Thursday, September 28, 2006

Can I get you whaa??

I don't know why this is, but it seems that a lot of the patrons in my club think I am a resident "drug finder". Usually it starts out something like this.

ME: "Here's your drink, honey, that'll be four seventy-five."

THEM: "Thanks. Man, I'm tired..."

ME: "Yeah, me too."

THEM: "Sure wish I had something to pick me up..."

ME: "Well, we do have coffee."

THEM: "No, I need something a little stronger than that."

ME: "Red Bull?" (always the eternal sales-person)

THEM: "No, how about some [insert narcotic stimulant here]

ME: [walking away]

Usually, after I make it clear to them that I will not, in any way, find them drugs, they will try to "laugh it off" like it's a joke.


About a month ago, I was at the bar, waiting on some drinks, when this ridiculously tall guy approached me.

"Hey," he said, nonchalantly. "I'm Really Tall Guy (RTG). You from around here?"

"Yeah," I replied, resisting the urge to say something sarcastic.

"Look, I'm from Oklahoma, and I'm here for a few weeks. Do you know where I can find any weed?"

"No, sorry honey. I sure don't." In all honesty, I do know where to find weed (who doesn't) but I wasn't about to say that to a complete stranger, especially at work.

"I'm not a cop," he said.

"Good for you."

"Really, though," he persisted, "I just want to find some grass to tide me over until I get back home. Please?" He looked down at me, waiting.

"Darlin', I really don't know what to tell you."

"Well, then I suggest you go fucking find some!"

I was in shock. I stood there, trying to gauge his statement. Regardless of whether or not he was serious, that was a hell of a thing to say.

I notice the table behind him pointing and talking amongst themselves. As I turn to walk off, one of the guys approached RTG.

"Dude, you looking for something?"

RTG turned to talk to the stranger, and I high tailed it to my DJ (who wishes to be called "Duke").

"DUKE!" I screamed it across the bar. Duke snapped to attention and briskly walked over. "There's a drug deal going down with those two guys at the bar." I pointed, and Duke headed over.

Duke kicked them both out, and I never saw either of them again. I should say, however, that I might have turned a blind eye had RTG not been such a dick.

Attitude is everything.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

What WAS going to be a dictionary of stripper lingo!


(sorry skippymom and stephen!!!)

Oh and BTW: a few definitions that I wanted to give you weren't on the list, so:

Titty tape: think Victoria's secret stick-on bras. Sheets of tan colored fabric that the girls cut holes out of (with salt shakers, bottle caps, and martini glasses for some) to cover their nipples.

T-bags: similar to g-strings or thongs, these are worn under the dancers booty shorts. T-bags, however, have a wider panty area to cover the girls' entire na-na.

Cut Off: refusing to serve anyone another drink for various reasons (intoxication, asshole-ism, etc...)

Hope that answers a few more....I'm SOOOOOO sorry about not posting NSFW earlier!!!

So, I was sitting here at my computer, racking my brain to come up with an extensive yet informative list of stripper/bar lingo, when someone did it for me!!! Thank you anonymous commenter!

You can find it here!

Ok, so blogger has been screwy today, so let's hope the link works... if not try:

click on that!!

sorry for all the confusion!


Monday, September 25, 2006

Go On, Take the Money and Run

I've talked before about dancers who steal from customers, but Friday night was a definite example of role-reversal. No matter how many times you tell these ladies to "get the money up front," at some point in time they're not going to, and then they want us to try and force someone to cough up the money that we can't prove belongs to them. Friday night was no exception, and probably one of the largest rip-offs I've ever seen.

We were busier than I thought we were going to be, and the customers were tipping freely. Everyone was making money, having a good time, and so far, no one was getting out of control. I noticed that the strobe lights were on in the shower stage but thought nothing of it.

"Hey, Waitress," Miss Rita said as I was leaving the dressing room. She sells clothes to the majority of the dancers in my metropolitan area. "There's about six or seven girls in the shower stage, would you mind going and grabbing them some towels?"

"Yeah, sure, no problem," I replied. I went to get the towels and when I came back the girls still hadn't appeared.

"Wow, they've been in there for quite a while, huh?" I set the towels on the counter and started to head out of the dressing room.

"Yeah," Miss Rita looked up from the top she was sewing. "This is, like, the third song for them."

"Looks like everyone is making money tonight!" I smiled and went back to work.

It wasn't too long after that when I was waiting tables and one of my dancers, Texas, called me over to her table.

"Look over there," she pointed in the direction of the shower stage. "What the hell is going on?"

I turned to look and noticed a large commotion. One of my dancers, Karma, was having a strong conversation with some girl. It was apparently quite important because Karma was dripping wet, wrapped in a towel, and barefoot. This is a big no-no in the front of the house.

Right next to Karma were three gentlemen. Eve, one of my dancers, was in front of them again, engaged in a serious conversation. A little more to the left, in between the bar and the dressing room, were Boss and Peirce, involved in yet another intense conversation with another dancer, Victory. Victory seemed the most angry of all, pointing and gesturing furiously.

I could hear Victory yelling above the bar music.

"Possession is nine-tenths of the law, Pierce."

Pierce said something back that I couldn't hear from my position across the floor.

"Yeah, well, he's got it and it belongs to me!" She screamed this last part out. Pierce said something else I couldn't hear. Obviously the conversation didn't go to well, because she turned, punched the wall, and huffed back into the dressing room, slamming the door on her way in.

"What the hell is going on?"

"I don't know, but I already took my shoes off, just in case." Texas pointed to her bare feet and gave me a devilish grin. Dancers don't fight with their shoes on.

"Down girl," I shot in her direction before walking back to the bar to make my order.

Pierce was now involved in a conversation with yet another dancer, Antonio. She was crying and Pierce was leaned in, talking to her.

"That's why you get your money up front!" I could hear him say this to her as he shook his head.

"But, it's not fair, Pierce!" She hung her head and wiped the tears away that were falling on the bar.

"What the hell is going on Savannah?" Savannah lit a cigarette, took a drag, and shrugged, blowing the smoke in another direction.

I took a Bud Light to a guy sitting by the shower.

"Two seventy-five," I said, distractedly, as I placed the beer on his table.

"Man, those guys sure high tailed it out of here, didn't they?" He unfolded a stack of dollar bills and started peeling them apart.

"Mhh-hmm," I replied, still watching the bar.

"What happened?" I guess even the customers want to be privy to interpersonal club drama. Too bad I can't just tell them to read my blog!

"I dunno, honey." He handed me some ones and I stuffed them into my pants, already halfway gone from the table.

I went back up to the bar and was waiting on my next order when Eve came up behind me and put her head on my shoulder.

"Hey honey," I said. "What the hell happened earlier?"

Eve raised her head up and looked at me.

"Oh, well. These guys wanted a shower show with all six of us. Texas set it up. She told them it was $50 dollars per dancer, per song."

"Right," I said, doing the math. Each song would have cost the guys $300. Pretty pricey for a shower.

"So, Texas got the first three hundred up front. When the song was over the guys were all like 'keep going, keep going'. We told them it would be another $300 per song and they were all 'yeah, we'll pay you, just keep going.' Well, the second song ended and they wanted us to go again."

"Oh don't tell me..." I knew what she was going to say before she even said it.

"Yup, afterwards they didn't want to pay for it. They even tried to say that Texas lied to them and told them it was $100 a song, not $300. It's total bullshit."

"So that's what Boss and Victory were arguing about?"

"Yeah, they said they couldn't get our money because they couldn't prove anything." She rolled her eyes.

This is true. At this point, it's the guy's word against the dancers, and we can't prove what happened and what didn't happen. That's why we always stress to get your money before you start the dance. That way there's no complication afterward.

I know some of the girls don't like to do this, I think it's for the same reason that some guys don't like to stop to put a condom on. I'm sure they feel that it "destroys the mood". In either situation, if you don't take care of it before hand, it might burn for a little while afterwards.

"Well, honey, you know that's how it works."

Eve sighed. "I know," she said, "but some of the other girls are taking it really hard."

"I would too if I just got fucked out of six hundred dollars!" Hell, I get pissed when people order a drink and then leave, and I don't even have to eat the money on that--it's just a waste of my time. I can't imagine how I would be over six hundred dollars.

"Yeah, that's why I went up to them afterwards. I told them that I just wanted my part, I didn't give a crap about anything else, but for them to at least pay me. That was probably one of the best shower stages I've done... We put on a hell of a show."

"Way to look out for number one, Eve." I winked to let her know I was only half-serious.

"Yeah, they didn't pay me though." Eve shrugged. "Oh well, at least I got fifty from it."

"Yeah, fifty dollars for ten minutes isn't too bad," I replied.

"True, but one-fifty would have been a lot better."

"True." I couldn't very well argue with her logic. I was just happy she wasn't that upset about it. Like a trooper, Eve put on a happy face and went back into the trenches to make some more money.

She's a better woman than I.

Saturday, September 23, 2006

Happy New Year!

Happy Rosh Hashanah to everyone!

For those of you who don't know, Rosh Hashanah is the Jewish New Year, so happy New Year to all of my friends out in cyber-land!

On Rosh Hashanah, it is customary for Jewish people to contact their friends and loved ones (and even those we dislike) and apologize for any transgressions we may have caused, even inadvertantly throughout the year. Here are some of the responses I recieved from my loving, wonderful friends:


"What did you do?"


and my favorite:

"So you're telling me you're apologizing for being a Jew?"

Yeah...It's been a long night!

Luckily, some really crazy people have been coming in the past week, so I have plenty of stories in draft. Also, next week I will be posting a "Strip Club Dictionary" because I noticed in some of the comments that a few of you were confused with my lingo. Should be funny trying to explain what "titty tape" and "cutting the string" are...

So, until Monday, happy Rosh Hashanah, eat some apples dipped in honey (so the new year will be sweet and fruitful) and take care!


Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Walk the Line

It was early Saturday, and the bar was slow. My southern state had an away game, and we weren't expecting much business. I was on the bar and the floor and the only people in the bar were four gentlemen at stage one. One of my dancers, "Dawn", was there with me and we were talking as I was waiting on these people.

"Hi guys, what can I get you to drink?" I was standing directly behind the gentleman on the far right. As I took his order, he turned his body to face me and put his hand on my ass. I gave Dawn a shocked look and stepped back, quickly.

"Please don't touch me," I said, while giving him a stern look. Usually when I reprimand someone, they will quickly apologize and all is well. This jack-ass; however, obviously felt that the rules didn't apply to him.

"What, is that not allowed, or something?" He asked this question in a condescending manner, the corners of his mouth turning up into a sneer.

"Yeah, it's not allowed. In fact, it's illegal, so don't do it again." I was getting pissed by this point.

"Well, is there a line or something because I don't see it." As he's saying this, he's elbowing his buddies next to him, as if this is all one big production for his amusement only. My only comfort is the look of embarrassment on his friends' faces.

"You'll see the goddamn line when we throw your ass out the front door for touching me!"

I turn on my heels and march to the DJ booth where Manager is DJing.

"Hey, Manager, see that guy at stage one?"

Manager nods in agreement.

"Keep an eye on him, he's going to be a problem."

I fill Manager in on the situation and head back to the bar. Soon enough, Mr. Jack-ass heads to the bar, obviously wondering why I never took his drink order. Manager, on top of his game tonight, starts down the DJ booth and makes it behind my bar as Mr. Jack-ass is approaching the front.

"Hey, can I get a bud light?" Mr. Jack-ass is addressing Manager, another thing I hate. Why is it that with some men, if there are two people behind a bar of opposite sex, they will automatically ask the man for something? I should write a paper about it.

There I go, digressing again...

"She's the bartender," Manager nods his head in my direction, "she'll get you what you want."

"So, are you the manager?" Mr. Jack-ass asks, suddenly the epitome of respect and well-behavior.

"Yeah," Manager responds.

"Well, is there anyone else who's working the bar right now?" Gee, Jack-ass, look around. Do you see anybody else in the bar?

"No, man, she's it." Manager looks over and gives me a wink.

"Well, can I talk to you for a second?" I guess Mr. Jack-ass has a complaint he'd like to file. Too bad nobody bothered to tell him this wasn't corporate.

Manager and Mr. Jack-ass step off to the side of the bar. I can see Mr. Jack-ass gesturing grandly with his hands, and Manager rolling his head around his neck, as if in an effort to pop it.

"Well, maybe you should keep your hands off my wait-staff!" I hear Manager say this, and then take off for the DJ booth. Conversation over.

Mr Jack-ass walks back up to my bar.

"What is your employee number?" He demands this question, fingers tapping on the bar.

I laughed. Hard.

"One. That's my number. I'm number one." I resume stocking the bar, giggling to myself.

Mr. Jack-ass turns red in the face and huffs off. I see him go to his friends and point furiously to the front door.

As they are getting up to leave, one of his friends comes to the bar and hands me a twenty. He winks and walks out.

Note to all: make sure that a bar you are in is actually run by a corporation and not independently owned before you decide to act like a jack-ass! It will definitely save you face.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006

Free Willy

It's Friday night, and my shift is almost over. Luckily I went home and took a nap after class so I'm not nearly as tired as I was last Friday night. It's been a rather slow night, and I'm hanging out at the bar waiting for last call, when one of my dancers, Sam, comes out of the dressing room.

"Hey, can you go get me a towel?" She's preparing to do a shower stage.

A shower stage is something different that we have at my club. It's a separate room connected to the dressing room where, for a fee, you can sit and watch your favorite dancer, or two, take a shower.

I get Sam her towel and sit back at the bar. A few seconds later she comes bursting back out of the dressing room.

"Oh my god, Waitress, seriously, the shower." She's laughing so hard that she can barely form complete sentences.

I walk to the shower stage and peek in. Immediately I jerk my head back out of the room and scream for my DJ.

"DJ!!! Seriously!!! The shower!!!" Now I know how Sam felt.

DJ walks to the shower stage, sticks his head in, and immediately jerks it back out. His mouth is agape, a look of shock and humor spread across his face.

Inside the shower stage sits an old man. His pants are down around his ankles and his shirt is pulled up over his belly. There, on full display, is his willy, standing at attention.

DJ, not wanting to let this comic gem go unnoticed, yanks the curtains in front of the shower stage open.

Across the room are two guys sitting at the bar, having a conversation. One guy notices the commotion and looks up. His jaw drops and he starts to slap his friend on the arm, while his friend is still talking. From my position at the bar I can hear this conversation.

"So, I was telling her," the second guy is saying "that I-- dude, what? Why are you hitting me? Oh my GOD! What the fuck is that!!!"

About that time four dancers burst out of the dressing room, collapsing with laughter. They too, had let curiosity get the better of them and peeked in on the peep show through the dressing room connection.

I look over at the shower stage, where DJ and floor guy are now trying to kick this guy out, without having to touch him. Apparently he doesn't seem to understand what he did wrong. When they finally convince him to put the mouse back in the cage, they escort him to the front door.

DJ comes back in shortly and heads to the dressing room. I can hear the laughter from my seat at the bar.

Sometimes, all you need is a good peep show to keep the night going.

Thursday, September 14, 2006

The Freaks Come Out at Night

Part Three

As I'm heading up to the bar to recount the previous drama to my bartenders and waitress, my boss stops me.

"Hey," he said, pointing at the three guys at stage one-- the same three involved, albeit inadvertently, in Micah's drama. "See the guy in the middle there? He's cut off, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. No problem."

Ryan jerks his thumb behind him, in the direction of the other bartenders. "I already told them, I just wanted to make sure you knew about it."

"Ok, I'll keep an eye out."

At this point in time, I feel like sleeping woman walking. It's approximately 3:30 in the morning, which means I've been awake and functioning for 22 hours. All I'm hoping for is a stress free end to the night, and maybe sneaking in a quick nap before last call.

About fifteen minutes goes by when I hear my DJ call out for "Pierce", one of the floor guys, and my boss. My ears perk up, as best they can considering the circumstances, and I see the two men making a b-line for the three guys at stage one. I pull up a chair at the bar, watching the festivities.

My boss walks back to the bar, carrying a full pitcher of beer and two full glasses. Behind him, I see the guy who was cut off and his friends standing up and glaring around the bar, menacingly. Soon, a small crowd is gathered while Pierce and my boss attempt to escort these guys out of the bar. After what seems like a heated discussion, the "gentlemen" leave the bar.

"Conflict averted," I think to myself. My mind starts to drift and I'm aware of how much the men that work here have matured since we first opened. If that would have happened two years ago, you can bet there would be a fight.

Suddenly, my neck jerks up and I realize that I have fallen asleep at the bar. Not wanting to make a spectacle of myself, I decide to take a comfortable chair in a quiet corner. Soon, I'm starting to drift, when I hear:

"Wooooooooooo! Weooooeeeeeoooooooo! HeeeeYaaaaaa! Whoooooohoooooo!!!"

I pick my head up from my hands and attempt to search out the cause of the affronting noise. It's coming from a rather large man in a red t-shirt sitting at stage one. I hoist myself out of my chair and walk to the bar.

"Savannah," I say, to my bartender. "See that guy sitting at stage one?" Savannah nods in affirmation. "He's cut the fuck off!"

Around that time my DJ says the sweetest words I ever heard.

"Last call! Last call for alcohol! If you have any tabs at the bar, please close them. Last game on the pool tables, and remember, this is your last chance to get a lap dance!"

"Oh thank God," I mutter to myself, under my breath. I resume my position in the low chairs, this time pushing two of them together and curling into a ball in the middle. The lights soon come on.

Suddenly, I am awoken by screaming coming from the dressing room. I pick my head up from the chair and one of my dancers frantically comes rushing out.

"There's a GUY in the dressing room!!! There's a dude in here!!"

Like a blur, Pierce, my DJ, and my boss run to the back. I hear doors slamming, and someone yells.

"What the FUCK did you think you were doing in my dressing room?" My DJ's voice is loud, reverberating through the empty club.

I look up in time to see the same guy in the red shirt at stage one, the very one I cut off, stumbling out from the dressing room entrance.

"Uhh, I don't know?" He slur's the words, attempting to catch his balance from being flung out of the room.

"You don't know? You don't know!?!? How the fuck do you not know!" My DJ is right behind him, screaming at him as he's walking to the door.

"Uhh, I thought it was the exit?"

"The motherfucking exit has the big ass sign that says 'exit' in glowing neon! That door has a sign that says 'dressing room' you fucking retard." DJ is angry now, taunting the big man.

"Um, my bad dude," is this drunk man's reply.

"Your bad. Your FUCKING bad!" DJ opens the door and grabs the guy around the neck. "I tell you what, motherfucker, if I ever see you in this bar again, I'm going to drop you like a bitch and fuck you in the ass." At the same time, DJ literally throws the guy out the front door and slams it behind him.

The whole bar is silent, staring at the DJ. Pierce starts snickering. The next thing you know, the entire bar is rolling with laughter.

"Dude," Pierce says, clutching his stomach, "you just told him you were going to fuck him in the ass!"

"Damn right! And I will too, if I ever see that sorry fuck in here again."

I smile to myself as Boyfriend walks through the front door.

"Hey, did you know there's some drunk guy in the parking lot, yelling about ass sex?"

The laughter starts all over again.

Sometimes, the drama is worth it.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

The Freaks Come Out at Night

Part two

I made my rounds around the bar, exhaustion beginning to really take a hold on me. I started to forget drink orders, and made way too many trips to the bathroom to sit down for a moment. I really should have gone home and slept rather than getting my nails done, but at least my hands look pretty.

Eventually, Preggars, Bigun, and "the bitch with the short brown hair" left the bar. I had stopped waiting on them after the altercation with Dawn, partly because they were already drunk, but mostly because I didn't want to deal with the other half of the pancake.

Approximately an hour later I'm standing at the service station, waiting for my drinks, when Terry, one of the bar regulars, grabs my arm.

"Fight, over there, look!" He's pointing and gesturing to the right side of stage one, the same spot where the first drama occurred.

I look up and all I can make out is a large commotion of dancers. One girl, "Lilah" is holding another girl, "Micah". Micah is about 5'4 and weighs maybe 95 pounds. She's a teeny tiny dancer, and every time I see her I can't get that damn Elton John song out of my head.

Lilah goes storming back to the dressing room, and as she passes me, I asked her who was fighting.

"No one," is her curt reply.

I would love to have left it at that, but curiosity got the better of me, and so later on, when I was waiting on a table where Micah was sitting, I asked her what happened.

"Dude," she said, "okay, so I get off stage and I'm going around thanking everybody. See those three guys at stage one?"

I turn to look where she is pointing and see three gentlemen, two with baseball caps, and one without sitting with their backs to us.

"Yeah, what about them?"

"Well, they tipped me and so I came up behind them and gave them a hug and said thank you. As I was walking off, this crazy bitch shoved me from behind and started screaming 'get your fucking hands off my boyfriend!'."

"Oh Jesus," I reply, rubbing my temples with my freshly manicured fingers. "Another angry girl."

"What?" Micah was confused, she doesn't know about my blog.

"Nothing, never mind. What happened next?"

"Well, I turn around and she's still standing there, screaming at me, so I start to go for her, you know, I'm thinking 'what the fuck-- I'm going to hit this bitch', when Lilah grabs me around the waist and holds me back."

That must have been where I first started paying attention, I think to myself. I also think that it's probably a good thing that Lilah held her back, considering how tiny she is.

"So where's the girlfriend now?" I look around, not seeing a woman by herself.

"She left," Micah replied.

"But her boyfriend is still at the stage!"

"I know, he told her he wasn't leaving." Micah takes a drag of her Black and Mild and I walk away, shaking my head.

As I walk up to the bar to recount the events to my bartender and other waitress, I can't help thinking that maybe Angry Girl has more problems in her relationship than getting hugged by a stripper. I barely have time to process this information before the next round of drama was upon us.

To be continued...

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

The Freaks Come Out at Night

Part One

Friday night was a very hard night for me. After being in class all day I went straight to work without taking a nap. Because of this I was more than a few steps behind all the drama and fighting that ensued. Maybe that's a good thing.

There were three specific dramatic events that occurred Friday night. They are all rather exciting and some are long winded, so I am splitting them up into three parts, for the sake of suspense. This is part one.

Early in the night a table of regulars, meaning I remembered them enough to know what they drank, came in. The guy and the girl I had met before, but they brought two friends with them, "Preggars" and "Bigun". I automatically brought them a pitcher of Miller Light and four glasses, as well as Red Bull and Preggars had a coke. The trouble didn't start until three pitchers and a few hours later.

"Hey there, girl," Bigun drawled at me. He was a large, sweaty man, wearing a cut off grey t-shirt that showed several badly done tattoos on his upper arms. "I want to do some shots, you think any of these people will drink them with me?"

"I am sure that if you're buying, people will drink," I said.

"Well, hell, bring me a shot of Rumplemintz and whatever the rest of these people want."

Several dancers were sitting with them, so I took orders. Preggars wanted a glass of wine and the other lady, my regular, drinks Washington Apples, so I brought her one as well.

Soon, the drinking was underhand. Preggars was on her second glass of wine, my regular lady was on her third Washington Apple and was stuffing one's down my pants, and Bigun was drinking double Jack and Coke's. At this point, the exhaustion is starting to hit me, and I'm moving rather slow.

I decide that it's in this table's best interest if I only hit them (wait on them, for those not in the business) every other round. They seem to be heavy binge drinkers and I'm loathe to cut people off. I'm standing at the service station when I look up to see Bigun dancing around and attempting to take his shirt off. I motion for Boss to come over.

"Hey, see that big guy over there? He's going to be trouble. Try and keep an eye on him if you can, I'm too tired to deal with it."

As I'm saying this, Bigun attempts to do some version of a pirouette and knocks into another guy trying to carry his pitcher of beer to his table. My ears perk up, as I'm afraid that a fight might ensue. Luckily, pitcher man doesn't seem to mind.

A few moments later one of my dancers, "Dawn" comes up to me, enraged.

"Oh my GOD Waitress," she pants, "do you know what the fuck just happened?"

"No, what honey?"

"Well, you see that bitch with the short brown hair over there?" She motions to my table of regulars. "I was on stage two and Miranda was on stage one. This stupid bitch goes up to tip Miranda and starts talking shit about me!"

"She was talking shit about you to Miranda?" I was intrigued, and surprised. "While she was tipping her?"

"Fuck yes she did! She said 'I don't like Dawn, she walks around here like she's the shit. I haven't liked her since she was fat."

"Ooooh no she didn't!" I'm excited now and the ghetto in my voice is coming out of me. "You were never fat, Dawn. What did Miranda do?"

"She told her that she needed to keep her voice down because I was on the other stage."

Remember what I said about alcohol being liquid courage? Do you also remember what I said about strippers being able to fight? Luckily, there was no fight in this instance.

When Dawn got off stage, Miranda told her what "bitch with the short brown hair" said. Dawn, not being one to put up with flack, marched up to "bitch with short brown hair" and confronted her.

"I said 'do you have something you want to say to me, because apparently you like saying it to the other girls here'."

"Oh my God what did she say?" I waited, holding my breath.

"This bitch stood up and I was like, okay, let's go, and she said 'no no no no no' over and over again."

"Just like that, 'no no no no no'? Nothing else?"

"Yeah, it was weird, just 'no no no no no'."

Dawn laughed and went back to her customer. I went back to waiting tables. That is, until about an hour later when the next batch of drama exploded.

To be continued...

Monday, September 11, 2006

For Corey

Today marks the fifth anniversary of September 11. I can still remember where I was when I watched the towers fall. I can still feel the carpet of my living room under my feet, and the smell of the mulberry candle lit on the coffee table. I can only imagine what the people of New York remember.

What I remember more vividly was the woman who was putting up flyers the next day, searching for her husband. She begged, crying into the camera, for anyone who knew anything to please contact her. It was heartbreaking, her sheer panic in the face of the ultimate destruction that embraced the city. She spoke of her children, how they missed their father, and she mourned for the other families. I don't know what ever happened to her, but I pray for her to this day.

This is not about political affiliation. This is not about who did what, who didn't do what, and who could have done it better. It's not about the news, the media, or the propaganda. This is about unity, about togetherness. Today, of all days, we need to embrace and remember.

This is to all the victims, all the survivors, and all the brave, selfless men and women who refused to stand by and watch as their country suffered a blow unbeknownst to the majority of us in our short, self-absorbed lifetimes.

This is for the soldiers, strong and severe in their crisp uniforms. Eyes foreward and jaw set. This is for the parents, bursting with pride and yet simultaniously crippled with fear for the sake and safty of their babies.

This is for Kevin, who cried on my shoulder last week when he found out his daughter enlisted. For Cassidy, who's husband Daniel comes home from Iraq in two weeks.

This is to my good friend Corey, who ships out next week. May he, and everyone else doing their part to serve and protect, know that he is missed, loved, and above all, appreciated.

God Bless,


Sunday, September 10, 2006


Here's a funny video for the weekend while I'm working on new posts:

Pole Dance Gone Wrong It was a little bit sexy until...

This link may not direct you properly, so you can definitely see it here.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

Scamming Strippers

In every job, as well as in every area of life, you are going to come into contact with many different breeds of people. Eventually, and unfortunately, you are going to brush shoulders with a scammer. They will ultimately get caught, the taste of greed too much for them to ignore. The bad ones will steal too much too soon and be caught quickly. The good ones can keep it up for an extended period of time. This is the story of two such scammers, "Angela" the bad one, and "Nadine" the good one.

Dancers can scam in many ways, but usually it's either stealing from the customer or stealing from the other dancers, and either way it can be tricky to prove. Unless they steal the bag (or other identifying objects-purse, wallet, keychain) or unless the person/dancer has put some sort of "mark" on all of their bills (don't laugh, it's happened), the chances of proving that a certain amount of money was actually your money can be very difficult.

Angela was a new girl. Soon after she started, things started disappearing. This is quite common in strip clubs; either the new dancer is stealing, or another dancer is stealing and the new girl takes the heat for being new and unknown. Shitty, I know. One of my dancers, "Nicole" had an abscess tooth, and left her painkillers on the dressing room counter. She went to the bathroom and when she came back, you guessed it, they were gone. There were two dancers in the dressing room at the time, Angel and another girl. The suspicious finger was already being pointed at Angel. Later on that night, one of my girls was onstage when her bag came up "missing". Twice in one night. Remember what I said about greed?

The clincher, and the smoking gun for her being fired came the next night. A dancer who had drank well past her limit was in the dressing room bathroom, throwing up. Angel, apparently going for Miss Coneniality entered the bathroom and held her hair for her. When the girl finished puking, her money was missing from her bag...The bag that was on the bathroom counter. Despicable. Absolutely despicable.

Nadine was scamming for quite a while longer. The rumors had been flying for quite some time, customers who went to the bathroom would find their money gone when the arrived, wallets were missing from chairs, etc. First of all, don't leave your wallet/money at the table if you are not there to guard it! Nothing personal about dancers, it's just good common sense. I can't begin to tell you how many times I have picked up stacks of money from tables and escorted it back to their owner who is at the bar, standing by the stage, or coming back from the bathroom. Don't do it. Not a good idea.

Yet I digress again, back to the story.

One day Nadine had a car wreck, apparently a bad one. She told a friend of mine, which I found out later, that she felt the wreck was karma coming to her for stealing all that money. She said she learned her lesson and was going to stop. Or so she "tried".

Two weeks ago Nadine got a lap dance. The gentleman paid her with a $100 bill (lap dances are $20) and waited for his change. And waited for his change. And waited. And. Waited.

Nadine high tailed it back into the dressing room and refused to come out until the gentleman had left. When questioned, I do believe she lied (I was waiting tables at the time) and said he was bothering her and she didn't feel comfortable coming back out, or something to that extent. The guy left, very angrily, and we all know how word of mouth spreads...

Nadine's mistake was to brag about what she had done to one of the other girls, without checking the bathroom first. There, going pee pee, was a girl with cow eyes (inside joke guys) who walked out of the dressing room and, after making sure that the incident did, in fact, occur, let it be known to the right people what exactly had happened.

As they walked Nadine out to her car they told her she wasn't needed any longer.

Ahh Karma. You never know when it's going to rear up and bite you on the ass. Moral of the story? Don't steal. And don't leave your money laying around. But mainly, don't steal.

I have reached a Milestone!

Ahh dear readers, and I thought this day would never come.

My little baby blog has....Wait for it....Wait for it....


Yes, dear readers, I didn't think this was possible, but it seems that if you Google blog or Beta blog search "Naked Women" my blog is the first to appear! And I owe it all to you!

Now, to pass on some of that good blogging karma, I would like to talk about some of my favorite blogs...

First off, we all know how much we love Waiter Rant, Boun Appitite, Lobster Boy, and the Insane Waiter, but I would like to talk about some of the lesser known blogs.

First, I love, love love Barista Brat. She is wonderfully funny, and her stories about making coffee at the Starbucks always make me laugh. You must check her out.

Secondly, for those of you interested, there is a wonderful blog, Barely Legal, and it's not a porn site either. It's written by my friend Mike and his friend Russ. They are recent Law School graduates, and Mike is rebelling against taking the bar exam. It's a wonderful blog, and they just got a book deal as well.

Skippy Mom has a fabulous blog that is ridiculously funny about her families swimming pool business. Definately check that one out.

And finally, because I think she's fabulous and she gave me my very first link which brought many of you in, I have to give a "shout out" to Subservient Worker. I'm sure many of you know her already, but if you don't please check out her daily dose of insanity at the Country Club.

And now on to more stories about the strip club!


Tuesday, September 05, 2006

This has absolutely nothing to do with the strip club

Seriously, nothing to do with it. Please stop reading if you're going to get upset that it has nothing to do with the strip club.

I am not sure if this is a nation-wide problem, or just something that is going on in my state, I am in the Bible Belt, let's not forget, but it is something that is really upsetting me. Apparently, we are having a large hubbub of legislation about whether or not we should teach Creationism in our classrooms. I, being a staunch Liberal (and Jewish) am appalled at the thought of teaching a Judo-Christian philosophy to the "melting pot" of formative youths in our country.

At what point in time does religious education cease to be taught in the home and begin to be shoved down the throats of our impressionable public school children? And here I thought that freedom of religion also meant freedom FROM religion. Before long we will be dividing classes up not by age, but by religious choice. I can see it now...

"Attention students, today's science lesson will be held in different classrooms. Can I have all the Christian children please report to room 3, all the Jewish children, report to room 1--oh wait, it seems the Muslim children have already taken that room for their own, the Athiest children can go to room 6, and as for the Agnostic children, we haven't really figured out where to put you yet, so why don't you just wander around until you find a place that you feel comfortable in."

Seriously, though, soon public schools will cease to become public and instead become sectioned-off private schools where different children obtain different educations based on prior religious decisions made by parents who, as it would seem, are much happier fighting over what is or isn't taught to their children rather than fulfilling their obligation as parents and teaching it to them themselves.

I leave you today with a fitting quote from Graham Nash:

Teach your children well
Their father's hell did slowly go by
And feed them on your dreams
The one they picks the one you'll know by.

Again, terribly sorry that it's not about the titty bar. Please remember that I am working on my degree in Sociology, and from time to time I might become so fired up about something that I need to post it on here to get it out of my system. Thank you all, and I wish you a wonderful day.


Ask The Waitress #2

Since I had the weekend off, I have no new stories to share with you wonderful readers. *I do take that back, considering I have yet to write about the two girls who were fired last week, I'll do that tomorrow*

This e-mail came to me today, so I thought I would post another "ask the waitress." Please don't hesitate to e-mail me anything your heart desires, I enjoy reading them! In case you forgot, it's

On to the e-mail:

I am a dancer in a small club. We have around 60 girls and 15 to 20
of these girls (including myself) work almost every day. I mostly keep to
myself and I am polite with everyone. My husband is one of our security
men and we try to keep it secret but whenever a girl finds out about us then she
tries to use it against me. A customer actually told me that a girl said
that if he got a lap dance from me then security would beat him to a bloody
pulp. What would be a polite way to end the cutthroat crap without getting
violent? If I got violent I am afraid that my man will get fired because
I'm supposed to "know better". They would also toss me out because I have
to many tattoos for their taste and sometimes I feel that they are just looking
for a reason to get rid of me.
Scared to lash out,

Dear Calico:

You didn't mention if management was aware of your marriage, the only reason I bring it up is that some clubs have a "no dancer/employee relationship" clause. Ours doesn't. In fact, our manager (one of them) was married to one of our dancers, and after she became pregnant with their beautiful daughter, she became "house mom," and our DJ is dating a dancer (both of them, actually) and our door guy is dating an ex-dancer. I can't help but wonder why you feel the need to keep your marriage private, considering that nothing stays a secret in a titty bar for too long. The only time that a problem can (and will) arise in an interpersonal work relationship is when someone with power plays favorites, or is perceived as playing favorites.

Many times dancers will bitch even when there is nothing to really bitch about. In the case of my DJ/dancer relationship, some of the girls would bitch about the type of music that he played. My bar has a strict no rap/no hip hop policy, so all that is left is rock, country, and R &B. Even with those limitations on music the girls found a way to complain that he was playing favorites with her music. I couldn't tell you if he was or not, I have learned to tune the music out by now.

As far as the girl who cutthroat you, that is completely uncalled for. I would suggest that you handle this in an upfront manner, completely leaving your husband out of it. His job doesn't depend on your conduct, and your job doesn't depend on his. Think about it this way, if he was to get fired (God forbid) for some reason (maybe he was too aggressive in breaking up a bar fight), there would be no cause for them to fire you.

You did mention, however, that you feel as if they are trying to get rid of you already, because of your many tattoos. We have two dancers that have a lot of tat's, they tend to go for the Goth look, and, quite frankly, I don't see anything wrong with it. If the girls all looked alike we would only cater to a very small, particular crowd of people. As they say, variety is the spice of life.

But I digress...

If management is aware of your relationship with your husband, then I advise you to first make them aware of the situation in a non-confrontational, non-whining way. Wait until a good, quiet moment at the club (hah!) and politely ask if you can speak to your manager in private. Start out by asking whether or not he/she has any problem with your relationship with your husband, then move into explaining what happened with said bitch. That way, if something violent were to come of the situation, management would already be aware of it, and less likely to be angry. It also gives your manager a chance to handle the situation in the best way possible. If he/she blows you off or makes light of your situation, it may be a clue that you are in the wrong bar.

If; however, management is unaware of your relationship (which I highly doubt) then I would stick to just confronting the girl. Be aware that by confronting her, you will be admitting to the relationship with your husband, the afore mentioned bouncer. If you would still like to "keep up appearances" of a non-relationship, I suggest you let it roll off your shoulders. Just remember, what one dancers knows, all dancers know. If you are ready to come out of the closet (so to speak), then I suggest you calmly speak to the dancer in the dressing room about how you felt that it was inappropriate for her to tell a customer such horrendous lies.

If past experience has taught me anything, it's that the dancer is going to deny ever having said anything, then run around to all of her other dancer friends and exaggerate the situation which may, inadvertently, cause more drama. Just be warned.

Hope it all works out for you,

Anybody else have any suggestions for this poor girl? Please comment about them!

Friday, September 01, 2006

Happy Labor Day!

Yes, Dear Readers, it is Labor Day weekend, which for me translates to NO SCHOOL ON MONDAY!!!!

Boyfriend and I are leaving town tonight (yay! A weekend off!) to go to Boyfriend's Parent's house in the northern part of My State, where there is a really nice lake.

We will not be returning until late Monday night, so I will try and post then! Have a great three day weekend!

Free Counter
Web Site Counters