2 boyfriend or to single? That is the question...

Fellow bloggers and lapdancers, I am faced with a hard truth today.  Or tonight rather, even though it is 8.22am, I only barely just got home and my mind is racing...

I went out for dinner with some pals of mine, dear successful pals who are in a loving and stable - albeit kinky, relationship and marriage.  They alerted me to some hard truths, and I feel compelled to share them with you. 

Basically, in their eyes, I fuck successful, yet date 'woof-woofs'.

The men I date are pushovers, artistic ttypes, who are always about to break into being the next big thing, but aren't actually there yet, but are getting there, just wait.

And fucking wait...

Well you know what?  I am so tired of waiting.  So tired of supporting, and ummm and ahhhing, whilst the rest of the world waits to catch up.  When I was 19, I started lapdancing.  I automatically had IN to all the cool stratospheri that I wanted.  Rock stars? I met them.  Politicians? I showed them my crotch and they promised me the world.  That entire basketball team, the NBA fucking champions?  They gave me front row seats.

Yet when it comes to dating, I've always gone for the artistic types that promise and give me nothing, except time and affection. 
Sounds great right?

No.  I just celebrated my 21st for the millionth time, and you know what?  After almost a decade of dancing, I think I am finally hardening.  I am so tired of socialising with people at work who throw money at me, whilst dating guys who freelance, or don't earn too much, or who are studying for something.  That's my role in life, and I looked in the mirror tonight, and saw a scary prospect.  I saw a girl who still looks like a girl but feels like a woman, a tired one at that, who just wants a chance, to be that girl who looks to her right and sees a strong man.

Girls, I think it may be time for some spring cleaning in my social and sex life. 
It's going to be painful, and its going to be lonely and nasty and so fucking painful and horrible its beyond words, but god damn it, I'm a hustler and can get through this.

I have to, because I am getting old, and my looks are fading, and my bones are tired, and these heels are KILLING me.....

sexy girls feet - just not mine today

Ahhhh, feet.  That fetishistic mothership of taboos.  we squirm, but we know men love feet.  Sexy girls feet, sexy tiny girl feet, sexy tan girls feet, sexy bare girls feet, sexy white girl feet, black girls sexy feet - hey, I've even had discussions with guys who say they lust after sexy jewish girls feet ( in new york), or a sleeping sexy girls feet ( that was here in london).
Well sorry to burst your bubble boys, but after a shift my feet ain't sexy.  No, they're stinky and sweaty and have icky grey black crud stuck inbetween my toes, my nail polish is usually chipping no end, with about twenty layers on as I just fill in the gaps, night after night, as I'm too cheap n too lazy to get a manicure.  Yes, I have really sexy stinky feet.  honestly, I swear most men alive would pay not to smell my hot stinky feet, especially after a;ll that pole dancing and gyrating whilst wearing 6" perspex stilletos that incase my toes  like a greenhouse as I sweat and spill drinks all over them.  Yep, I'm looking at the sorry state of affairs now, and man!  Those are some bad smelling stinky feet.  Phew!!!

london lapdancing - where have all the nerds gone? To a virtual lapdance?

The lapdancing clubs in london used to be full of nerds.  I loved nerds - they were in awe of us hot young girls, and a nerd lapdance usually promised decent bucks.  Not the hugest paycheque, but they were steady and consistent and kept coming back.  Thats the best thing about nerds - they suffer from limited female interaction, and so when they fall for a lapdancer, they fall in love with her.  And you can depend and rely on their custom, until they fall for the next sexy girls giving lapdances, or even some hot sexy girl on girl lapdance.  But now all the nerds have all disapeared. 
To where though? The virtual world?  Are avatars and computer games getting so realistic that us sweaty strippers just don't cut it anymore?  I googled lapdancing, and came up with loads of geeky virtual strippers - danni's virtual lapdance, a site to watch erica campbells daily lap dance online, some kira reeds virtual lapdance, even an entry which promises a daily free virtual lapdance.  Free!! hmph!!! hot sexy young girls who do a daily lapdance, to the camera, day after day, cutting into my business. How am I meant to compete with a laptop?

5am breakfast

I just ate a massive jacket potato with chilli AND baked beans AND cheese. At practically 5am, in a sleazy soho diner full of bitchy gay boys.  It was not the most pleasant or salubrious of dining experiences, I'm teeling you.  Am now sitting in bed, farting copiusly, and had to run to the toilet when the taxi finally dropped me back home.

And did I make a decent amount of dosh tonight? Enough, say, to pay my rent or organise my birthday party, which is meant to be this friday?

No.  Of coursenot.  But it seems that all my friends did, and do, frequently, so it begs the question?  Whats wrong with me?

I know the answer.  I'm not pushy enough, and I take my eye off the ball, and trust too much that the customers will tip me adequately, rather than badgering them till they do shove the money into my palm, and then badgering them again, minutes later, till they do it again.

Better get those sales tips and self help books out again....!

Voodoo at the strip club

Now I know everyone is broke right now, and trying to pull a fast one, but theres ways top get your own way and then theres ones that are right out of the ball park.  The excuses that don't quite wash, the protestations that go on and on till they wear you down, even idle threats - I have dealt with all of them, and I am usually fireproof. 

But this one guy tonight right, well, when I had danced awhile for him - say 5 songs, and he'd only paid for one, he came up with a whole new get out clause-
he said he practised black magic and he was goin to call Satan and his devils onto me..... bad nasty luck n sh*t for life....
To be honest, I didn't laugh it off - I couldn't.  I have a good luck corner at home, carry a jade crystal in my bag, and fully believe, even practise, cosmic oredering.  And karma?  Suscribed from birth.
So when this drunkard looked deep into my eyes and said all this, being totally unreasonable, I was scared.  Real scared.  I thought he was going to hit me to be honest, and all of a sudden he seemed all-powerful, and a big man, whilst I was a small girl, half naked, in a room.

Of course, the b*stard got away with his crappy behaviour, I am now back at home fuming, and my handbag is half empty, and the rent still needs paying next week.

who needs voodoo threats when my luck is running this badly already???

Dazed and confused

I will always argue that my work persona - the girlwho is the stage name rather than the girlwho hides behind it - does not affect me oin a day to day reality basis.
But then I have a normal night, and the gulf that lies between me and us seems to be a bit more flexible.
I hang out with a load of old pals, for the past decade or so, and yet I feel detached.  My behaviour, my clothing, my points of conversationalreference just seem off .
F***knows why, darlings....
 
The worst thing that this job has ever given me is a serial short term memory.
It's either because;


a)  I want to forget (sorry to convention, but thats just not true.  I long to recall in HD detail)

b) The drinking, the drugs, the partying, the grooving and the talking, endlessly night after night, have rewired my barin till its all one big blur)

So anyway, why do I feel left out?
Even amongst old friends, a shadow of my former self?

I will tell you why,    it's beause, earnings wise, I am simply a shadow.

I am on the breadline compared to the financial freedom I enjoyed until even just a few months ago.

At first I was afraid, I thought it was me - I was too fat, too blonde, my hair was all wrong, my outfits were like a sack of potatoes.

But tonight I shared my problems, and an old, bestest friend of mine pointed out -

"It's not just you - the whole world's in trouble"

So next time you hear me complaining, just remind me of today's post!!

An epic 5 day week for zilch...

Ok, so I know what your thinking - 5 days of work a week? Absolutely no sweat.

Yeah well, I've had 'normal' jobs, and 5 days did drag on, but in a totally different way. 

normal - you wake up early, but get home at a decent enough time to visit the pub and watch decent telly.
stripping - you crawl fuzzy headed outa bed at midday, the pubs full of losers and all you mates are at work till....

n -  ...till  its 6pm, when your pals begin arriving home
s - ....just as your leaving for work

n - you get paid a wage, day in, day out
s - you pay the club - anything from £40 to £100 a shift !!!

n - its 9am to 5pm
s - its 8pm to 5am

So ok, I am feeling kinda sorry for myself, which is why I haven't written much recently.  This has been the hardest month, money wise, that I have had in a 7 year career of stripping.  The money has just been painfully crap, I feel fat, the hairdresser did a really dodgy job on my highlights, and the sun only started to come out yesterday.

There haven't even been any sexy customers coming in.  I usually can find one or two semi-attractive, or friendly guys, just so that I can have a little flirt and get my game on before running round the rest of the club, letting those pheromones waft over all the other customers.  So yes, lapdancers do find some of you guys cute!! 

(still no sex in the champagne room though, sorry)

However, there is light at the end of the tunnel.  I know this sounds WRONG, seeing as I am a twentysomething lady who has taken her clothes off in front of half the local male population, but recently the local university students seem to be coming in, and well, they can be really hot.  Really, really hot, and they get so excited by us girls, and you can just sense that young teenage lust oozing out of their every pore, especially for their favourite dancers.....

So, Jacob, that young aussie in a checked shirt who had cheekbones to die for, and a nice little packed out chest on him - I rubbed up against it for the whole of our (longer than usual) dance..... come back sometime and say hello to me   .......

Stripper homework

Essentially a good stripper is a great salesperson.  You approach a customer, gain a rapport and then ask for straight up cash for an instantaneous service style product - yourself.  your body, and more importantly, your time.  the customer is paying to spend TIME with me, nothing else - its up to us what we do with that time.

hence tonight I am back from the pub and using the few hours of down time - i can never sleep till the early hours as stripping has corrupted my body clock - anyway, using the few hours to swot up on motivational and sales techniques.  How to close, how to push for a bigger sale, etc.....

A few years ago I ordered the Dancer Home Study Course from http://www.dancerwealth.com/ and although it applies a lot to american c;lubs, its full of really good sound advice.  I generally show up to work, get pissed and earn some dough, but have been dawdling about with this carefree laissez faire attitude for yonkers.  Sometimes you need a touchstone, and this stripper self help manual is it.  Awesome.....

Monday night blues

hard Hustling work, thats what monday was about

Christ i felt good bringing home a measly hundred quid - i worked my butt off for every penny of that you see,  and sometimes you have to be glad that you came home with anything at all !!!!

am going to read my stripper sales literature today to get my game head on... it feels like it'll be a long week, the kinda week i will really need all the help i can get.....

Scary John takes his clothes off

How drunk would a customer have to be in a lapdancing club to pull his trousers down, wave his willy about and ask for sex, or a handjob, or a spanking - or all of the above.
God it was embarrassing, and the only good thing to come out of it was the opportunity to nip home early.  It was a horribly slow night and i told my boss that i was very upset by the whole situation.....

But the worst thing of all was that he grabbed my wrist and I had to hit him with my handbag to get him off me.  Unfortunately I'm not living in a Soprano's episode, so the bouncers can't kick his face in.  Not that I condone violence, but its a real shame that they can't be a little more agressive sometimes, especially when someones have been a dick to me.

Oh, and who watches the cameras in the private dance booths - every bloody manager and security heavy in the club,  but only when there is a funny bit like that guy mooning at me, his white ass cheeks flashing in the video.  Another dancer did a spectacular banana skin style slip onto her bum whilst in the VIP, and they rewound it over and over in the back room, and teased the poor essex lass mercilessly for a week.....

Erotic City

Erotic City

Two last nights in a row!

When it rains, it pours....

There I was, sat in a quiet pub, busily reading in a last minute ditch attempt to finish my book club book 'Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World' by Haruki Murakami, and I was doing really well.

Really, really well....

I'd started the 400 pages exactly tome that lunchtime, and I was already a good half of the way through - right at the intriguing unicorn skull mystery, to be precise.

Then my phone rang - and I ignored it. Who wants to delve into the bottom of a bottomless handbag when they are deeply absorbed by a wonderful piece of fiction?

Then, a minute later, my phone rang again...

Insistent bugger, i thought, may be something important - or fun! or exciting! or my fucking stalker (more on him in another blog post), and wearily reached for my bag.

In fact, the two phone calls, so close together, was just a freak occurrence, as I found out later, but boy! was it worth picking up the phone!

It was only my pal, an ol'lapdancer pal of mine who is now a primary school teacher (I know, how cute...) with a free spare ticket for Mika's last London show - tonight, in an hour and a half. Could I be at Hammersmith Apollo in an hours time?

Course I fuckin' could!!

I jumped out of bed and shoved my hair in hot rollers - the previous nights burlesque antics had got me all vintage. I pulled on one dress - a leopard print rock n roll number, and began mixing up the perfect shade of Bare Essentials mineral foundation - the only thing for non-club wear. My eyebrows were a pain, as most of my proper make-up is in my locker at the club, but I managed to make do, just about. I stared at the time - ten minutes more, max. I stared at me - the wrong dress, it was all wrong. I pulled out another dress from the closet and slipped into a pair of heels, hanging it in front of me. Still the mirror said no. I pulled out another, a little Yellow limited edition number from Kate Mosses first topshop collection ( saw Selma Blair wearing the common white version a few weeks after buying it in a style mag n thought, Ha! mines better, n more unique to boot, so there HOllywood) But that meant changing the bra for a strapless version, and an underskirt to make it puff out, retro style - finally I was bloody dressed. I pulled the rollers out, spritzed the whole thing with hairspray quickly, and shoved a load of kirby grips in my bag - I can do that on the tube. Then I threw some eyeshadows and blusher inmy handbag - Mac, naturallement, and practically ran out of my house. Despite my best efforts, I knew I was still going to be late.

Still I got there, only half hour late and WOW what a show. I knew I loved Mika anyway, as I play his first album, life in cartoon motion, all the time - its such happy music... and it was great to be able to sing along to all the songs like a complete teenage saddo. Or teenage Wannabe now, seeing as I am in my twenties...and take my clothes off for a living...

Miss Polly Rae Burlesque Show

Bless Mothers...

Mine knows all about me being a lapdancer - in fact, so does my dad ( but I would never tell my Granny ), and so she booked a couple of tickets to see the last night of 'Miss Polly Rae and her Hurly Burly Girlys' in Leicester Square. She guessed it would be right up my street, and boy, was she right!

The show was fantastic, with amazing costumes and set design. She opened the show with a revised Madonna tune ( I think, my music memory is awful) whilst wearing a really sexy Mother Superior nuns habit. Her hat was a big white affair, like one of those Provencal nuns you see in old french impressionists paintings.

Apparently the team behind her was Kylie Minogues Creative Director etc, and the whole affair was so well cheroegraphed and slick, with such a fast pace and total ingenuity. I would love to be a burlesque dancer, and have decided to get a pal to take some burlesque style photos of me. Look out for some shots coming soon.....

She did a fan dance and it was one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. I am going to have to ebay me some of those fans. Then again, my flat is becoming cluttered with past dreams and aspirations - I have a pole ( £150) gathering dust, as I still can't be asked to put it up in the living room as it takes up too much space, and a Hula Hoop (£20) stacked in another corner.

Ahhh, forgotten dreams.

Still though, a photoshoot would only be a short term affair, rather than a long-term commitment, and it would be so much fun....