Running From Grace

We’ve all seen him. Dancers walk past his table. Waitresses have his drink order memorized. Normal regular customers who are in to see their favorite ladies feel like they are having a case of de ja vu every time they come in. I call him the toxic regular, the guy that is at the strip club every night, does not buy dances, and tries to be everyone’s friend. Every club I have ever worked at has had atleast one of these guys and I just want to scream in his face “GO HOME! YOU ARE A WASTE OF EVERYONE’S TIME!” That would be really mean though. But seriously, how could a person not have anything better to do seven days a week from 9:00 pm to 1:00 am? Sleeping is always nice. What about spending time with friends or creating something like a poem or a painting? I know dancers are beautiful but we must get boring after a while. Last night, I accidentally sat next to our toxic regular and he proceeded to try and get to know me. Our conversation went something like this…

TB- “Hi hun. How are you doing tonight?”
P- “Fine. You?”
TB- “Would you like a drink?”
(He is offering me whiskey on the rocks. Not exactly a girl drink)
P- “No thanks.”
TB- “Are you sure?”
P- “Yes”.
TB- “How about a drink to loosen you up before you go talk to those guys?”
P- “I don’t need a drink to talk to those guys”
(Beautiful dancer starts stage show)
TB- “You know, that girl is really beautiful. She could run this entire crowd.”
P- “OK… what’s your point?”
TB- “You better get out there and start trying to get dances before she gets off stage.”
P- “I have done dances with almost everyone here.”
TB- “I’m just saying. She’s really beautiful.”

At this point, I wondered why the hell I sat with the toxic bachelor for as long as I did. The point of his existence is non-existent. Everything that comes out of his mouth is pointless. He sucks at life. If you or someone you know has become a full blown TB, stop what you are doing and just go home. It’s better that way.

Chances are, when you go to the strip club, you will see a dancer that has had one two many drinks. She may be overly friendly. She may bitch you out. There is also the possibility of her knocking you over with beer breath when she lets out the inevitable “Hi… what’s your name?”. This dancer will NEVER be me. Not because I think it is unprofessional, unsexy, and completely obnoxious (I 100% do), but because I have no idea how alcohol will affect me in the strip club setting. Will I be the girl smiling too much? Will I be pinching customer’s nipples and laughing uncontrollably at really bad jokes? How about a nice face plant on stage… I wouldn’t put that one past me. And then, there is the possibility of me actually killing someone. Once in a great while, a customer gets me so angry that it takes every ounce of my sober energy not to wrap my fingers around his neck and make him see God. Of course this is just a sick little fantasy. I am only a man-hating, homicidal maniac on Tuesdays. Other days of the week, like Friday and Saturday, are times when I go out with friends and usually get a little tipsy. There is lots of laughter. Sometimes a new friend or two. Maybe a stage to dance on that doesn’t involve the removal of clothing. Just good times and good people… until you push my buttons. I may be tiny without the ability to intimidate even a lady bug but when someone says the wrong thing to me at the wrong time, I just snap. Like last night for example…

Jealousy can make people truly evil. I write about the insane antics of jealous dancers all the time and it only makes them look weak in the end. I have no sympathy for such a tragic character flaw. I do have sympathy, however, for my friend that is visiting me from out of town. Let’s call her Erica. Erica and I met in college and I was immediately drawn to her outgoing, fun personality. We made our otherwise boring classes go by fast with lots of inside jokes and funny stories. I truly fell in love with everything about her. One thing that was apparent from the very beginning was that Erica was extremely self conscious about her weight. She always made awkward comments about how fat she was and that no man would ever love her. Of course I disagreed and honestly meant it, but no person could ever convince her that she was beautiful. I tried and I tried but I always ended up failing. Last night, we got dressed up in really hot outfits and headed to the neighborhood club for a little night out on the town. After a couple of strong mixed drinks, the room began to spin and there was nothing the two of us didn’t find hilarious. We danced and we sang and we even found a stage to dance on all in a matter of 45 minutes. It was shaping up to be a perfect night out with a good friend… until a really hot guy hit on me. We were taking a breather from all the fun when he approached me from out of no where and began talking to me. There was an instant connection and no sooner than I could blink, he pulled me out on the dance floor and the two of us began breaking it down Dirty Dancing style. I was in absolute heaven. He smelled good, he was in great physical shape, and he knew how to move… a deadly combination if you are looking to get my attention. I only stayed with him for a minute or so because I didn’t want to leave Erica by herself and when I returned to the table, I was dying to know if she caught a glimpse of he and I grinding with each other. After being given what was quite possibly the dirtiest look on earth, she turned her head away from me and continued watching the dance floor. OK then. A few minutes later, the hot guy returned and after acknowledging me with a hug, he introduced himself to her and the two of them began chatting. He left again and she told me that she told him she would leave the two of us alone so we could go have sex somewhere. WHAT! Flashback time. Crazy bitch Susan and her delusional idea of me fucking her boyfriend. Crazy bitch Riley and the threats she posted on my locker. Crazy bitch Nina (PERIOD) My sweet friend Erica had fallen into the crazy bitch category and I completely and totally lost it. I stormed out of the bar and when she followed me, I turned around and I let her have it. Yes people, I was the girl screaming at another girl outside of a bar. Real typical. Basically if the situation was different and the guy hit on her, I would be expected to take pictures of them dancing, ask every detail about him, and sit around while they made out for an hour. When the guy talks to me, I get nothing but dirty looks and snide comments. I said all of this but made it as mean as possible, making sure to throw in some “how dare you’s” and some “I can’t believe you’s”. My angry, drunk ass then stormed down the street, tripping over side walk cracks, swinging my purse dramatically, trying to answer a text. I was a fucking hurricane. Erica lingered behind and when I got to my apartment complex, I held the door for her but continued my walk of rage all the way to the 6th floor. It was here where the storms calmed and I passed out in exactly what I was wearing in a position that suggested I actually did screw the hot guy. The next morning was awkward and all that was mentioned about the previous night was an “I’m sorry” from her. I never accepted it but I didn’t act pissy the entire next day either. There was really no point.

So here I sit, writing this absurdly long blog post about a rather absurd evening, and all I can hear is the soft breathing of my friend. Erica. She is sleeping on my bed and every time some idiot blasts his horn or slams on his brakes, she awakens with the intensity of an on-call firefighter. Country girls… ha! I glance over every time she shuffles and I can’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for the reaction I had last night. She didn’t deserve that rage. Susan did. So did Riley and Nina. But I held it all in and took it out on a loved one who unintentionally tapped into her own inner demons at the very same time I did. God damn booze. But if we weren’t drunk, would we have just fantasized about strangling each other? Was it even necessary to show our true emotions? Or is this… how crazy bitches are born?

1) I was going up the stairs to the dressing room when a girl I have worked with atleast 50 times introduced herself to me and asked my name. Lesson learned: If a dancer has no clue who you are even after you have talked to her a dozen times, don’t take it personal.

2) It was early on a Monday night and three customers were comfortably seated near the stage. A single man and a couple. Most dancers would assess this situation and go sit with the single man because essentially there is a better chance of getting money out of him. This is exactly what Mona, one of the club’s top hustlers, did. The club’s other top hustler (me), arrived late to the situation because I was screwing around with my iphone in the locker room. I felt stupid for not being on the floor when he came in but I soon got called to stage so I just went ahead and did my thing. As I danced, I noticed the couple was watching me very intently and by the time my second song was over, they had covered me in one dollar bills. I bet I could get a dance out of them, I thought. When I approached their table they told me over and over again how much they loved my show and they were really interesting in getting some private time with me. Low and behold, the three of us ended up in the VIP room doing a very steamy half hour dance. Mona sat with the single guy for hours and ended up getting NOTHING out of him. Lesson learned: Do not underestimate how horny couples can be.

3) A normal Tuesday night. I was relaxing along the back bar when two well dressed men came into the club and took a seat in the far right corner. I approached one of them and we started talking about the normal bullshit. Where are you from? What do you do? Blah blah blah. Come to find out, I was sitting with a very wealthy lawyer who happened to be happily engaged and not a big fan of strip clubs. Apparently his friend dragged him there. I was about to head elsewhere when he told me to stay with him and just drink a glass of wine. He then added that he understands how dancers work and that he would pay me for my time. A half hour later, I had an extra $300 in my garter. Lesson learned: Some men actually do get it.

4) So I am trying to get a new apartment and I am not sure if I got the job I interviewed for. Actually, it’s more like I’m not sure if I even want the job I interviewed for but I tried to get it anyways because I felt I had to. The lady who showed me this apartment has been e-mailing me and asking me if I heard anything. I guess that in order to sign the lease, I need to have a letter from an employer saying I am actually employed. I told her I had heard nothing. I then decided to be honest and tell her that if I didn’t get this particular job, I wouldn’t be out of luck because I have experience with dancing and I would probably do that until I got a “real job”. No response… going on about two days now. Lesson learned: Until you prove otherwise, you are a judgmental asshole.

Just recently, I watched a movie that completely blew me away. I was intrigued by the four stars it received on Netflix and I am a big Brittany Murphy fan (RIP), so I decided to give it a try. It is entitled “Spun” and here is the synopsis.

Spun’s unique glimpse into the world of methamphetamines has wowed audiences since its debut at the 2002 Toronto International Film Festival, with outstanding performances from Jason Schwartzman, Mena Suvari, John Leguizamo, Brittany Murphy and more. The fast-paced, hard-hitting drama expertly combines the gritty reality of drug addiction with occasional biting humor for an unforgettable look at frantic lives spinning out of control.

The film is a very interesting, unique look into the lives of drug addicts and I honestly loved every second of it. Most of the scenes were very choppy and fast paced and there was also some random images thrown in here and there that made you feel like you were tweeking right along with the characters. Very well done. So how does this movie fit in with RFG? Well you can’t have a movie about drugs without some hardcore strip club scenes. Despite my intense love for the style of this film, I felt it played on stereotypes that I have tried desperately to debunk. For example, in the first club scene, the dancers are walking around with exposed breasts. Although this isn’t a huge deal, it’s not very realistic. In most clubs (atleast the ones I have worked in), you must be completely covered by an outfit while hanging out with customers on the floor. I think this makes sense because why would you show the goods for free? Second of all, the main character goes home with a really beautiful stripper and ends up having wild sex with her. He then keeps her hand cuffed to the bed for three days while he does work for the drug dealer. They don’t really go into detail as to how he knew the dancer prior to this fuck session, but this does not happen. Yes some dancers sleep with customers for a fix or a quick buck, but there was no exchange of any of this (maybe a little drug use). Also, is she really that big of a loser that no one would realize she was missing for three days? And lastly, Nikki, the character played by Brittany Murphy, was dating the drug dealer and seemed more strung out than any of them. Surprise surprise she was also a dancer. I understand that it is only a movie and alot of things are exaggerated for a dramatic effect. But I feel that every movie that has a club scene features a stripper or group of strippers that are completely fucked up to the point where people feel confident saying all dancers suck at life. Some of them definitely do, don’t get me wrong. But when some retard asks me to go home with him or tries to sell me drugs, I can’t help but take the stereotypes personal. What you see in the movies is not always what happens in real life, dude. If that were the case, music would start magically playing through imaginary speakers when we kissed our significant other for the first time. Us ladies would wake up with make up on and you men would always have the perfect pick-up line. And most importantly, everyone would have a happy ending. That, in my opinion, is the biggest joke of all.

At the moment, life is very good. I just got back from a mini-vacation I took all by myself and I have to say I am feeling pretty relaxed. I flew to a state very far away, spent time on the beach, did some sight-seeing, and shopped my hot little ass off. Now that is what I call a good time. In amongst all the fun, the real reason for me going there was because I had a job interview. Often times, I get in these moods when I am done with the strip club world and I just want to have a normal life. I would love to tell someone about my work day or vent about an idiot co-worker. Instead, I have to keep secrets and lie to people I care about. This has become incredibly exhausting and depressing over the years. Maybe if I didn’t distance myself from all my friends, I wouldn’t be going on vacation alone. In all actuality, it was the best few days I have had in a while. I love not talking to anyone. I love doing what I want when I want to do it. I love people watching. I am pretty sure one can not understand this unless they have worked in a strip club and they say the same thing over and over again night in and night out. What’s your name? What do you do? Where are you from? Silence is golden. And quite frankly, I do not give a shit what you do or where your from. Let’s go do a dance instead.

The job interview went well. For some reason, I have always been good at making stuff up off the top of my head. Stuff that makes me look good, atleast. Come to think of it, I have always gotten every job I have interviewed for so I am pretty confident in my skills. One thing that was totally weird was to see myself in real work clothes again. Black slacks. Button up blouse. Sweater. I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror. In order to counteract this feeling of alienation with my own body, I went to a dancer clothing store I passed on the way to the interview site and I tried on some clothing I did feel comfortable in. See below.

Asymmentrical Plunge Gown by Body Zone $44.99

At my club, while you are walking around, your ass has to be covered at all times. I tried this one on in black and absolutely loved the fit and the style. Body Zone really does make the best dancer clothing. I also bought a purple garter so I wouldn’t look like a vampire on stage (black hair, black dress, black shoes, black soul…). After this fun little shopping trip, I then went wild with my GPS and started finding clubs in the area. I had no intention of doing this while I was there, but I found myself punching in the addresses anyways and what I found was a total gold mine. The club I work at now is absolutely beautiful but it doesn’t compare to the ones in this area. Slowly and steadily, the thought of my awesome interview faded from memory and was taken over by the reality of how much money I could make dancing here. I completely blame the Body Zone dress for this relapse. I JUST HAD to look awesome in it.

In all actuality, I have no idea what life is going to throw my way. I’ve had my hurdles and my brick walls, but I have also had many doors of opportunity open right when I need them. I am so thankful I have a degree to fall back on as well as  the body and the mind to be successful in the strip club world. It’s kind of rare, really. I don’t have to worry about a child or a controlling boyfriend. I don’t have to wake up early, sit through boring meetings, or waste away at a desk all day. I am truly free and it feels amazing.

This weekend proved to be very interesting. Not only did I make great money but I also witnessed two things I have never seen in a strip club before…

A gay couple. I was making my rounds through the room when I saw two men sitting together in the far right corner. As I made my way towards them, I watched one of them put his arm around the other. The other grasped the hand of the one, and the two of them sat there in a rather loving embrace just watching the stage show. Imagine the sound of screeching brakes when I noticed this. What the hell? These guys either lost a bet or they truly have balls of steel.

A new fetish. After chatting with a middle aged man for a little while, I asked him if he would like to do a dance with me. He agreed, then added in a rather discreet manner that he had a “thing” for armpits. Come again? Apparently the smoothness of that area of a woman’s body really turns him on and he was wondering if I would play along with it. I’ve done the foot fetish, the bondage fetish, and the slip fetish, but never an armpit fetish. Maybe I slept through that lesson in stripper school. We eventually made our way the private dance area and that is when he told me there was no need for me to remove my clothes. All he wanted me to do was raise my arms near his face and touch that area while slowly dancing to the music. OK then. I did as he asked and prayed no one happened to be glancing into my dance room at that time. Can you picture how odd that would’ve looked? A dancer fully clothed sticking her armpits in some dude’s face!? They’d probably still call me a whore.

xoxo

ROUND 1

While I was on stage at the beginning of my shift, I got tipped by a couple of young guys who thought it would be cool to crumple the dollar bills into balls and throw them at me. Despite how utterly annoying this behavior is, I put up with it because the two of them got VIP dances earlier in the night and I thought maybe I could get a piece of that. After my show, I approached one of them, gently put my hands on his shoulder, and asked if I could sit with him. He looked at me with total disgust and said “not really”, making sure to roll his eyes and then continue his conversation with his friend.

ROUND 2

By now, it’s about one in the morning and it seems every girl is having a great night but me. I thought I could change my luck by sitting with a guy that was all by himself and completely intoxicated. We chatted for a little bit, did two single dances, and when we returned to his table, I began to tell him all about the VIP dance. He immediately asked if we would be “touching privates” back there and when I told him no, he completely shut down. Thinking this guy wanted nothing more to do with me, I told him I was going to mingle around for a little bit and that I would be back to hang out with him later. He agreed. A little while later, I noticed him tipping a girl on stage so I decided to say hi again and see if he changed his mind about the dance. When he sat down, I approached his chair and as I was about to sit on his lap, he told me not to. When I turned towards him, he said, “I am hanging out with Angelina when she comes off stage. You snooze you lose!” then raised his hand for a high five. The two of them spent an hour in the VIP.

ROUND 3

2:30 in the morning. I am walking past a group of guys who were on their way out and one of them thought it would be hilarious to pull the string on my bikini top. When he did, the whole thing fell down and I immediately covered myself with my arms. Then, I proceeded to rip into him like I have never ripped into a customer before. I told him what he did was not funny and to never do it again along with mentioning the word “asshole” a couple times. In his drunken state, he just laughed at me and continued out the door.

College, for me, was the best time of my life. I had genuine friends I could trust and there was always something fun going on. Like hide and seek. The north side of the campus was surrounded by a heavily wooded area and a group of us would get dressed all in black and disappear within the depths of the trees. Of course the alcohol factor made it hard to be truly stealthy, but for some reason, I was good at being quiet. I slipped in and out of the shadows, my presence completely undetected until I made a run for “home” and got chased down by one of my tall, agile male friends. Never in my life would I have thought my hide and seek skills would come in handy someday. And then there was last night. I was at work and come to think of it, I was wearing black. A black, strapless evening gown with some silver sparkles here and there. Not exactly an outfit for hiding, but somehow it did the trick. The club was completely dead in the first few hours of opening and I found myself sitting along the back bar watching one of the big screens and completely zoning out. This is my usual activity when there are no customers because I can’t stand the dressing room and I don’t really need to go out and smoke. Unfortunately, there is only so much ESPN I can take. I began to feel incredibly antsy so I decided to go to my locker and see if I had any new text messages. Up the stairs and into the dressing room I went, and just as I was about to open my phone, I heard one of the girls say my name. I stopped doing what I was doing and listened. The mindless chatter of everyone else seemed to drown out her voice but there was no doubt I was the topic of conversation at that moment in time. I then heard, clear as day, “Oh shit! You don’t think she is in here, do you?” My curiosity was instantly peaked. What were they saying about me? I headed back down to the main floor, thinking of the girl who’s voice brought my name to life. Her name was Stacy. Stacy could be described as loud, obnoxious, and very immature, yet I never really had a problem with her. She had just started dancing in December of 2009 and I watched her transform from a rather fast paced, choppy dancer to something much more graceful and in control. I told her this when she asked me whether or not her stage show had improved. The two of us talked about customers and different things we did outside the club and any time I knew there was a customer with money, I always pointed her in his direction. Knowing all of this, I wanted to assume she said something nice about me but after all the negative experiences I have had with girls in the past, I remained skeptical. They just had to be talking shit. I approached one of the girls who had been in the dressing room at the same time my name was said and she filled me in on what happened. Stacy and the group of dancers she was sitting with heard over the house mom’s walkie talkie that two customers had come in and Stacy announced to everyone not to bother going down there because Phoenix would be all over them and no one would have a chance at making money. In all actuality, I have heard much worse said about me so I wasn’t too upset by the actual statement. But why was it coming from a girl who just started working in a strip club and someone who I have gone out of my way to help? This completely blew my mind. At the other clubs I have danced at, I have tried the same “team player” tactic, letting other dancers know where the money is and asking them if they want to team up on a couple of customers. If they come to me for help with pole tricks or stage shows, I drop whatever I am doing to demonstrate what works for me and give them tips on how to be successful. Apparently this is not a good idea. Strip clubs are full of simple, shallow people who are unable to discuss nothing but other people and I am realizing just how out of place I really am. Because of this, I often wish I didn’t like exotic dance so much. I have made great money and I have been able to do things I wouldn’t normally be able to do with a regular job, but it has seriously left a gaping wound on my soul. I feel I have been exposed to the true scum of the earth and the ugliness I have seen is forever etched in my memory. People are truly sad. They are so consumed with their own pathetic lives that they see someone doing well and they instinctively make every attempt to ruin them. Even though I honestly feel this way, I am not going to alter my lifestyle in ANY way to please ANY one. I am good at getting dances. I have a great stage show. I love the way I look. And I refuse to talk badly about people because quite frankly, I have better things to do. Like finally landing a publisher for my book….

Every once in a while, I get to this point. Usually it involves Everclear, my car, and some long expressways. Other times, I end up taking a really long walk through the city. Never do I ever call someone. Basically, I fall victim to my thoughts and nothing feels better than getting lost in my own head. Also, I crave the sensation of being physically close to someone. Completely contradictory, I know. But when I get to this point, I either want no one or someone in my bed. What the hell is that all about? Because today was a long drive day, I analyzed some of my recent actions and I actually thought there is a good chance I am a sex addict. The term initially made me laugh out loud when certain celebrities, like David Duchovny and Tiger Woods, made it famous. Of course you are going to get alot of ass if you are loaded with money and are atleast somewhat attractive. The problem is, these men got married long before they were actually ready to settle down and their sexual urges got the best of them. I don’t see addiction here. Only guys that got cornered by a) pressures of society b) pressure from family c) pressures from the wife. In saying all of this, does sex addiction actually exist? And if so, where do I fit in? First of all, I love working as a stripper. I enjoy being watched on stage and I like the sexual intimacy created in a lap dance (if it is done right). Second of all, I can tell immediately when a guy (a normal guy, not a customer) is into me and I take full advantage of this. By saying this, I don’t mean I am a gold digging bitch. I just mean I play mind games, try and get in his head and fuck with his thoughts to the point where I am in control. I guess this connects to how I handle myself in the strip club and it ultimately protects me from getting hurt. Nothing is more intriguing to me than a guy that plays the games right back. But that is besides the point. Basically I am in control which means that I make the first move when it comes to sexual intimacy. And trust me, I always make the first move. I am not impulsive nor do I have one night stands, but I do love the thrill of that first encounter where everything is new and incredibly hot. And just like that, I’m bored. When stuff like that happens, I totally see how working as a dancer has affected my personal life. It’s like “OK, I got the dance. Move on to the next guy.” I abhor this part of me that has developed over the years. So, like the pathetic celebrities, I am desperate to put a name on my strange syndrome. Turns out, I am normal. I don’t compulsively masturbate. I actually know the people I sleep with and I think cybersex is completely pointless. Porn bores me. People who suffer from sex addiction are obsessed to the point where it ruins their lives, but I merely use sex as a means to explore people. When you are naked with another person, not only do you see every inch of their skin but you also get a glimpse into their soul. Atleast that is how I see it. This is the reason I can not have one night stands. I need to know the person pretty well so I have an idea of what I am looking for and as soon as I find it, I see a depth that is so beautiful. So unique and mysterious. All I want to do is dive in and that is exactly what I do. Some people call this slutty. Others think it is necessary. I say I am addicted to life and nothing is going to keep me from getting my fix.

Sometimes, when I go out of town for an extended period of time, I lose touch with myself. For example, one of my best friends asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding so I was recently on the east coast celebrating with her and her family. This particular friend is the exact opposite of me in every way so how we are so close I do not know. All I do know is that I love her dearly and I want nothing but happiness for her. And by happiness, I mean hot, wild wedding night sex. About a month ago, I went on the Fredericks of Hollywood website and bought her a little something that looked like this…

Fredericks of Hollywood Erika Hanky Hem Babydoll $22.00

I had to keep in mind that her style is very different from my style. She has a curvy figure and is very modest, so I thought something looser with a halter tie would really flatter her and make her feel sexy. The other bridesmaids were planning on getting her lingerie as well so I was really excited to see what everyone would come up with. Fast forward to the night before the wedding. The maid of honor got her a couple of regular bras, five pairs of multi-colored normal panties, and a floor length silk nightgown with matching robe. The other bridesmaid got her a matching tank top and boy short set along with another silky floor length night gown. And then there was me, the degenerate bridesmaid. As soon as she pulled my gift out of the bag, she looked shocked and the other girls started laughing and rooting her on. Of course she broke out into smiles eventually, but I couldn’t help but feel totally awkward. Are the other girls totally old fashioned or have I completely lost touch with what normal society considers sexy? In my personal opinion, the gift I got her was incredibly tame. But then again, I have no problem wearing something like this in front of a room full of strangers…

Leather Bra and G-String by Snaz75.com $37.99

So it became obvious I was the wild one without even trying to be. That works. In all actuality, I have been labeled much worse things. A lot of people think I am really stuck up when they first meet me. Others think I sleep around or that I am very shy. Then, there are the people at the wedding that think I am a professional dancer. It all started with a really hot, Latin song that the DJ decided to play. As soon as I heard the beat, I kicked off my shoes and ditched the other bridesmaids to go dance. There I was, in the middle of a sea of couples, giving in to the music and allowing it to move my body in any way it wanted. And believe it or not, my job at the strip club did not give me this confidence. I have always loved the feeling of dancing alone. As soon as the song ended, I returned to the table and more than one person asked me where I had learned to move like that. Have you taken lessons? How long have you been practicing? Can you teach me? I feel that what I tap into when I move my body is something more than just dancing. I feel a very intense connection to music and I don’t think that I could teach it even if I tried. You either have it or you don’t. Sometimes, when I am bored at work, I will watch the girls on stage and I can instantly pick up on who “feels” it and who doesn’t. It’s very obvious when you know what you are looking for. Controlled movements. Eye contact. Brief moments where the hands run across the body. And all of it perfectly on beat with the song playing. I often wonder if customers can pick up on this as well.

To top it all off, I crashed at one of the bridesmaid’s houses after the ceremony and they decided to put me in Stacy’s bed room. Stacy was her younger sister and just happened to be stunning in a way I rarely see. Her Spanish heritage gave her a beautiful olive complexion and she had big, full lips that would put Angelina Jolie to shame. In my opinion, I thought she would make a great stripper. As soon as I walked into Stacy’s room, however, my attitude completely changed. Bibles. Crucifixes. Fluffy stuffed animals. Pink. The abrupt thought of my entire body bursting into flames sent a chill down my spine. What the hell was all this? As I laid in her bed, surrounded by innocence and purity, I began to wonder what led me astray. Growing up, I always went to church every Sunday and even took religious education classes. How come I didn’t turn out like Stacy? How come I feel the need to do what I do? I guess the answer is I never believed in the first place. If my memory serves me right, when you receive your first communion and you get confirmed, you take an oath of some sort that says you believe in God and everything He represents. I said exactly what everyone wanted me to say, yet deep down I wasn’t buying it. I suppose if you have my attitude about religion, then dancing naked for strangers is not something that needs to be forgiven. It’s not something that is considered sinful or shameful. It is just fun, sexy, and very lucrative.  Believe it or not, I slept very well in that sweet, loving bedroom but I was happy to get out of there the next day. I yearned to be in my own apartment, to be surrounded by the color black and sexy photographs I have collected from the internet and magazines over the years. I was dying to step over platform shoes strewn about on the floor and to lay down on my leopard print comforter. Needless to say, it’s good to be home.