to the club. Don't put lapdances on credit. I mean, I won't stop someone from doing it, believe me, because of course it's worth it, but seriously, use cash. It's smart.

Were I in charge I would seriously streamline this process. The manager himself wouldn't have to come to the damn table; just let the waitress get the card and ID, take it to the manager, bring the cash back. There. Done. Manager or bouncer can collect VIP fee when we check into the room. Simple. Charge at most a 10% fee, preferably 5%, so that the customer doesn't feel that he's being squeezed at every turn. Dude just paid $4.75 for my soda pop, is paying the club $100 an hour to sit on a different couch, and enriching me by $400, part of which will supplement the inadequate salaries of the bouncers and DJs at the club via my tips to them. Make it easier on that customer to spend that money! Does it need to be more obvious?

This guy was so laid back. I was worried he'd get annoyed by the delay and rigamarole of all this, but he stayed pleasant the whole time and was a doll during our VIP. Thanks!

Friday was devoted to football (the embarrassment that was the Texas--A&M game) and a fabulous massage. I do so love my massage therapist; he has done wonders for my body, and is not afraid to do the really hard work. Any dancers in the Portland area, contact me for a referral; he's great with leg and knee issues and also "pole arm," which is the name I've given to the stress you get in your dominant arm that pulls your body weight onto the pole.

Oh! I forgot about this, but one of the nights I was in Missoula I danced for a hottie physical therapy student. I suggested that dancers would be an excellent population to use for a study. He looked at me for a minute, and then said, "I think you've just given me a great idea! I will have to do a thesis next year . . . " So, I really hope he decides to study repetitive stress injuries in dancers relating to pole and stagework, and if he does, I want to hear about it. Yankee Montana transplant, I hope you email me.

I will pass through Missoula again in about three weeks and hit the other club in that town; it's supposedly right next to a truckstop and really a sight. I can't wait.

I am also interested in suggestions on the best kind of long underwear to wear in subzero temperatures as I head back to North Dakota on Saturday. I think I am crazy, but I want a house and they keep paying me well, so into winter I will go.

hic

Damnit, I have the hiccups right now and they are harsh. It's not from drinking because, you know, I don't. So, I have two personal hiccup cures that work for me. The first is to take a full glass of water and drink it from the wrong side -- the part of the lip that's opposite your mouth -- so that eventually, as you drain it, you're bending forward. The other is to take a giant gulp of water and swallow it while simultaneously plugging your ears and nose. Index fingers in the ears, pinkies on either nostril. Nothing graceful about it. The few times I've gotten hiccups at work I've retreated to the dressing room to do one of these, and I swear no one has ever known what I was doing. They stare at me like I've grown a third tit until I explain.

Hey, it works.

Tonight wasn't quite the bonanza we were expecting; it was a pretty unremarkable night. Personally, I was saved in the most wonderful way possible, by doing a half hour's worth of dances for a beautiful blonde former dancer and being paid nearly double what I was owed by her boyfriend. I was happy and relaxed after spending time curled up on the couch with her and so the rest of the night was just fine. What I remember of it. That was definitely the highlight. God, former strippers make some of the best customers ever. And I know they had fun tonight after leaving.

The club opens at 4 p.m. tomorrow and I'm more than willing to try my luck. And I will again on Black Friday; this week has to pay off sometime.