There should be a more predatory synonym for circling. There’s prowling, but I’m thinking something more evocative of the frustrated circling of a shark in an aquarium where there’s nothing to eat.

So I’m circling tonight, fruitlessly. I sat down with a likely looking guy, glasses, looked bored, always a safe bet.
“I’m here because my friends brought me!” he said jovially.
“that’s great!” I said encouragingly.
“so, what, do you go to school?”
“yes, I do.” His tone is snide and I don’t want to defend my existence as a stripper putting myself through college. Yes, they exist. Also single mom strippers, married strippers, phd candidates, under-21yr olds, high school drop outs, & any other girl remotely resembling our culture’s beauty standard who recognizes that she can parlay the near constant barrage of male attention into a solid income.
“what do you study?”
“History.” my brain is slow tonight, maybe because I was so sucked into my new book[1] that I didn’t look at a clock until 8.30, at which point it was too late to eat or stretch or make coffee, or do anything beyond put on makeup and rush over. I can’t quite pull my charming stripper self into place or deflect his hostility.
History?” he’s totally scornful and I should exit, but like I said, I’m just not on my toes. “why would you study that?”
“oh, because I hope to be unemployable for the remainder of my life!” I answered brightly.
“um, no.”
“well, where are you from?”
“I’m from Boston.”
“You don’t sound like you’re from Boston.” still snide but at least he didn’t do the usual, “Baaahstan!” cry of delight and recognition. That makes me cringe.
I really don’t know why I was still sitting there answering him, it’s entirely against my normal policy. “My mom is from Illinois. She corrected how I spoke.” I mean, also, as if accents don’t fade with relocation. Or as if anyone actually walks around saying “let’s pahhk the cahhh in hahhvahhd yahd.” if I had a dollar for every time I hear that fucking one.
“she’s from Illinois, huh.”
This entire conversation started to remind me of that post of Kat’s, about how if she didn’t redirect them most customers would follow her personal history back to the moment of conception. I’m usually too impatient to allow things to get that far.
“keep this up and we’ll be all the way back to my mom’s birth canal,” I smiled.
“so where were you conceived, the back seat of a car?”
I blinked at him. “and you, were you raised in an alley?” I didn’t even wait for a response. “let’s go do a lap dance now.”
“oh, this is a surprise visit, remember? I don’t have any money.”
“that’s really great.”

I got a birthday dance onstage and then one lapdance from a guy wearing sweatpants. I didn’t notice until I got him back there and of course stupidly I didn’t get the money up front. I sat on his lap and felt both his boner and a wet spot where it ended, sticking against my thigh. I flinched and twitched off him. The rest of the dance was a solid, 2005-style no contact dance, counting the minutes til I could get paid and run and wash my thigh.

It’s an exhausting night. I wish I could leave early but it’s far too slow, I can’t justify paying to leave early–after tip out, stage and the leave early fee I’d have an amount I don’t even want to acknowledge. I’ve heard the amount of girls from my club who are seeking new pastures since the touching rule went into effect has caused a hiring freeze at two other clubs. Depressing!
I do my rounds of the club every fifteen minutes or so and then go back to hiding in back, playing drawsome:


and updating this, which, Regan says, is even dorkier than playing Drawsome. She says this as she plays her dragon game, so let’s just acknowledge that there are things even dorkier than updating your blog from work.
“yeah but at least I drew you back before I started playing!”[2]

And on the bright side, Regan is back!


(I missed her suitcase full of tidily ordered gstrings and Victoria’s Secret Monster bras.)

And so is Bibi.
and I just did another dance. All he would say when I got him in the lap dance room was:
“and your name is?”
“and your name is?”
“and your name is?”
“it’s still Red.”
“and your name is?”
“I’ll tell you for an extra $30.”
He tipped me an extra $60 for being annoying, however, and since I don’t have to give the club a cut of that I kindly threw in my name as a freebie. What the hell.


1-third book in the best zombie apocalypse trilogy EVAR.


Pre-ordered it months ago and it just came yesterday.


“it’s so funny you drew an underwear thong and not a flipflop.”
I considered. Maybe because I haven’t heard a flip flop referred to as a thong in years, the only thongs i see regularly are on strippers. “Would you have drawn a flip flop ?”
“well, that’s cause yr straight.”

Ps, I got a B+ on my only midterm. Not super but good considering I was 200 pages behind on the readings until two days before.


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