Archive for March, 2012

March 28, 2012

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Addiction

March 12, 2012

I’ve been thinking a lot about addiction now that I’m back in the strip club environment. Sure, it’s a stereotype I’m not jumping at the chance to play in to, but there’s validity to it.

Two days ago, a girl offered me a shot the minute I walked in the dressing room. Her grandfather’s kidneys are failing and she was drinking and Xanaxing the pain away. Another who switch hits between shot girl and dancer gets too drunk and constantly wants to hug and profess she loves me.

Time and time again, I see girls waste time with customers who aren’t buying dances or VIP’s, because they’ll buy them drinks….at $16 a pop. I’ve been that girl, but have abandoned the backward mentality. How many times have customers been so put off by the price of your drink they passed on a lap dance? That’s a $20-ish loss to you and your “take” is empty calories that can make stage sets dangerous and literally tranquilize your hustle.

I’m in NO position to act self righteous. Just the other day, I commiserated with another stripper about how other girls waste time drinking and partying with guys. It’s a party girl persona thing…but some dancers play it up too much. I said something I hadn’t thought of before. “Thank God I’ve struggled so much with alcohol because if booze didn’t endanger me so much, I might have gotten bored with it and graduated to stronger shit.”

For all my struggles with alcohol, I’m strangely grateful the legal drug caused me enough trouble to make me avoid harder shit. I’ve always been petrified of heroin, not just because I’m inherently addictive, but because I feel there’s no turning back. Alcohol never left me bored and in search of a more exciting substance. It caused me plenty of “morning after” regret inventory sessions, but the silver lining is it became my self-destructive summit.

Sex workers and addicts have much in common; mainly being stigmatized and marginalized. Many sex workers ARE addicts and that’s probably to do with a) instant cash-based income and b) a job where drugs can arguably enhance and enable your performance. Wall Street cokeheads, bartenders, and people in sales or creative endeavors have similar excuses. I’m high strung and my body can’t handle cocaine or ADD drugs. But, like countless alcoholics, I’ve let weed and anxiety pills serve as substitute addictions/sleep-aids. I groan when docs shy from prescribing me “benzos” like Klonopin because of my substance abuse track record. I’d venture to say staying in the stripping industry guarantees easy access to pills I have trouble accessing by conventional methods.

My club’s managers are chill, but one time, I was exasperated by what a stickler my female manager is for fees. A very manic overweight girl was in and said “You’re my favorite and the prettiest” in passing. It was a blah night, so I decided to converse with her. She said yes to a dance, but when she sat on the designated couch, she didn’t respond to my typical “scooch to the middle and spread your legs so I have room to move” body language. She sat on the edge, legs closed and talked and talked and talked. She said her bipolar cousin snorted her meds thinking they were bath salts (?) and was in a coma. She wanted to move from Texas, change her life and become a stripper. I politely listened, but it was draining. She was extremely depressing, but I could relate to the state she was in. I felt very sorry for her and wanted to let her false lap dance slide free of charge. She seemed to think I’d invited her to a gratis private conversation, not a lap dance. Since we pay the club $8 per $30 dance, my manager made me make her pay. If my lap dances had been purely independent and I wasn’t sick, barely making fees on the shift, that would have been a freebie.

Summer Stripping

March 11, 2012

I have a flight home to Boston May 8, right after Jazz Fest here in New Orleans.

Because this city is way too hot to handle, not to mention, a ghost town, during the summer, I’m trying to plan my next move.

Vegas supposedly sucks summertime. Chicago, too.

The fact I don’t want to work at full nudity clubs makes figuring out my summer plans more complicated. I’m used to topless, moderate contact clubs.

I’m reading up on Providence clubs to see if any are feasible topless only. As much as I want to leave my pussy tucked away, I want my tits out and don’t know how I’d do at bikini bars. I also don’t know if I can deal with Providence and all the extras hound customers.

It’s only been a year or two since they banned indoor prostitution but I hear little has changed and that Brazilians there (like the Russians in New York) will do anything, except at a cheaper price than hard-hustling Russian chicks.

If any strippers read this, lend me some advice please! My first inclination was Vegas because I enjoy working a crowd of vacationers who are upbeat and spendy, not cheap Debbie Downers.

Random golf and beach towns? Carolinas? Jersey Shore?

Maybe I’ll bite the bullet and try Providence, so I can live rent free and have normal jobs in Boston while renting Zipcars 2-3 nights per week for quick extra dough. I’d like to think I’m pretty enough to compete with $100 BJ girls without offering $99 BJ’s.

Real Love, I’m Searching for a Real Love

March 9, 2012

I met a guy early in my time here by chance. He had been checking me out at a club called Eiffel Society, and bumped into me on the street the next day. I was coming off a day shift and walking from Bourbon to Cafe Maspero on Decatur (which has yummy French Onion btw) and he stopped me, asking if I’d been at Eiffel the night before. I spontaneously suggested he come along to dinner with me. We ended up booking Holiday Inn off hotwire.com, watching Young Adult for $15.99 and having sex. He’s a marine starting college on the GI bill at the ripe age of 26. He’s lived a lot of life, is a recovering alcoholic with similar views on AA, and has an ex-wife, plus two daughters. My snooty family would scoff at his on paper stats. But I like that he has so much substance. Not that it matters cause I haven’t heard from him in a week. (sigh) In line with the status quo of my lust life, I have been exchanging bountiful sexts with a guy back home. The guy is only 23 and I expect no more than sport fucking from him, but when will I expect more from myself? Am I being prematurely phased out by the guy here after getting my hopes up about fate, mutual struggles and mutual interests? At the end of the day, I’m an overly sexual girl. It helps me excel at work. But I’d like to have a true relationship pan out for once in my life.

March 5, 2012

I read a blog post that hit home the other day. Newsflash, strippers aren’t loaded! I’m making my final student loan payment today, but thanks to an impulsive, better safe than sorry, 9-1-1 call in December, I managed to sink myself back into 5K debt literally overnight. After working my ass off to settle exactly that much in slowly accumulated credit card debt.

The kicker is, because I have a tough source of income to verify on paper, renewing my insurance in an attempt to file a claim on my extremely pricey hospital excursion is far from painless. If I had the balls, I’d forward my medical bills to my asshole father, since the stress he caused me during holiday season more or less led directly to my insomnia and Nyquil/Benadryl OD (it was not fun, feeling as if bugs were crawling all over me was the highlight.)

It’s depressing, but valid, to admit that I hit my colleagues up for anxiety pills and, although I’ve “run away” from home and family yet again, I’m merely postponing and back-burnering my problems, not eliminating them. I was a basket case back home and I feel pretty level-headed down here, but the stove can’t have all four burners on simmer forever.

March 2, 2012

I came down with a cold yesterday and tried in vain to leave work early. Which is why I’m extra curious and confused about this one broad at who shows up, no joke, at 10 or 11 at night for a couple hours. Among the comments about her:

“Is it me, or does she just come in and suck dick for two hours, then leave?”

“She does $20 lap dances instead of $30 and pays a higher house fee.” (I don’t see the logic in this.)

“I know she’s not trying to come in and work right now…” -Bouncer at 11PM

I had a group of Staten Island bachelor partygoers who spent a decent amount, but started working the “do a private party at our hotel” angle. When I creatively said no, they played the “we were here the other night and _____ said she was up for it for $175” card. Yeah…I bet she was. But as the bartender said, “I’ve seen the Player’s Club!”

If you’re working on Bourbon, the vast minority of customers are local. So word of mouth about who’s willing to meet outside work, who does what and just how much in the champagne rooms etc…isn’t a huge concern. But listening to internal gossip about who does what has been interesting lately.

There are many thinly veiled characters at strip clubs, both workers and customers: pimps, prostitutes and dealers mainly. One girl I talked to used to just sit in a corner of her old club and deal drugs, while avoiding stage sets and I have to hand it to her; considering the annoying volume of “where can I find oxy/blow/weed” customers requests, at least she capitalized on it.