New Orleans and the "She-Male" Strippers
So I just recently got back home from the New Orleans Jazz and Heritage Festival, where I had gone with arrmaitee and my non-LJ user friend whom I’ll call “J”.
We were out on Bourbon Street on Friday night, after a day spent at the Festival. We were just walking along, drinking our alcoholic slushees, when Arrmaitee gets this brilliant idea that we just had to go see the Female Impersonators.
Now, my friend “J” is a straight guy who really wasn’t interested in a drag queen show, but he’s also a good sport and agreed to go after he had a few more drinks in him. So there we are: drunk, on Bourbon Street, and ready to see the Female Impersonators perform.
We step into the club, expecting to see a drag queen variety show. But is that what we found? Oh hell no! It seems that Arrmaitee had managed to drag us into a “she-male” strip club!
Now let me set the scene. It’s dark. There’s a stage. There’s a pole. There’s NO AUDIENCE. And the “she-male” performers are The Most Bored Strippers in the World ™.
These guys/girls/whatever could not have been less interested in what they were doing. I was afraid they were going to fall into a coma while performing on stage.
So there we are. “J”, the straight guy, was engaging in the intellectual pursuit of trying to figure out how far these performers had gone in their surgical endeavors (Had they only had implants? Had they actually had surgery “down below”? Or were they tied up somehow?).
Arrmaitee was full of glee at having dragged us to the most boring club in New Orleans, and he was enjoying watching us suffer. He was also enjoying his drink, which was, admittedly, the best we had that night (and which I had also paid for somehow - I’m not quite sure how that happened).
And I was sitting there, pondering the irony of how this was my first actual strip club experience (something I had managed to avoid somehow).
Of course, after one of the Extremely Bored Dancers™ finished his/her performance, the demand for money began. I had run out of cash (probably from buying the drinks) and couldn’t oblige. “J” decided not to oblige (and got flipped off because of it). And Arrmaitee had conveniently left the room to go into another area and watch male strippers performing push-ups on a table go to the toilet.
Thanks Arr. You certainly gave us a memorable experience.
We were out on Bourbon Street on Friday night, after a day spent at the Festival. We were just walking along, drinking our alcoholic slushees, when Arrmaitee gets this brilliant idea that we just had to go see the Female Impersonators.
Now, my friend “J” is a straight guy who really wasn’t interested in a drag queen show, but he’s also a good sport and agreed to go after he had a few more drinks in him. So there we are: drunk, on Bourbon Street, and ready to see the Female Impersonators perform.
We step into the club, expecting to see a drag queen variety show. But is that what we found? Oh hell no! It seems that Arrmaitee had managed to drag us into a “she-male” strip club!
Now let me set the scene. It’s dark. There’s a stage. There’s a pole. There’s NO AUDIENCE. And the “she-male” performers are The Most Bored Strippers in the World ™.
These guys/girls/whatever could not have been less interested in what they were doing. I was afraid they were going to fall into a coma while performing on stage.
So there we are. “J”, the straight guy, was engaging in the intellectual pursuit of trying to figure out how far these performers had gone in their surgical endeavors (Had they only had implants? Had they actually had surgery “down below”? Or were they tied up somehow?).
Arrmaitee was full of glee at having dragged us to the most boring club in New Orleans, and he was enjoying watching us suffer. He was also enjoying his drink, which was, admittedly, the best we had that night (and which I had also paid for somehow - I’m not quite sure how that happened).
And I was sitting there, pondering the irony of how this was my first actual strip club experience (something I had managed to avoid somehow).
Of course, after one of the Extremely Bored Dancers™ finished his/her performance, the demand for money began. I had run out of cash (probably from buying the drinks) and couldn’t oblige. “J” decided not to oblige (and got flipped off because of it). And Arrmaitee had conveniently left the room to go into another area and watch male strippers performing push-ups on a table go to the toilet.
Thanks Arr. You certainly gave us a memorable experience.