All Good Things

Well, folks, after a lot of quiet consideration, I've decided to stop writing this blog. I've been approved to write my own thesis next semester on the evolution of male customers in a Gentlemans' club, and I really need to keep my observations private for the purposes of that paper.

I have really enjoyed writing this, and I hope you all have enjoyed reading it. Thanks to all who gave me links and read my little stories about a titty bar in the south.

Take care, everyone, and I hope you all fulfill whatever your heart desires!

Love,
Waitress

P.S.: I'm in Arkansas

P.P.S: My name is Jennifer :)

Sorry...

Sorry guys, I've been out of commission for a while. Right now the only thing(s) that are happening at work (drama related) are personal between staff memebers, and not to be posted on the internet. No offense.

Hopefully there will be some juicy drama this weekend. Until then!

Love,
Waitress

Aww, I won something!

Yay you guys! I won the contest! How cool is that?

I was wondering, though; Ryan mentioned for me to email him to claim my winnings... What happens if someone else emails him pretending to be me? He better not send my shit to another person- I'd have to hunt someone down!

This last weekend was pretty boring, hence the lack of posts. I do have a few stories I'm working on but they're personal in nature and I'm waiting for it to become "old news" at the titty-bar so that no one who reads this gets their feelings hurt.

Or tries to jump me after work. That wouldn't be too nice.

:)

Waitress

Pause for Commercial

I'd like to take a break from our regularly scheduled programming and deter to the topic of prostitution.

As many of you (may) know, I get several of the strip club = whorehouse comments quite frequently; however, I have only chosen to publish one from a particular commenter, because he was quite literate and well spoken on the matter (more so than the trolls out there). That said, I requested that this specific person give me some reason as to why he believes that strip clubs are whorehouses, and he did- which you can find in the comments of the last post. One interesting thing he said; however, was that "Also, in my humble opinion, the act of lap dancing in itself for money is an act of prostitution."

This made me think for a moment about where we draw the lines between prostitution and enterprise.

When I think about prostitutes, the image that usually pops into my head is the seedy streetwalker, dressed in yellow Lycra and permed hair. (Think Julia Robert's in Pretty Woman, just not as pretty and more bad ass). When I think about what constitutes prostitution, it's always sex with a random stranger for money. The afore mentioned commenter deems lap dances as a form of prostitution, because you are gyrating on someones lap for money. We could also take this one step further if we wished.

A housewife whose husband has just bought her a diamond necklace and she subsequently sleeps with him- is she prostituting herself? The diamond necklace has monetary value, and she is choosing to accept the gift and then perform sexual acts with the man that gave it to her. There's a funny parody commercial of the Debeers Diamond company: "Diamond's... she'll pretty much have to." If a husband gives his wife a diamond necklace, expecting a sexual interaction in return, does that then make him a John and her a prostitute? What if they weren't married?

If Boyfriend cleans the whole house, and I am so thrilled I ask him "is there anything I can do for you," and he jokingly says "you could give me head," and I comply- am I then a prostitute? We usually pay a cleaning lady to come clean our house once a week, so Boyfriend has just engaged in an act which is worth monetary value, in which I am repaying him with sexual favors. Am I now prostituting myself?

If a young, virile woman decides to marry an old man who is worth billions of dollars- is she prostituting herself? If she enters into a marriage contract not because she is madly in love with this man and wants to spend the rest of her life with him, but because she is aware of how much he is worth and how easy her life will become, is that prostitution? Are we now loosening the boundaries of the definition to include marriage contracts as well as just acts of sexual gratification?

The floor is open to you, dear readers; and I wait in anticipation to hear what you have to say.

Don't Bring Your Hooker To My Titty Bar

I'll never understand why men bring their hookers (ahem, escorts if you're p.c., and women who will have sex with you if you're honest) to a strip club. To me it rather defeats the purpose. A strip club, despite all it's drama and subsequent interference, serves as a safe-house where men can come alone or in groups, and engage in titillating conversation *pun intented* with attractive women. Paying is an option (albeit a strongly preferred option).

That said, I don't understand why some men bring their hookers to a strip club. It would seem a rather distracting and financially draining expense; especially if she is charging for the hour. I can sympathize to a degree with men who choose to get a hooker after leaving the strip club- unrequited sexual interaction and proverbial blue-balls have been known to cause a few rash decisions. And engaging with a hooker or two has been known to cause a few rashes. (Bad-um chaa)

I suppose the rather ideal situation in this case would be to meet a hooker at the strip club.

Why would that be ideal, you ask?

Because it segways into my next topic: the hooker who once danced for us before we knew she was a hooker.

About a year ago we had a dancer who came to us from another bar, and her name was Monarch. She was a very tall, boisterous black woman; and boy could she drink. This girl would down seven or eight LIT's (Long Island Iced Tea's) during the evening. She was loud, strong, crass, and a hooker. At least, we found out she was a hooker later.

We had an idea she was prostituting herself a few weeks after she started. She was a really good tipper. Really good. Not to say that all hookers are good tippers- this was just a little extreme. She would tip five or six dollars on a drink. When the girls onstage weren't making any money, she would tip them out of her pocket. She tipped the DJ's out fifty or sixty dollars, which is quite more than they're used too.

One night, our DJ was up in the booth with his girlfriend, also a dancer. When Monarch tipped him out for the evening, Girlfriend made a comment that she really liked to tip well.

"This is my fun money," Monarch replied. "I make my real money selling pussy on the side."

Wow. When we heard about this, we weren't really sure what to do. It's really not a good idea for a strip club to knowingly employ a hooker/escort. You can get into all sorts of crazy litigation's, not the least being soliciting. Luckily for us, we didn't have to wait long for proof.

Monarch was an entrepreneurial hooker. This bitch had business cards. She was passing them out to customers after they tipped her. It was one of those "you like what you see here? Why not give me a call later and we'll meet up. Here's my card."

We don't even allow the dancers to leave with customers, let alone meet them later for a quick "hide the salami" for an undetermined sum of money.

We found one of the business cards on the table, but were unsure of who they belonged to. We decided, in the best interests of the club, to perform a mandatory bag search. The rest of the cards turned up in Monarch's bag.

Monarch went nuts when we confronted her with the business cards. She didn't deny they were hers; however, she just resented the fact that we would no longer employ her at our establishment. She began screaming at everyone in the club. Here we are, attempting to close our registers and wipe of our tables, and she's screaming- no, preaching at the top of her lungs about how she has a business that doesn't involve us, and she's just trying to make a living and take care of her children.

During all of this she's prancing around the building, getting in anyone's face who will listen to her, all the while attempting to convince us that she deserves to keep her job. It was quite the spectacle.

The trouble came when the DJ told her to shut up, she was giving him a headache.

Monarch went off like a fuse had been lit underneath her ass. It was "bitch I'll fuck you up" and "don't talk to me like that you fat asshole" and she went as far as to call someone (and I swear to you this happened) a "dookie eating bitch."

Who says dookie anymore? Hookers, apparently.

It was then that they decided, in the best interests of everyone, to escort Monarch outside to her vehicle; however, not before she managed to slug our door guy across the face a few times.

Moral of the story: don't piss of a hooker. They fight too.