Running From Grace

Gemini was one of the top dancers at the club. She had a tight body, long, voluminous hair, and a set of enhanced breasts that practically broke the necks of every man in a fifty foot radius of her. Not only was she easy on the eyes, but she also put on one hell of a stage show. This girl could climb faster than a God damn Navy Seal and as soon as she reached the top of the pole, she floated down to the ground with such grace and precision that you couldn’t help but wonder if she was really human. I have chatted with Gemini here and there and she was nothing but sweet to me, always smiling and cracking jokes. An all round fantastic dancer. One night, I was relaxing with a customer after an extended amount of time in the VIP room when it was her turn on stage. He and I watched as she moved, so fluid and exotic. Sensual and hypnotizing. She was truly a sight to behold but it wouldn‘t be too long before gravity had its revenge. About half way through her second song, Gemini stumbled on her seven inch heels and lost her footing. She crashed to her knees, quickly recovering with some floor work, eventually turning to the crowd and giving a rather guilty smile. She had lived through every dancer’s worst nightmare and handled it in the most perfect way possible. Turn the tumble into some kind of floor move and acknowledge the blooper with a good attitude. I mentioned this to the customer I was sitting with and he had no idea what I was talking about. Apparently she had hidden the mistake so well he hadn’t even noticed.

As an exotic dancer, you put yourself out there more than most people. Not only are you naked in front of a room full of strangers, but you are constantly exposed to scrutiny, judgment, and the chance of making an ass out of yourself on stage. I always preach about keeping your mind above all the lesser, mis-informed, self righteous dick heads out there, but what do you do when something completely humiliating happens? Something that doesn’t involve mental strength? The following situations may or may not have happened to me in my dancing career and not only are they meant to be learned from, but you should also understand that dancers are human. No matter how beautiful we are, no matter how well we dance, no matter how many times you swear you see wings coming out of our shoulders blades, we are not perfect. Real close, but not perfect.

What to do if…

you botch a pole trick.

Answer: Similar to a stumble, turn it into something completely different and send a look into the crowd that says, “I fucked up but I am still hot.” This should only be done under extreme circumstances, like if you completely fell off or hit your head on the floor. If you get “stuck” and end up awkwardly releasing from a trick, just keep moving like it didn’t happen. Guys do not notice stuff like that.

you get your period on stage.

Answer: Yeah yeah real gross, right? The truth is, girls dance during that annoying week all the time. All you have to do is take a tampon, cut the string, and you are good to go. Unfortunately, there is always the chance of bleeding through, which can be completely mortifying. If you are dancing while on your period, always wear a dark colored thong and clothing to match. In the event that you feel it happening and are not able to leave the stage, keep your legs closed and just do simple movements. Don’t do any extreme dollar tricks.

you get stuck trying to take off a piece of clothing.

Answer: Laugh it off. If you notice anyone is looking directly at you, send them a smile and an exasperated look, as if taking off clothes is the hardest thing in the world. If someone is near the stage, ask them to help you (if club rules permit). Any guy in their right mind would love to untangle the knot in your bikini top so he can see you topless. Eventually you will be able to get through it but it might take a little longer than expected. People will wait.

some loser attempts to ruin your life by sticking his/her nose where it doesn’t belong.

Answer: Keep writing.

Trent Reznor

There are times when I feel incredibly alone. Like there is not a soul on this earth that could possibly understand the thoughts in my head. Like I am screaming at the top of my lungs and there isn’t a single person that can hear me. Like I am drowning in frigid, unmerciful waters without any hope of someone throwing me a life saver. And although all of this is a good reason for me to hole up in my apartment and wish for death, it is essentially what makes me alive. What makes me human. We all have our battles and the lifestyles we choose determine just how great our personal war with the world will be. Some people are satisfied with their role as the innocent civilian, while others want nothing but the front lines and an AK-47. Can you guess where I would be? I am hoping to see you there too. I also wouldn’t mind going to battle with some of the most daring people the world ever saw. The real fighters. The ones who defied society and basically gave the finger to every social rule there ever was. Mae West. Martin Luther King Jr.. Harvey Milk. And then there is Trent Reznor, lead singer of Nine Inch Nails and someone who I believe singlehandedly changed industrial rock music forever. He has been around for the past 20 years and in those 2 decades, he has come out with numerous number one songs that have put his personal thoughts out there for everyone to see.  Pair this raw passion with strong beats and captivating lyrics and you have the recipe for pure musical genius. In his own way, Trent is a stripper. Just like me. And it is quite obvious that his defiance not only made him a millionaire but it also made him an icon. He isn’t afraid to break the rules and let people see him for who he is. If that isn’t inspirational, I don’t know what is.

I am a relatively new NIN fan. The first song I ever heard was “Closer” and I was immediately intrigued by the boldness of the lyrics. Although edited, I knew what he was getting at and I really liked it. When I first started dancing, I always asked the DJ to play it for me but it was constantly “reserved” for some other girl that had been there longer. It wasn’t until my fourth club that I was able to put Trent’s words into motion and it truly felt amazing. You let me violate you. My body became an extension of his storm, bending and twisting with the winds. You let me desecrate you. My heart echoed the rhythmic thunder of his voice, his words. His insides. You let me penetrate you. Flashes of pinks and reds lit up my eyes, my skin, any darkness that dwelled in my soul. And yes Trent, you can complicate me any day. Not only did “Closer” tap into the hidden sex kitten inside of me, but other songs really spoke to me as well. The following are some of my favorite lyrics from my favorite NIN songs.

“You can have my isolation.
You can have the hate that it brings.
You can have my absence of faith.
You can have my everything.”
- Closer

“Devils speak of the ways in which she’ll manifest.
Angels bleed from the tainted touch of my caress.
Need to contaminate to alleviate this loneliness.
I now know the depths I reach are limitless.”
- Reptile

“so impressed with all you do
tried so hard to be like you
flew too high and burnt the wing
lost my faith in everything

lick around divine debris
taste the wealth of hate in me
shedding skin succumb defeat
this machine is obsolete

made the choice to go away
drink the fountain of decay
tear a hole exquisite red
fuck the rest and stab it dead

broken bruised forgotten sore
too fucked up to care anymore
poisoned to my rotten core
too fucked up to care anymore”
- Somewhat Damaged

“In my nothing, you meant everything to me.”
- And All That Could’ve Been

“My moral standing is lying down”.
- The Only Time

Etc.

This post is dedicated to Chicago Joe

If there are any other NIN fans out there, feel free to add a lyric!

I love the club I work at. The male employees don’t attempt to get in my pants. The stage is huge and is equipped with a really nice light show. I am making more money there than I ever did in my entire life. And the dancers actually do their job and mind their business. I don’t think I could ask for anything more. Speaking of the dancers, about 95% of them are absolutely gorgeous and what I have noticed about the girls that work in city clubs is that they are very trendy. Some of the outfits and accessories they wear on stage are things I have never seen before or things I would’ve thought looked tacky underneath the rotating lights. Here are some examples.

Flower headband at www.shopmasons.com

Rhinestone jewelry at www.ureternity.com

Not an outfit or an accesory, but girls in city clubs have the best work I have ever seen. www.allwomenstalk.com

Sequins gowns at www.snaz75.com $157.99

Hair extensions at www.easygrooming.com

I’m not big with keeping up with the trends. If you haven’t noticed from my last post, I could care less what is considered “in”. But for alot of girls, having the most sparkles and the biggest boobs are top priority on their to do list. I like to wear things that are cute and sexy, but also functional. And by functional I mean can be removed easily. I do own a few flower head bands but I like to do fast spins on the pole. This could easily send my cute hair piece into the lap of some drunk idiot in the crowd so I’d rather save them for shopping trips or a lunch date with a friend. I have not tapped into the rhinestone jewelry craze but I love the way it looks on stage. Same with the sequined gowns. My club does not have black lights so the sparkles, as opposed to the glowing garters, thongs, arm bands, etc. , stand out more than anything. And because you are technically in competition with every girl there, having the edge is very important. Hair extensions are definitely my thing. I swear by the Euronext brand that is sold at Sally’s Beauty Supply. They are real human hair, easy to style, and you are able to unclip them at the end of the night as opposed to spending hundreds to have them glued directly into your hair (see picture above). And as far as boob jobs go, that is the one plastic surgery I would never get. Atleast not at this point in my life. Although silicone looks good from afar, alot of them feel hard and they lack that subtle movement that makes breasts sexy in the first place. I am not against anyone who has had the surgery done but I think it is important to find a top of the line surgeon who can make them look as realistic as possible. The city girls have access to these kinds of guys and they certainly have the money to spend on it. If not, their boyfriends or regulars certainly do. If anyone has seen other trends at their neighborhood club, please feel free to comment. I would love to hear how other girls rock out.

Everyone wants to be the cool kid on the block. At a young age, people begin to discern what is “in” and what is “out” and by the time you reach adulthood, you are so jaded by popular culture that you practically become a robot. Like this music. Drink that drink. Wear that color. And we follow blindly, completely comfortable in a world where we are told what lifestyle is ideal and how to interact with the people around us. I remember in high school, I was always infatuated with the beautiful, popular girls. I found myself observing their antics, wondering what made them special and what made me rather ordinary. I concluded it was the sports. It seemed these goddesses were always on some kind of team and I was the girl that played in the band and wrote books. Basically I was never destined to be cool. At age 15, this is devastating. At 26, I find myself wondering why I ever gave a shit about those pretty girls. According to facebook, most of them are married and popping out kids, living ordinary lives with their ordinary husbands. They are following the path that is intended for the typical person in their mid twenties and this is considered “cool”. I beg to differ. The need to be with the in crowd is not only widespread throughout society, but it happens at a much smaller level as well. Like in strip clubs. In order to be the cool dancer, you have to possess certain traits that make you fun to be around yet non-threatening. Finding this tender balance between the two can be difficult, but not impossible. I’ve seen it done many times.

The cool dancer…

drinks. She usually starts the night off with shots of Goldschlager and can be seen wandering around with beer bottles and mixed drinks for the remainder of her shift. She never becomes a sloppy drunk, but does have a tendency to either get really friendly or really angry when she’s had a few too many.

smokes. The smoking area is where most of the socialization happens between dancers, aside from the dressing room. The cool dancer is out there once an hour bitching about customers and life in general with whoever will listen.

does pole tricks. She most likely has been dancing for years so pole work is a skill she has sufficiently honed. From one legged holds to mind blowing spins, she has the ability to turn every head when she begins to climb.

has some kind of typical stripper issue. Single mom. Abusive boyfriend. Drug addiction. Promiscuity. But never all at the same time.

makes good money. But not great money. The cool dancer relates to all the girls because she does do dances, but she also tends to socialize and sit with a customer longer than needed. Because of this, she is not a direct threat to anyone’s money.

has bitched out atleast one other dancer. She almost always butts head with another girl for some reason and this usually leads to a verbal (sometimes physical) fight. This is usually done in front of other dancers so that the cool dancer can establish her role as the bad ass. As soon as this intimidation is set in, respect is earned and no one dares to piss her off again.

So I was uncool in high school and I have managed to keep it going into my exotic dancing career. I don’t drink at work. Cigarettes gross me out. I don’t do complex pole tricks. I have no typical stripper issues. I make great money. And I would never get in anyone’s face unless certain extreme circumstances were met. Also, I play video games, I actually like Britney Spears, and crossword puzzles rock my world. Although none of these things are considered cool, my opinion of what is cool is being true to yourself. So what if I can’t do an upside down split on the pole? So what if I can kick everyone’s ass in Mario Kart? I am happy to be me and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I have gotten a few comments/e-mails about my lap dance post from back in October. I decided to combine the sales pitch and the actual art of the dance into one super post so anyone who is curious can get the full story in one place. Enjoy!

1. I scan the room for potential money. The man I usually go for is sitting alone and looks between the ages of 30 and 60. He is usually dressed casually, sometimes dressy, and he has been at the club for more than ten minutes.

2. I walk over to him and as soon as he notices I am approaching him, I smile, lean in towards him drawing attention to my cleavage, and ask if I can sit with him. They almost always say yes. I sit on his lap and throw my arm around his neck.

3.  The conversation. As I talk with him, I have eye contact more often than not. One of my strongest features is my eyes so I make sure he gets a good look at them. I gently rub his shoulder or neck. I toss my hair once or twice so he gets a hint of my perfume scent. At the end of my spiel, I ask him for the dance and he usually says yes. Below are the conversation topics I use with every single customer.

Hi. Can I sit with you?
Sure.

What’s your name?
Bob. What’s yours?
Jenna.

Nice to meet you, Bob. What brings you in tonight?
1. Boredom… Well you sure came to the right place if you want excitement!
2. I want to see pretty girls… You came to the right place!
3. I want to drink… I guess the pretty girls are just a bonus then!
4. I’m here with a friend… Well your friend has good taste in clubs.

The conversation might start flowing from this question, but just in case it doesn’t…

Have you ever been here before?
1. Yes… Welcome back! You can’t get enough of us, can you?
2. No… Oh nice! What do you think so far?

Where are you from?
He will usually answer from a place near the club and will almost always ask you the same question. Lie if you want but remember, if he is a repeat customer, you have to keep up with the lie and not change your story. I suggest starting out with a fake place of residence that you know atleast a little bit about and using it with every single man.

What do you do for a living?
His answer will give you an idea if he will buy a dance or not. Unemployed is usually a red flag but sometimes they will buy dances so don’t give up on him. The ones who I have had most trouble with is the men that are actually in the strip club business. They know the game and they like to play it back because they think it makes them smart. Too bad I am smarter. Teachers, construction workers, lawyers, and mechanics are my favs.

By now, the conversation has taken off in some way. By asking the questions above, you can atleast find one thing you have in common with him and go off on a tangent. If he is a teacher, tell him about a past teacher you had. If he is from somewhere far away, tell him about a recent trip you made. This entire conversation CAN NOT last longer than five minutes. Don’t forget… time is money! If you play your cards right and talk about the right things, he will enjoy your company and want to spend more time with you. The lap dance pitch I always use goes like this…

How long are you staying tonight? (Make sure you ask him this with your mouth near his ear. The hot breath next to this area will send a shiver down his spine)
I will be here until close… Well how would you like to start your night off with a dance from me?
I am leaving after this beer… Before you leave, would you like a dance with me?
I’m not sure… Would you be interested in having a private dance with me tonight?

I use the time aspect to ease into the kill. This way, it doesn’t sound blunt, like you are a machine with your main function being to get his money. Technically this is true minus the machine part. Be outgoing, upbeat, and make him your main focus. Do not, under any circumstance, complain about how broke you are or how much your life sucks. Leave the bitching to his wife. I’m sure she is amazing at it.

No, I don’t want a dance… OK no problem, if you change your mind let me know.
Well… I’m not sure… Trust me, you will have alot of fun. I am worth every penny.
Sure… OK, great! Come with me!

So he is now in my claws. I rise from his lap and extend my hand towards him. He takes it and we walk hand in hand to the lap dance room, which is usually a dimly lit area cut off from the rest of the club that is equipped with couches and mirrors. I ask him to have a seat and if we have to wait for the next song, I usually sit on his lap and rub his shoulders. If the next song is starting, I proceed with the dance. Try not to start more than 30 seconds into the song. He is a paying customer and he wants is a full song length with your fabulous self. I always start facing him and slowly grind on his crotch while pulling his face into my chest. I absolutely hate it when guys take this opportunity to shake their head like a hyena ripping apart a gazelle carcas in between my boobs. It is not amusing. Another thing I do while I am facing him is rub my fingers through his hair and stare deeply into his eyes. I can not stress how important eye contact is. It truly makes the experience intimate and personal, a sensation that alot of guys miss in their personal lives. But don’t hold a death stare with him. When you are doing something sexy, like running your fingers across your bare chest… that is when you give him a glance. And a brief, closed-lip smile. Make him feel like the rest of the club doesn’t exist and you are doing this because you genuinely want to. (Believe it or not there are actually some customers that I truly enjoy dancing for. It doesn’t happen too often though.) Eventually I turn around and gently rest my back against his front and move my hips rhythmically to the music. Because my face is right next to his, I close my eyes and moan softly, once again creating a more personal environment for him. One thing I am guilty of doing in this position is scanning the room for my next dance. At the club I work at now, the lap dance area is in the corner of the room encased with fake trees, which can be seen through if you really wanted to. I sometimes zone out checking out the floor and forget what I am doing. It is really bad and I am trying to break this habit. I’m a hustler, what can I say. So after I finish with the part of the dance facing away from him, I get down on my knees in front of him and gently rub my chest on his crotch. This may not be allowed in some clubs, but at mine it’s all good. As I do this, I grab his shirt and gently pull myself up towards his neck and let out a warm breath, then sink back down letting my chest rub against him and maintaining my sexy stare. At this point, the song is usually over and no matter what, I always ask, “Would you like round 2?” or “Want to make it 2?” About half the time, the guy will take another one. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve seen girls just get right up from a guy’s lap and not even ask. This makes her look like she is in a hurry and isn’t interested in him at all. Very bad for business!

So there you have it. Jenna’s lap dance. Notice that not anywhere in his post did I mention giving a guy a hand job, sucking his dick, fucking him, etc. That’s because I AM NOT DIRTY. I am good at this, and often times when you are good at something, people try to bring you down. For all the bitches that have left mean notes on my locker and spread rumors about me being easy, fuck you. Your life is a waste of flesh and air and you will never kick ass like I do.

I just recently returned from a lovely trip. A trip to visit a fellow degenerate, in fact. Instead of shooting up and having promiscuous sex, the two of us opted for more ordinary activities. Spending time outdoors. Watching movies. Shopping. Going out to eat. I also received a wonderful birthday present that I just can not stop looking at. I was given a painting, not of an animal or a place, but of myself. On one side, there is me holding one of my books, dressed in a conservative button up shirt and sweater. On the other side, I am donning a sexy school girl outfit equipped with a garter and some fantastic cleavage. I can not express how touched I was by how much work was put into it and I am so thrilled to add it to my collection of erotic pictures. One degenerate can paint. The other can write. And we both love strip clubs. Is this really possible?

My painting is not the only work of art I laid my eyes on this past weekend. We were wandering around Barnes and Noble the other day and a book caught my eye. A book called Suicide Girls: Beauty Redefined. It was larger than all of the other paperbacks in its section and I was immediately intrigued by its cover. A punky looking cartoon girl with a very sexy smirk on her face. I knew it had to be photography of some sort by the shape of the book so I wasted no time taking a look. What I saw within the pages completely blew me away. Suicide Girls: Beauty Redefined turned out to be a collection of erotic photography, but it was not your typical female models. Most of these girls were covered in tattoos and had piercings in spots I didn’t know one could pierce. They were dark with the occasional blast of color, either in the hair, make up, or background, and best of all, they were completely naked. And sexy. Unbelievably sexy. The screeching opinions of mainstream society were unheard over the deafening body language and the roaring confidence. These girls were the definition of beautiful and I could not pry myself away from this book. I was then asked if I would pose for anything like that. My answer… in a heart beat. However, there are certain things that would have to fall into place before I would be able to take on such an endeavor. First of all, I would have to be sure my reputation could take such a blow. Stripping is a big one, but I can walk away from it without leaving a trace of my presence. A photograph can follow you everywhere. Second of all, I am not as bad ass as the Suicide Girls. I have a couple small, modest tattoos and I think alot of make up overwhelms my features. Of course I can rock out in front of a camera so I think I would be OK regardless of the rather “bare” exterior. If I ever did something like this, I would want people to have the same reaction I did when I opened the book. She is not just a nude body. She is a rule breaker. A symbol of strength. Radiant. Fierce. She spreads her legs for the sake of art. For the sake of beauty. Uncovered lips shouting fuck you. Fuck me. She is aware of the consequences. Yet takes the risk. Because nothing is as tragic as a girl that gives in.

this is not poetry

And suddenly, there were colors.
Reds and pinks and yellows.
But no blues.
He was with me.
His loud voice screaming.
They were with me too.
And all I could hear was his voice.
And all I could feel were their eyes.
My hands.
Running through my hair.
Across my chest.
Down my legs.
Wrapping around the steel.
Hot.
Cold.
Colliding with a force unlike any other.
And that was when I began to fly.
Weightless underneath the colors.
The lights.
The eyes.
The eyes.
They searched me for something more.
But they are unable to see past my skin.
My desire.
Forbidden.
And tempting.
Because some poetry is not written with words.
It is expressed by the body.

Sometimes, things just get boring. You get bored with your apartment. Your wardrobe. Your car. You get bored with the people in your life. This feeling is practically inevitable, no matter how stimulating someone or something was to begin with. Basically, in the end, nothing is ever good enough. What an evil trick our brain plays on us. I have no idea how to deal with this in real life but in the strip club world, a regular and I came up with a fun little game to play to spice things up. A little background info… this man originally caught my eye because he did not pay attention to me right away. A battle that is easily won is something I am bored with. Instead, he would relax, drink his drinks, and do dances with the girls that he liked. I became determined to be one of these girls so when I finally got him in the lap dance room, I took my time and made sure he had a great experience. The next time he was in, we had an encore performance and the rest was history from there. I had a customer I could rely on on dead Tuesday nights and he had a dancer he could rely on for a sweet, sexy lap dance. Who says the customer should be the only one called a “regular”? Anyways, we did this for months and one night, out of the blue, we decided to pretend to be different people. To role play. It started out as a funny joke but then we both realized how much fun we could have with it. I started the game by pretending I was in the military and that I was being shipped off to Iraq the next day. The strip club was my last ditch effort to release all of my sexual tension before heading to the desert. He loved it. The next time we hung out, he told me this incredibly entertaining story about his life as a bank robber.  Later, I pretended to be a girl lashing out at her overly religious family. Not only did it make us laugh, but it also put a sexy twist on our otherwise normal, sensual lap dances. We could pretend to be different people, which is essentially the purpose of the gentleman’s club. To escape from reality and enter a world of fantasy and fun. Atleast this is my take on its purpose. So if you are a dancer and you are looking to try something new with a customer, I definitely recommend something like this. The game can only work with a regular who knows you well though. If you try it with some random guy, everyone will think you are schizophrenic. I would say this is a bad thing, but it probably turns someone on out there.

When you work in a movie theater, it is completely gross to discover a used condom on the floor. If you are a sales associate at a popular clothing store, it can be quite horrific to find an inexplicable blood stain on a brand new pair of pants. People who work in preschools, veterinary hospitals, and nursing homes have to deal with snot, shit, drool, piss, etc..  There are also garbage collectors and butchers. Let’s face it… certain jobs can be very yucky. Exotic dancing, of course, is no exception. Being a sales associate or a nurse, however, is far more socially acceptable than working in a strip club. This is why they are described as “dedicated” and “patient”, while we are just drug addicted sluts. I know I have been fixated on stereotypes lately and those who have kept up with my latest life events hopefully understand why. But I really just can’t stand how narrow-minded people are. It completely pisses me off. Here are a list of some of the grossest things I have encountered while working as an exotic dancer.

Vomit. Once in a while, some asshole will get so wasted that he just throws up all over the place. Sometimes it happens in the middle of a lap dance (I was a witness, not a victim) and other times it happens right out on the floor (My shoe was a victim, everyone else was a witness). No matter what, it is unbelievably disgusting. Guys, if you can’t handle your liquor, drink juice with me. Yeah, I’m a stripper that drinks juice at work. Rock on.

Sweat. Because exotic dancing involves some physical contact between two bodies, a heat begins to develop. Usually the man is more sensitive to the hotter temperature than the woman and he is more likely to start perspiring. A little bit is OK. When I see beads of sweat falling down his forehead and wet stains forming under his arms, I begin to gag. Especially when it is happening five minutes into an hour long VIP dance.

Spit. I know how cool it must look to lick a dollar bill and smack it against a stripper’s ass in front of all your old college buddies. First of all, that money has more germs on it than a Wal-Mart toilet seat. Second of all, do you really think we want your nasty spit anywhere on our skin? Thankfully I was only a witness to this event as well. But seriously, strangers putting their spit on other strangers is DISGUSTING.

I get asked all the time whether customers get off from a lap dance. I guess it just depends on the guy. Sometimes, a nice grinding is all he needs. Other times, he is pulling your hand down towards his crotch so you “get the hint” that he wants some manual action. I got it loud and clear, buddy. I am not the kind of girl who’s lap dance pitch line involves the word “cum”. Instead, I keep it classy, sexy, and I never say anything I don’t intend to go through with. I think this is the way it should be.

On a random note, I am also grossed out by moldy food and the smell of hospitals. Also, dogs who have not been neutered.

I have been a writer my entire life. It is safe to assume that no matter where I go, no matter who I meet, I find inspiration in everything. The strip club is no exception to this. I observe what is around me and I try to interpret the deeper meaning behind what I see. Popular society tells us that dancers are fuck ups. Losers. Good-for-nothing sluts. And because following what every one else thinks is the safe thing to do, people blindly support this fact and immediately assume there is no deeper meaning to a girl who takes her clothes off for money. This is very wrong. Fellow “degenerates”, get ready for a TG theory that would probably make a licensed psychologist roll his/her eyes. The most inner layer of a person involves the morals, or the system of ethics which is unique to each person. Some girls can’t even get naked in front of their own boyfriend much less an entire crowd of strangers. I am thankful to be capable of both. The next layer is the self esteem, which has to be strong in order to endure the pain inflicted by the outside world. It is hard, like an egg, but can be cracked if the correct pressure is applied. This is the reason people make bad decisions… their morals leak and they become hollow inside. They just stop caring. On top of self esteem, there is the layer in which love, hate, and all of the emotions thrive. This is a very active area of someone’s mind, with many ups and downs and twists and turns. It is very honest, but gets filtered through the fourth layer, which is our invisible screen. This layer weeds out what is worth the trouble and what isn’t. The meaningless, stupid aspects of life are too big to slip through, like waiting longer than normal at a red light or overpaying at a restaurant. Sure they get your attention when they bounce off your defenses, but it’s nothing compared to the real issues in life. Getting married. A DWI. Receiving a thoughtful gift. These things slip right through the barrier and begin reeking havoc on your emotions to the point where they are purged in the form of tears, laughter, complete bullshit, etc.. Is there anyone out there who is truly honest with him or herself? Probably not. I make an attempt to be as true as possible, but I often find myself full of doubt. This doubt is something I never display on my most outer level, or how I present myself to the world. Dancers are so fixated on looks and with good reason. Strip clubs are a celebration of female beauty and if you aren’t attractive on the outside, you are going to have trouble being successful. This is also true for the most beautiful girls. They get so caught up with being hot that the slightest rejection from any person blows their screen into a thousand pieces. This leads to feelings of vulnerability that are very dangerous to the psyche. To combat this, I picture the words of every person stuck in a big blob of green jello. Compliments. Insults. Negativity. All of it is incapable of influencing my bottom layers and that is how I have survived the strip club world for so long. I do not let it consume me. Of course I also push away most people who attempt to get close to me, but that is not entirely because of this green jello thing. People have seriously disappointed me in the past and I have trouble with forgiveness. Anger has been overwhelming my emotions lately and it’s about time I got rid of it. Crying doesn’t work. Neither does punching stuff or venting to a friend. I am able to weaken the emotion, however, by writing. When I am putting words together, nothing about the world is ugly. In fact, it is truly breathtaking. I guess this is my way of saying I will never, ever stop writing. I can write about whatever I want whenever I want and the more people I piss off, the stronger I become. Bring it on, assholes.