Sorry. Until then, hit up La Chat Noir, and Dee. They both have some very cool and interactive posts up. Feel free to advertise your own interactive posts (or your blog in general) in comments.
Archive for January 13th, 2005
Inspired by my comments, Christie has posted her stripper story. I said I would if she would, so here’s mine.
ACWF and I went to New Orleans a few years ago. The first day we got there, the first thing we did was head for a bar. We had lunch, and started drinking. A few hours later we had explored a good portion of the French Quarter and were returning from dinner. We went back to the hotel to clean up, and that was where we left our sanity.
We went from a bar with 3 for 1 drink specials, to a bar that sold grain alcohol slushies, to another bar, to another bar, to another bar. Finally, on our bazillionth trip down Bourbon Street, we passed a strip club called Casbah. I pointed to it.
“Heh. We should go there.”
“You want to?”
“Uh. I was just kind of kidding.”
“Let’s check it out. We’re in New Orleans.”
“Um. Okay.”
As The Mal has told me time and time again, why go to New Orleans if you’re not going to pet the seedy underbelly?
We went in, and were suddenly in a very tiny room. There was a stage, there was a few chairs, and there was a hallway in the back. There were also 3 guys already in there, and somehow more drunk than us. They were leering at the stripper on the stage, and were being stingy with their money. The stripper came over to us immediately when we walked in. We were very generous with our bills, and were rewarded with a show so personalized that the other 3 guys left. The stripper got off the stage, a few more guys trickled in, and a new stripper took the stage. The 1st stripper came back to where we were seated and put her clothes back on.
We talked to her for quite some time. We found out she was working to raise money for school and to help she and her son get by. I asked her a bunch of feminist minded questions about why she stripped and if she felt degraded. She said she did sometimes, but mostly she enjoyed taking money from stupid guys who thought they would ever get to see anything more of her than her dancing. She told us she had to get ready to get on stage again, and headed off.
While she had been talking to us, another stripper had been sitting in on the conversation, but off to one side, and she wasn’t saying anything. When stripper 1 left, stripper 2 slid her chair next to me. ACWF had left with stripper 1 to see where the bathroom was. Stripper took looked deep into my eyes, and I looked deep into the eyes that were rapidly dilating independent of each other. She was clearly on some type of drug, and it was creepin’ me out.
“You want a private dance?”
“Uh, I would have to talk to my girlfriend about that.”
“Oh, she can come too, it’ll just cost a little extra.”
Luckily, ACWF was walking back to our seats at that point.
“Hey there! Didn’t you say you were ready to go?”
“I…”
“Great, me too!”
Stripper 1 waved at us from the stage while we were on our way out. It remains to be the only time someone who was naked has ever waved to me while their leg was wrapped around a pole.
We stumbled across the street, and looked at the sign for a transgender strip club. We looked at each other, and I believe one of us said, “Why the hell not?”
Bad idea. We were the only people in there, and were immediately viewed as out-of-towner bait for the hungry tranny-stripper-sharks. We were given a seat at the very front of a large room, with a giant stage. The stripper came out, and he danced for us for a minute, and then he laid down on his side on the stage in front of us. He was very friendly, and must have known we were a little uncomfortable being the only people in there. As we were about to leave he asked us if we wanted to feel his boobs. We did (or maybe just I did), and he said, “Bet you never thought a boy could have tits like this,” or something to that effect. We commented that we hadn’t, gave him a five, and bolted out of that place.
Once we were on the street we tried to account for how much money we had left.
None.
We stumbled back to the hotel, and racked our brains trying to figure out where someone could have lifted it from us without our knowing about it.
The next afternoon we managed to account for all 250 dollars that disappeared in the space of 3 hours. We’d spent it all on booze and strippers. Then again, it’s not like I spent $100 on $7 lap dances, but that’s a different story about someone else.
I can’t wait for all the “porno” hits I’m sure to get from some of the content of that story.
Thanks to all of you out there in Blogsylvania who congratulated ACWF and I on our engagement. But more than that, I’d like to thank all of you for not asking if we had set a date yet, and then asking what that date was.
I know some of you may have been thinking that, and that’s fine. But, so far I have been asked for the date 87 times (not a lie) and it’s getting a little tiresome.
At first I was telling people whatever random date popped into my head.
“November 28th.”
“Really?”
“No. I made it up because we have no idea, and you should know better since we only got engaged 30 minutes ago.”
Then I started telling people that we were looking at September 31st. A quick glance at your calendars will tell you why that was so funny to me when they said, “Oh, that’s fun!” or something as equally as banal.
Now we’ve actually picked a date because of the constant onslaught of the same question. Each day I am gaining more and more respect for the people who just run down to the courthouse, or go to Vegas.
I swear I’m going to kiss the first person to come up to me and have a conversation like this:
“What’s new?”
“ACWF and I got engaged.”
“That’s awesome! Congratulations.”
“Thanks man.”
“You wanna go get a beer?”
“September thirty-fir… whaaAAA?”
“A beer. Would you like one?”
“More than you will ever know!”
