Never forget the shoes

Tonight was a pretty good night.  I finally made some frickin money worth bragging about.

I got hungry halfway through my shift so I took a lunch break.  When I came back, I couldn't find my heels.  I thought I took them with me, but they weren't in my car.  I looked all over the dressing room and still no luck.  

I really hope some bitch didn't loot them.  There were a lot of new girls working and many of them work only a few shifts before getting fired.  A lot of them steal and never come back.

Shoes aside, the show still must go on.  I finished the night in my flip flops.  We are allowed to wear almost anything we want and I had only one guy at the stage complain, who was a total douche bag anyway.  What is wrong with looking like I just came from the beach?  Earlier, I saw him chuck a crumpled dollar bill at one of the dancers on stage so I knew he was gonna be a douche.

There were many young guys near the end of the night and I'm surprised some of them got lap dances from me.  There was a bachelor group of guys hot enough to be gay.  A couple of them were completely sold when I asked for a dance.

And my last customer was a returning one, always the best.  A college boy who waits tables.  He was a wow nerd back in the day, too.  I told you my nerd charm makes me money.

It was freaky how much he had in common with me.  I knew the juke box was about to run out of music so I knew I had control over what the club hears and what I'd be doing lap dances to.  So I dragged him over to the juke box and suggested playing Chevelle because that band has been making me wet since I was 14.

He was like, "You can't be serious.  Chevelle is my favorite band."

This was too easy.  "I own every album they've ever made."

He was too young, though.  21 was sexy when I was 18.  I'm almost 25.  Way too old.  I was fantasizing about getting an older Kevin Spacey look-alike as my bread winner before I came in tonight.  I know, I should have more realistic expectations.  

I'm honestly glad my night with people ends when the club closes, because college boy was inviting me to his hotel and I just didn't wanna have sex with him.  I remember having sex with 21-year-olds.  I think they were all bad experiences, too.  He needed to shave, shower, brush his teeth and be ten years older.  Otherwise, he would be a good buddy, but not for sex.  More like carrying me through a dungeon for my new epic weapon.

Tonight I also had an allergy fail.  Right after I got off stage, someone wanted me to dance for a cute young lady and my throat was itching bad.  I had to cough, a lot, and I was trying to hold it back, but I couldn't keep the poker face.  I excused myself to the bathroom and coughed til I almost puked, wiped down my face and got a piece of hard candy (sub for cough drop) from the men's room attendant, and got back to my lady custie.  Luckily, she was cool about it.

So yeah, I had quite the night.  Time for bed, the sun's up.

"This is why I stopped working Friday."

I recall hearing my hottie big tits co-worker saying that earlier tonight because all the guys in the club were broke losers.

This other drunk girl I work with once said in the dressing room, "if you think it will happen, it will."

I had a feeling tonight would be somewhat of a bust and I was correct.

My allergy-suffering body was telling me not to go to work.  But I went in for a few hours anyway and did my best with what I had to work with.

Once again, we had an army of strippers ready to take every last cent out of the wallets that walked in.  We are too good at our jobs.  Most of the guys came and went pretty fast so the crowd was quite thin for a Friday night.

I was hoping to get some customers from Boston or New York so I could remind them of how lucky they are to be here in the warm, sunny south instead the blizzard that's covering their homes.

Instead I got a German tourist who was happy to spend a bunch of money on me.

Tomorrow night should be much better.

Under the weather

Under the big cloud of pollen.  I suppose it's better than the cloud of snow up north.  It's good to be a southern girl... With allergies.

It's getting harder to breathe, nose is running more, my face... Ow.

My body is literally fucking sick.  I don't think it's a cold or flu, though.  So I can work tonight and not feel bad about spreading biological warfare to my competition.  I wouldn't feel bad if I did, but not everyone I work with deserves to feel this drained.

Of course I didn't go to work last night.  Not enough energy, as the rogues used to say. (That was a WoW reference because I am a NERD).  I have not touched that game in a year or so.  I still have yet to meet an exotic dancer who got into it.  I feel like I'm the only one.  I've shocked the hell out of some nerdy young customers dropping some WoW lingo.  

I feel gross.  Why did I have to get so sick right before my work weekend?  Excuse me, I gotta blow my nose.  

I'm gonna go pop about 4 zyrtecs before I go in.

Lots of exercise

My butt lift program is going well.  I don't suck at the moves anymore.  I can't wait til I can do all the workouts without running out of breath.  I used to have great stamina during my cross country runner days.

I can almost pass what's called "the pencil test."


The pencil test is where you take a pen or pencil and set it right under the butt cheek while standing up.  If you can hold the pencil in that spot without hands, your butt could use a lift.

Though when I searched for this picture, some bloggers found the test to be a bullshit way to make girls feel bad about themselves.  I don't feel bad for having a big booty.  I got all this ass and I need to keep it UP.  But I don't feel bad about myself, I think it's a fun challenge.

So I'm not safe yet.  It's only day 27 of 60.  I don't notice a big difference in the back of my thighs, but everywhere else is starting to tone up.  My abs and arms are popping out a little, so I'm glad I'm making progress.

In other news, pollen has been rampant lately.  I'm getting cold symptoms; a sore throat, but it's the scratchy kind.  I got some Benadryl so I'll be sleeping soon.  I hope I don't get worse because I should be working tomorrow night.

I could use some luck.  I'm going broke.  I can't go broke.

Slump in sales

Ugh.  That's all I have to say.

This weekend's earnings are as shitty as the overflowing septic tank at Starbucks.  Seriously, any coffee shop should triple the Rid-X budget.  One of my relatives is a devout customer and she said it like it was common knowledge: "Everyone poops at Starbucks."

A valid point.  Coffee's nickname is "poop juice."

Back to exotic dancing.  But why bother talking about this shitty night?  I've written the same story so many times.  No bread winners for me tonight.  Someone had to be traumatizing.  All the guys were broke losers.

Never work stupid bowl weekend where I'm at.

The first is the worst

Is officially GROUNDHOG DAY!

And who gives a fuck?  Oh yeah, the people up north.  At least they are enjoying chili in that cold weather while I'm starving here in the south.

No bread winners, no tippers.  Tonight SUCKED!  No feast for the sharks tonight.  It was slow all night.  There were so many moneymaking bitches sitting around backstage.  That's how bad it was.

Every time I made a round to find a customer I kept scanning each available male to see who looks at me first.

"Douchebag, douchebag, creeper, freeloader, douchebag, douchebag, douchebag, time-waster, keeps saying 'later,' told me he was broke, douchebag, douchebag, sweatpants, tried copping a free feel, asked me for a free trial dance (are you fucking kidding me?!!), fuck I'm already back to the dressing room door?"

And none of them made eye contact with me while I slowly walked by.

It's hard to make money in a club full of douches and sharks.  I'm not blowing my top over this, I totally saw it coming.  Maybe tomorrow night will be better.

Stormy cloud

I didn't go to work tonight.

I'm lazy and my gut told me tonight wasn't gonna be a good money night.  I'm saving my energy for tomorrow and Saturday night.  I don't need to start my week off with a Thursday night bomb.

I know I just said in my last post I wouldn't let my stormy financial forecast stop me from being a responsible stripper and going to work, but I did.  Call it abusing the freedom to choose my own hours... I love being a stripper.

And if I learned anything from last May/June, I would know tonight (Thursday the 31st) is the night to skip in my three-night work week.

But if I learned anything from last week, I would know that I can still make good money on a Thursday night.

I'm gonna stop contradicting myself because it's an embarrassing problem I need to work on.  I think it has something to do with my zodiac sign being a Pisces - two fish swimming in opposite directions.  One fish swims left, the other swims to the right.  Great for hearing both sides of the story, not great for making quick decisions.  Sometimes I hold up drive thrus trying to make up my mind.

Good fish: order water to drink
Bad fish: but I want Sprite!
Good fish: is there anything on this menu that won't make me fat
Bad fish: who cares?  You aren't fat now.
Good fish: "I'd like to order a chicken salad..."
Bad fish: "...with a Sprite to drink."

One thing I know for sure - I won't miss tomorrow night so you can expect my next post to be about work.