All The Fuss About Strippers.

Dear Megan and Jenni and Chardell, please just skip this and scroll down to older posts. Jenni, there are pictures! Go see them!

Dear the rest of you: I am sometimes fascinated with the lifestyles of strippers. And what is so great about their be-pastied nipples that people pay so much money to see. And if they're nicer than mine. And what the lighting would be like, and if it would make me jealous to watch Reboyfriend watch them.

So I decided, after much deliberation, and chats with female friends of mine who have gone to the club before me and only SLIGHTLY demystified strippers, that I was going to go to an establishment that employs these dancing women. For recon. Sociological recon. And see what all the fuss was about. I twisted the arms of Reboyfriend and one of his darling roomies (I heart them) until they agreed to accompany me. It was really hard to convince them.

Over the past few years, stripping has destigmatized a little bit. Women enjoy it, pole dancing is a sport and an art, and half the time women are dressed like strippers anyway. So it's not like I went to the center of the earth, but I do have a lot of friends who are horrified by it all. So yeah.

Dear all girls reading this: yes, I did a deep treat on my hair and wore a tight shirt...but not a slutty one. (If you're going to sit next to a bunch of naked chicks with your man there, you feel it's OK to accentuate their ickiness and spreadsheet-illiteracy). 

You can judge me for supporting an industry of evil, but you're going to keep reading and you know it. Because you want to find out What I Learned About Chicks That Take Their Clothes Off For My Dollars:

1. They love you if you are non-fat, non-ugly, non-greasy, non-irritating, non-creepy, and especially non-male.

2. That means they love me. They came to find me after their dances, and gave me hugs. Or I gave them hugs. But we bonded, when their parts weren't in my face, or my Reboyfriend's. They make more money when fraternizing with other chicks, in front of the men. Not lezzie, but like a sorority sister. Like they wanted to braid my hair and have a pillow fight. Hear that? It's the sound of singles getting shoved in their g-strings at twice the regular speed. It's strip n tip! And I HELPED!

-2a: At one point, one of them stopped dancing, stood there, pointed at me, and said "She's hot." And Standing over us, she demanded, "Which one of you is banging her." Like, not a question. But a statement we were scared not to answer. I kind of looked at Reboyfriend. He kind of looked up at her like a deer in the headlights. The blogger in me wanted to explain our situation to her, but the ogler in me wanted the moment to be over so she would get down in the stretchy cat position, so I pointed to the Really Tight End (not hers, mine. And not "mine" but...you get the idea). She nodded at me and the Tight End approvingly. Then continued her routine.

-2b: The other one told me I was gooooorgeous. Then asked me if I "danced." I said yes, often competitively, but not the kind she was talking about. She said that I could. And that I really should. I didn't ask for an application, but I noticed all her dollars, and my mind moved to the condo I can't have.

-3b: All strippers would make the best girlfriends in the world. By the end of the day, their loyalties are not with men. I bet they'd pay for stuff too. And take me to the mall with them in their Escalades. And let me borrow their Hot Topic clothes for the days I don't have to wear slacks and blazers in the office.

3. It's interesting to me that in strip clubs, there is something for everyone, if the stripper-pimp guy that owns the strip club, knows what he's doing. That means there's a brunette with fake ones and a brunette with real ones, and then a blonde with fake ones and a blonde with real ones. And then someone that is crack-ass thin with NO ones, for the pedo creeps that come in. The girls with NO ones are not concerned about being trite, and therefore wear schoolgirl outfits.

4. They do not care if the moves they are doing make them look stupid. It makes them look like they have a vadge, so it passes the test. Here's how. Put on a thong. Then some 11-inch lucite heels and knee socks. Bend over, arched back, straight legged, against a railing...far enough to touch your face to your knees. Proceed to ram your butt against the railing behind you, in awkward fashion, so that your butt fat jiggles while showing your crotch from a pornographic angle. Then count the number of men that think you look stupid. You will count zero....about thirty-seven LESS than the number of dollars you will shovel in for doing this.

5. Any "urban" song will do. If it is on u92, you can strip to it. 

6. The song "kiss me through the phone" reminds me of strib clubs, but not because it played at the club. But because my inner Maddox hears the synth in that song, and thinks it sounds like when kids make fart sounds against their arm in elementary school (or high school, if you went to mine). Which makes me wonder if playing it during stripper time would sound like the stripper is busting ass during her routine. Then it makes me wonder if strippers ever DO bust ass during their routine. 

7. Ew.

8. In Utah, they can't do lapdances or show nipple in the places where alcohol is served. Alcohol was definitely served. That means creativity with pasties. I did not see any tassles. I guess they're not into the classics at this particular club.

9. I am surprisingly not intrigued by the chicas that had long blonde hair. The brunettes and the girl with dreads pretty much stole my heart. Especially the Rastafarian one. She's the one who walked with me to the bathroom. Such a sweetie.

10. The most interesting part of this was the men. It's kinda interesting to observe how men act in this situation. But it wasn't like some crowd of freaks. Non creeps. Cute, normal twenty-and-thirty-something guys. Kindof a weird thing to do with all your male friends...Wouldn't you be uncomfortable? I guess not. 

11. I think it's awkward how you slide your money onto the stage. Like, if the dancer does something particularly creative or charming. Or if too much time has passed and you start to feel like a dick.

12. The moment my friend Wendolyn and I feel the most concerned about, for whatever reason, is the moment of degradation at the end of the song when you have to scramble around and pick up all your dollars...although it isn't as awkward as one would think. Most of them do a sexy "crawl" while leaning way down, to sweep it along with them. Sexily. Then they'd put their wrap dresses back on, and the bouncer would escort them through the club to their little stripper lounge.

13. I pretend that the stripper lounge has pink velvety tuffeted things with ambient lighting and damask wallpaper and champagne and little vanities lining the walls, with notes to one another on the mirrors in lipstick about how you're doing AWESOME tonight, Barby (her spelling, not mine, and she made sure to clarify the spelling with me, which showed she can tell I'm a spelling type of girl, which earned her an extra dollar). Ironically, she was very much a brunette, and the one with the most lovely face of them all. Which I told her, then she told me it was why she didn't do pole tricks. I picture this room like if a bridal room mated with a Juicy velour tracksuit, and then their offspring mated with Robin Antin of Pussycat fame. But in real life, the stripper room, I'm guessing, is nothing more than an ugly little back room with their Uggs and handbags and wadded up thongs thrown about. W says her stripper girlfriend used to complain about how they'd all steal from each other's bags n stuff when they were on stage and get in nasty fights when they ran out of pain pills to crush and snort. Why isn't there a reality TV show about this?

14. I heard this particular club has really good garlic burgers. It was about 19% of the reason I went that night. However I never found out, because they stopped serving by the time CHRONICALLY LATE Reboyfriend showed up. The points this docked him were instantly re-awarded for him seeming not too eager. Side note. Who wants to get ogled by a dude with garlic breath? I often dispute that these girls work SO HARD for their money. But in that case, I gotta give them props.

15. I really want to go back but pay more attention to other things. Like whether they repeat any of their move sequences. And which ones get them the most dollars. And whether or not I could do their job if things got rough and I ever develped a coke habit I might need to someday nurture. You never know. You saw how I caved to the peer pressure to start quilting. I think it would make for a much cooler blog.

16. Reboyfriend and his roommates have made obvious mental notes that they should equip themselves with the stripper magnet (ME) any time they go ogling. I am the face-time guarantee. We all know I love to be their Wendy. This is just another part of my neverland duties.

17. I didn't learn this from personal recon, but W's friend said that if a "patron" requests a private session with one of the dancers, she must comply. The unspoken rule is an instant $100 tip to START. You can touch, in predesignated areas of the body. That are not boobs (laws, sigh, stupid politicians) or crotches. And Wendolyn's friend has real life sugar daddies, that buy her diamonds. As I write this, I decided my clients and boss need to give me more diamonds.

18. Yes, I realize the last observation revealed my absolute lack of morals. That is why you read. Now go tell your friends.

19. I also realize I'm awesome and clearly a closet-case slut. ReBF probably knows that the difference between our favorite strippers and me, is a blog, a B.A. and a teeny bit of dignity. Not so much with the humility or shame, though, I think we can all agree.

20. There are three types of girls that go to strip clubs. Type one: the girls that go just for the novelty, as a Girls' Night Out. They're think they're just spunky. In actuality, that translates into a combination of obnoxious, adorable, and relatively wholesome. Type two: the girls who are desperately trying to pass as The Girl That's Just One Of The Guys, and most likely has an unrequited crush on one of the guys in the group or wants it to get back to their other friends how different and cool she is. Type three: Me (and by extension, all of you), with cute boyfriend and dudebro roommate. Type two and Type three are closely related, but are distinguished by my refusal to try and talk sports, act cool (we've all seen me attempt that), and the fact that I've already landed one of the guys I'm sitting with. All three groups of Girls At The Strip Joint have this morbid curiosity in common, in the same way we have breathing in common.

Did I forget to tell you anything else? I know, it's dirty work. But I write about my red light goodtimes for YOU. I'll take one for the team, we all know that. So if I left anything out, leave it in the comments section.

Muah! (That's how the strippers sign off on each others' mirrors).

And have a cookie.