Tuesday, April 13, 2010

Banal Sex & Restrained Refrains

I think I speak for all dancers when I tell customers not to consider themselves original for saying any of the following. If I had a crumpled g-string dollar for every time I heard these, I'd be able to buy the house mom's whole stretchy-dress inventory!

-I really only just come to this place for a beer and to look at some pretty girls, but I can't believe my luck finding you.
-You don't belong here. You're way too smart and beautiful. (or any variation on the "you're not like the other girls here/you shouldn't be here" theme)
-I'd rather just give the champagne room money directly to you, so you don't have to give the house a cut. Shall we meet somewhere outside the club?
-There's a connection here, and I know you feel it too.
-With you, it isn't just about sex.
-If you don't have any customers, come sit with me.
-Nothing is sexier than brains and beauty.
-I'm actually not really a strip club guy.


Solid Gold Irishman got a little wacky on me today for a minute. Maybe I jinxed it. So I had spent something like 2 hours just chatting with him and giving him some lapdances during the slow hours. Any time we've hung out before he is always really self-conscious & polite about not wanting to monopolize my time, and being completely cool about my talking to other customers.

So today, I was kicking it with him and I saw this customer of mine come in. He's a really cool guy, and has a reputation as Mr. "Never says no to a lapdance", so girls were all over him. I didn't want him to deplete his whole cash stash on everyone but me, so after my stage set, instead of going back to Irish Gold, I went straight to him, chatted, and did about 5 dances for him. As soon as that was done, I got called back on stage again for another set (which included the Third Eye Blind Song "Semi Charmed Life"), and "never says no" guy left. Irish Gold came to tip me on stage and says "What happened to you?" And I said, "I was taking care of another customer." And he was like "Well I was waiting for you, sittin' over there like an idiot." I was stunned, because it's the first time he's been possessive, and his rude tone totally caught me off guard.

When I went back to sit with him he apologized and said he had no right to say that, sorry sorry. And I was nice, and forgiving. But still, shit!

I was in a bad mood after that. There's this weird guy who came in and rapidly earned a reputation for being really cheap. I saw him in the corner and all the girls were steering clear like he had swine flu or something, so I did the same. Then, at one point, there were no customers at all so I was like, what the hell. So I sat next to him and started chatting and had some sort of flashback to him giving me lots of money! I never forget a face...unless it's in the distance under a blacklight. Up close, I totally remembered him having cash. And he totally remembered me, and told me all these facts about myself I'd told him last time (including my fake real name) and then he proceeded to get like 17 lapdances from me. Awesome. He was drunk enough that I didn't have to do anything, really, but sit on his lap. He speaks with an Indian accent, and looks South Asian, but he swears he's from Cairo. He can't speak a lick of Arabic, nor can he answer any basic questions about his supposed hometown, so I get the sense he's totally lying about himself. He also claims to be a resident of Los Angeles, where he pumps gas at a gas station, and is visiting NYC for business...yet he didn't know there was an earthquake there last week. He has a thick Indian accent yet swears up and down that he was born and raised in LA. Okay, so he's totally lying about himself, and he's really socially weird. He looks like an unattractive version of this hot guy I went to high school with. So during a dance, he grabs my ass and my thigh and squeezes/scratches really hard, enough to draw blood. (Cut to image of Egypt Boy at a Pictionary party attempting to sketch "blood" on an easel...) No, okay, he didn't draw blood, but it hurt! That, plus my bad mood, and I totally smacked him, open palm, across the face and shoved his chest, and then made him give me $40 for "being an asshole." He did.

Other than that, a good day. I'm having trouble adjusting to this new house rule... Wait for it: Any DJ who plays "R&B or Hip Hop will be fired ON THE SPOT". Yes, that sign hangs right under the invisible sign that says "No dogs or black folks." For real, the owner of the club threatened the DJ's who were playing "hip hop and R&B." It's totally fucked, especially since I always used to request the Roots and Outkast to make my day go by a little faster. Not only have I lost that, we have no more Kanye West or R. Kelly jams, AKA Strip club anthems! For real? This is New York City! So now, I spend stage sets entertaining myself with the aforementioned "Third Eye Blind," along with "I touch myself," "Friday I'm in Love," and of course, I also go dancing with... Mr. Brownstone!

Monday, April 5, 2010

Bollywood Beats

So there's this girl who dances at the club. She's from Tibet, but lies and tells everyone (except me) that she's either Chinese or Hawaiian. It's a confidentiality thing for her. But she does speak Hindi and knows her Bollywood tunes, and once she even played me this song in my honor.

Anyway, the other day we were getting dressed and I started whistling Aap Jaisa Koi. She chimed in, of course, and by the time we got to "baat bun jaaye" I realized that two of the Russian bartenders were singing along! I was like "Damn, girls, you know Bollywood songs?" And they were like "Yeah, we love Bollywood in Russia!" And then the slew of Brazilian girls to my left were like "Bollywood EVERYWHERE!" And they started singing "Pehal Nasha." This Boricuan girl nodded in agreement and said "Acha, acha."

Lesson learned! Bollywood rules the fucking world. Though I suppose the alternate theory is that watching Bollywood turns you into a stripper. Wouldn't that be funny? Instead of pole dancing, it'd be garba-raas on stage. And rather than lotion on the legs and baby oil on the arms, the girls would use henna on their hands and coconut oil in their hair. I already have the perfect stripper name for Madhuri Dixit...(too obvious.) Ahh, imagine a world with more desi strippers. We could take the "poor" out of Kapoor, and all the Singhs could dance.

Aaja nachle, indeed!