That's so Sexion8
So because Ed will be coming into town for 3 weeks on Christmas leave and I have cleaning, laundry, waxing and pedicuring to fulfill before he gets here, this will be your grab bag stocking stuffer update typed feverishly as I wait for china-a-gogo to deliver my greasy lunch. Not even sure it'll be worth your LJ time, but you know.
*I got a haircut today that actually made my hair look longer walking out than when I walked in. I asked for long layers since my hair was turning into that one-length, Cher-dressed-as-an indian-singing-"Half-Breed" look and she started layering with her magic scissors and now I have luscious locks trailing down my back, looking like I had extensions put in. I...have no explanation for this. I'm pretty sure if I went back and looked closely enough, I would see the Virgin Mary on the blades.
*My 192 lb dog Kona was "playing" with a pigeon dragging a broken wing in my backyard...and it lived. 3 weeks later I saw it roaming the neighborhood waddling from bush to bush pecking at grubs on the ground, which means it has also survived cats, hawks, coyotes, icy sleet and starvation. It's a fucking Robo Pigeon. Or a feathered cockroach, I can't decide.
*My long-distance military kind-of bf Ed sent me a text asking if I would spring for dinner his first night in town.
Me: "I'll take you through a drive-thru McD's if you're nice. Maybe even go inside if you're awesome."
Ed: "I'll give you a McCock sandwich"
*I haven't done a single lick of Christmas shopping. Not even for cards. That whole thing about the person being trampled to death at the opening of the new Wal-Mart really soured me on society as a whole and I just want to stay home where I'm stampede-free. Now I look at old people as you would a dog you're not sure is rabid or not.
*The new cleaning lady I hired last week stole $100 from me. Fortunately, it was a bogus bill from the hotel I now work at that was given to me as a promotional memento for the sister hotel they're opening soon. I only wish I had more than one for her to steal so her disappointment would be much more keenly felt when she tried buying something, the thieving putana.
Finally, my pros and cons on no longer working for a strip club:
Well I have officially entered a new chapter in my (working) life, starting a job at a beautiful hotel on the strip. I must admit it's very strange hanging out in an environment that doesn't include nipple rings and clear heels. I'm used to shrieks of drunken laughter and faint thumping through the walls of club music. I've worked in them for years...either as a bartender, cocktail waitress or an accountant. I've worked in places most of you have only seen on HBO.
Looking back, working in a strip club had it's pros and cons, as one can imagine. (No offense to the entertainers I have friended here on ye olde Journal of Live. Much love to your little naked butts.)
Pro: I got to hear the latest songs (sometimes BEFORE they're officially released) as well as watch the videos as they are displayed on all 12 giant screen t.v.s throughout our 2-story club. Bonus: getting to see how well or how badly minimally-clad girls dance to these songs. For example, I shall forever love Siouxsie and the Banshees' "Peek-a-boo" after watching a drunken stripper shimmy herself right off the edge of the stage and bellyflop on to the tables below. Very apropos of the marching band feel of the song, I felt. She marched her hammered ass to a concussion.
Con: The drama llama rode by all night, every night. Drama to fill entire seasons of a reality show. I'm afraid of drugs so I had to make do with vials of extra-strength ibuprofen in my purse at all times. I also drank a lot more than I used to. A LOT MORE.
Pro: None of my friends had a job or stories like mine. (Well, until my beloved friend gravedirt that is.) (Also, !!!) If you want honesty, it appeals to the ferociously possessive writer in me that I have original, fact-based stories to tell--no one likes to be an imitation. I've often debated starting a separate Livejournal just for stripper stories, but probably won't. I rather like an unpredictable blog where no one knows what I'm going to post about next, including myself.
Oh, alright, I'm vain and liked the attention. And so would you, admit it.
Con: I had to be a freakin' politician and try to please everyone while separating myself from it all. I made excuses as to why I wouldn't give out my phone number or why I was too busy to attend this party or that when all I really wanted to say was, "Look, I have to deal with you crazy bitches on a nightly basis, you're not inflicting yourselves upon me after work, too, so begone."
Pro: This was a job where I made tips, so money was good. Hella good. Like I had to explain the rolls of bills with lipstick on them and convince people I wasn't, in fact, also a stripper.
Con: The money I made was directly proportional to how well I treated these girls, since they were the ones who tipped me. Hence, my honing of political skills that were so...very...tiring. For real though. That mile-high ratty and natty hair-spray cemented Amy Winehouse hair looks ravishing on you, lovie! *jingles tip jar*
Pro: The work environment was a lot more lax than most places. I don't know too many people who can ask their moody manager "The fuck's the matter with you?" and get away with it.
Con: I couldn't talk about my job at family functions. There's just no delicate way of describing to your Catholic aunts someone walking out into the club with her g-string on backwards, so I had to talk about my dogs instead.
Pro: I could talk about it everywhere else, which was why my friends were always calling to invite me out to this place or that. My stories were unparallelled when fueled by rum. (I have since quit drinking, but oh the days.)
Con: At bars, I had to put up with strange men and their "Suuuuure, honey" leering gaze when they found out I worked in a strip club, but did not take it all off to T-Pain. First of all...why would I lie to YOU, asshole? If anything, I'd advertise where I took it all off so I could help you with those pesky ATM transactions and send you home to your wife and kids virtually penniless. Secondly, I described my job in detail which...and no offense to the dancing ladies out there...took a lot of brain work. A LOT of brainwork. And speed. And efficiency. Yet I found I was defending myself constantly to some redneck who wouldn't know a ClubTrax program from his bottle of Coors Light.
Pro: I got to wear glitter and false eyelashes and rhinestone chokers and hiphuggers to work any damn time I wanted. Yes, even in the office I worked I could look like a stripper if I wanted to. In fact, my bosses encouraged it with lecherous relish.
Con: Strippers were always asking to borrow my shit when they easily make ten times the amount I did and could, you know, BUY THEIR OWN SHIT AND LET ME BORROW IT.
Pro: Free food from the gourmet restaurant attached to our club.
Con: It's not supposed to be free, so I had to flirt with and compliment the skeevy chefs smiling their greasy smiles if I wanted creme brulee.
Pro: We got some damn fine male customers in the club, including celebrities.
Con: My office was in the "employees only" ass end of the club, so if I wanted to see any of said damn fine male customers, I had to hang out by the front desk. And the front desk girl was a weirdo who wanted to read me her badly written poetry all the time.
Pro: We got free promotional bottles of new brands of liquor delivered to clubs.
Con: Drinking far too much of said liquor.
In short, I guess you could say I miss it...yet don't miss it. It's kinda nice arriving at a job where managers don't openly screw the receptionists and expect you to treat their whores like royalty and topless women aren't asking you for "party favors" as they surreptiously wipe remnants of coke from their pierced nostrils.
Food's here. Gotta go.
*I got a haircut today that actually made my hair look longer walking out than when I walked in. I asked for long layers since my hair was turning into that one-length, Cher-dressed-as-an indian-singing-"Half-Breed" look and she started layering with her magic scissors and now I have luscious locks trailing down my back, looking like I had extensions put in. I...have no explanation for this. I'm pretty sure if I went back and looked closely enough, I would see the Virgin Mary on the blades.
*My 192 lb dog Kona was "playing" with a pigeon dragging a broken wing in my backyard...and it lived. 3 weeks later I saw it roaming the neighborhood waddling from bush to bush pecking at grubs on the ground, which means it has also survived cats, hawks, coyotes, icy sleet and starvation. It's a fucking Robo Pigeon. Or a feathered cockroach, I can't decide.
*My long-distance military kind-of bf Ed sent me a text asking if I would spring for dinner his first night in town.
Me: "I'll take you through a drive-thru McD's if you're nice. Maybe even go inside if you're awesome."
Ed: "I'll give you a McCock sandwich"
*I haven't done a single lick of Christmas shopping. Not even for cards. That whole thing about the person being trampled to death at the opening of the new Wal-Mart really soured me on society as a whole and I just want to stay home where I'm stampede-free. Now I look at old people as you would a dog you're not sure is rabid or not.
*The new cleaning lady I hired last week stole $100 from me. Fortunately, it was a bogus bill from the hotel I now work at that was given to me as a promotional memento for the sister hotel they're opening soon. I only wish I had more than one for her to steal so her disappointment would be much more keenly felt when she tried buying something, the thieving putana.
Finally, my pros and cons on no longer working for a strip club:
Well I have officially entered a new chapter in my (working) life, starting a job at a beautiful hotel on the strip. I must admit it's very strange hanging out in an environment that doesn't include nipple rings and clear heels. I'm used to shrieks of drunken laughter and faint thumping through the walls of club music. I've worked in them for years...either as a bartender, cocktail waitress or an accountant. I've worked in places most of you have only seen on HBO.
Looking back, working in a strip club had it's pros and cons, as one can imagine. (No offense to the entertainers I have friended here on ye olde Journal of Live. Much love to your little naked butts.)
Pro: I got to hear the latest songs (sometimes BEFORE they're officially released) as well as watch the videos as they are displayed on all 12 giant screen t.v.s throughout our 2-story club. Bonus: getting to see how well or how badly minimally-clad girls dance to these songs. For example, I shall forever love Siouxsie and the Banshees' "Peek-a-boo" after watching a drunken stripper shimmy herself right off the edge of the stage and bellyflop on to the tables below. Very apropos of the marching band feel of the song, I felt. She marched her hammered ass to a concussion.
Con: The drama llama rode by all night, every night. Drama to fill entire seasons of a reality show. I'm afraid of drugs so I had to make do with vials of extra-strength ibuprofen in my purse at all times. I also drank a lot more than I used to. A LOT MORE.
Pro: None of my friends had a job or stories like mine. (Well, until my beloved friend gravedirt that is.) (Also, !!!) If you want honesty, it appeals to the ferociously possessive writer in me that I have original, fact-based stories to tell--no one likes to be an imitation. I've often debated starting a separate Livejournal just for stripper stories, but probably won't. I rather like an unpredictable blog where no one knows what I'm going to post about next, including myself.
Oh, alright, I'm vain and liked the attention. And so would you, admit it.
Con: I had to be a freakin' politician and try to please everyone while separating myself from it all. I made excuses as to why I wouldn't give out my phone number or why I was too busy to attend this party or that when all I really wanted to say was, "Look, I have to deal with you crazy bitches on a nightly basis, you're not inflicting yourselves upon me after work, too, so begone."
Pro: This was a job where I made tips, so money was good. Hella good. Like I had to explain the rolls of bills with lipstick on them and convince people I wasn't, in fact, also a stripper.
Con: The money I made was directly proportional to how well I treated these girls, since they were the ones who tipped me. Hence, my honing of political skills that were so...very...tiring. For real though. That mile-high ratty and natty hair-spray cemented Amy Winehouse hair looks ravishing on you, lovie! *jingles tip jar*
Pro: The work environment was a lot more lax than most places. I don't know too many people who can ask their moody manager "The fuck's the matter with you?" and get away with it.
Con: I couldn't talk about my job at family functions. There's just no delicate way of describing to your Catholic aunts someone walking out into the club with her g-string on backwards, so I had to talk about my dogs instead.
Pro: I could talk about it everywhere else, which was why my friends were always calling to invite me out to this place or that. My stories were unparallelled when fueled by rum. (I have since quit drinking, but oh the days.)
Con: At bars, I had to put up with strange men and their "Suuuuure, honey" leering gaze when they found out I worked in a strip club, but did not take it all off to T-Pain. First of all...why would I lie to YOU, asshole? If anything, I'd advertise where I took it all off so I could help you with those pesky ATM transactions and send you home to your wife and kids virtually penniless. Secondly, I described my job in detail which...and no offense to the dancing ladies out there...took a lot of brain work. A LOT of brainwork. And speed. And efficiency. Yet I found I was defending myself constantly to some redneck who wouldn't know a ClubTrax program from his bottle of Coors Light.
Pro: I got to wear glitter and false eyelashes and rhinestone chokers and hiphuggers to work any damn time I wanted. Yes, even in the office I worked I could look like a stripper if I wanted to. In fact, my bosses encouraged it with lecherous relish.
Con: Strippers were always asking to borrow my shit when they easily make ten times the amount I did and could, you know, BUY THEIR OWN SHIT AND LET ME BORROW IT.
Pro: Free food from the gourmet restaurant attached to our club.
Con: It's not supposed to be free, so I had to flirt with and compliment the skeevy chefs smiling their greasy smiles if I wanted creme brulee.
Pro: We got some damn fine male customers in the club, including celebrities.
Con: My office was in the "employees only" ass end of the club, so if I wanted to see any of said damn fine male customers, I had to hang out by the front desk. And the front desk girl was a weirdo who wanted to read me her badly written poetry all the time.
Pro: We got free promotional bottles of new brands of liquor delivered to clubs.
Con: Drinking far too much of said liquor.
In short, I guess you could say I miss it...yet don't miss it. It's kinda nice arriving at a job where managers don't openly screw the receptionists and expect you to treat their whores like royalty and topless women aren't asking you for "party favors" as they surreptiously wipe remnants of coke from their pierced nostrils.
Food's here. Gotta go.