Wednesday, June 09, 2004

The Strip Club Experiences of my Past

This post is dedicated to Life at TJ's Place - a really entertaining blog written by the assistant manager of a strip club. See it here:

Jethro asked me if I wanted to order Carmen Electra's striptease make-out, I mean, work-out video. Jethro normally complains about all of the unused work-out videos I have so I can't tell if he wants me to be able to dance like a stripper, or if he just wants to watch the tape while I gyrate maniacally (behind him, of course, so I don't disturb his view). Either way, I only see gain for him, but I might give it a shot anyway. I think I've always had a secret desire to be a stripper.

I know exactly what kind of stripper I would be too. I would come out and do my thing to Aerosmith or Guns'n'Roses, put my clothes back on right away (because I respect myself), and start reading a book, glaring at anyone who dared try to solicit a lap dance. I would be the most loathed stripper on the face of the earth and probably end up shot by a drunk and insulted patron. My problem, I think, is that I try too hard to dispel stereotypes. I think if you're a stripper, it is probably best to offer no surprises. I am only guessing though. I have limited experience with strip clubs although I have been to a few.

The first one I ever went to was in New Orleans during Mardis Gras. I had gone with two guys and they both had a yen to do some dirty deeds. Incidentally, one of them was Jethro before we had started sleeping together. The other one I'll refer to as Devon. It was called Big Daddy's and it was right on Bourbon Street. It boasted "the prettiest girls in the South." Devon asked the bouncer if that was true. The bouncer (to my eternal gratitude) said, "not as pretty as this little lady." I love southern gentlemen even if they are bouncers at strip clubs. And this was especially nice of him considering that I was about to vomit on his floor. By the time we had reached the club, I had lost my bra (somewhere between Bourbon and Canal), and had so many beads that I needn't have bothered wearing anything from the waist up. I had so many that I was no longer able to flash. I also had to use the restroom badly. I managed to slur out the request and was pointed to the strippers' dressing room. I was blind drunk, but I don't think the girls even noticed when I staggered in, lurched into the bathroom and peed in what I can only hope now, was their toilet.

I think I lost consciousness for a time, but the when I came to, I was sitting right at the foot of the stage. I was holding an empty yard-long drink and the yard-long straw was dangling from my mouth. The most gorgeous girl in the world had just come out to "Sweet Home Alabama." She hooked her high heels on a bar that encircled the top of the pole. Dangling gracefully upside down, she removed her dress in one fluid motion. It was quite an act. Devon was sitting next to me not moving a muscle. He said, "she has really beautiful eyes." Huh. Those weren't her eyes, Dev.

It was an interesting experience.

I've been back there once, and I went with my husband to his friend's birthday party at a strip club in Houston. I wasn't drunk at the birthday party, so I was a little nervous. Most of the girls had great bodies, but ugly faces (oh I get it--butter face--duh). It struck me as pretty sleazy, but that rarely keeps me from having a good time. I am pretty sure my husband's friends think I'm the coolest wife in the world. But I think my strip clubbing days have gone the way of my mardis gras beads and my nipple ring. Now if I can only convince Jethro that his have too......

1 comment:

jp said...

Zelda, thanks for visiting my blog. I have bookmarked yours. I mean, I love reading any woman's work who claims to be a maniac in the sack. :o)

I'll link yours to my site, if you return the favor. Let me know.