Thursday, April 28, 2011

Daily Grinding

Today, this guy who never buys lapdances or acknowledges me (but always lurks around the club stingily) got all kinds of generous when I was on stage and then bought a lapdance from me. I gave him a pretty low-contact dance, because he seemed happy with that, but two-thirds of the way through the guy comes in his trousers, and I feel something wet and sticky on the back of my thigh! UGH! I've seen some gross shit at the club, but 'cum' on! And then he has the audacity (or maybe he was just making a hilarious pun) to say he hopes he got me "real wet" during the dance.

My fortune turned when this super-attractive white man who looked like a tall, hot version of Michael J. Fox really took to me. We had all kinds of witty banter going. Like, he was telling me his philosophy on "what's allowed" in VIP rooms, saying "I don't mean to paint it with broad strokes, but most clubs, you can very easily get a hand job." So I replied, "Well, this broad doesn't stroke, so don't get any ideas." He bought a ton of dances and tipped generously, and I was totally tickled by how adorable he was! God, I love the rare (I'd say one out of every sixty) customer who I find myself attracted to, and lucky enough to get paid for rubbing my body against them. After the dances we chatted over a few drinks, and :sigh:, he's a staunch Republican free market guy. I found myself going from "I'd hit that" to "I'll punch that." I sarcastically asked him why, if he believes in laissez-faire so much, could he not keep his hands to himself during lapdances! Of course, that shit cracked him up too. It was the first time someone referred to my breasts as "hot, perky Marxist tits."

Finally, damn! There's this new dancer at the club who I'm totally in love with. She's pretty, smart, and so fucking interesting. We talk during slow moments at the club, and in my three years of dancing she's the first dancer I've met who is politicized, beautiful, and dancing because she really loves doing it (though I know you ladies are out there!)! She's also really involved in the NYC burlesque scene and into race politics, particularly as race/sexuality/beauty standards intersect. Also, she practices polyamory and we've had all sorts of awesome conversations about the problems with monogamy. Man, I think I need to call up my momma, say I'm in love with a stripper, yo!

Friday, April 22, 2011

Fools and their money

Is it me or have guys just gotten douchier in the last 4 months? Seriously, it's like they've gone from run-of-the-mill douche-bags to giant douche-suitcases.

Exhibit A:
An old man came into the club and was taken by me & one other dancer (my friend Sheila!). I had guessed his age at about 58, but he informed that he was 71 and a stroke survivor. He hung out with Sheila for a while before asking her to excuse herself so he could talk to me. What follows is a truncated, condensed transcript of our actual conversation...

"Now, what is your ethnicity? See, I've always really admired the Indians. They are such a hard-working people, very very hard working. And they are all smart! All of them! Now, the kama sutra. I've always felt that Indian women were extremely sensual, beautiful, and attractive. Now Indian men on the other hand, they are just assholes. I hope you don't mind my saying. They think they own the world, and man, they are just such mama's boys. Enough about myself, tell me about yourself. Do you have any kids? I ask because I've got two children and 5 grandkids. And the woman I'm married to right now, she's actually my second wife. My first wife left me, took my children away, and moved to Portland, several years ago. But I wasn't going to let her! No, I flew out to Portland and staked out in front of her house to see what her schedule was, and after a couple days, I just broke in and kidnapped my children. We drove up to Seattle, got on a plane, and flew back to New York. Now, this was like 35 years ago, so you know, the cops weren't ever able to find me, and now my kids are grown men with children of their own. But I need to write to their mother, make sure she's written her children into her will in case she kicks the bucket soon. Are you really into politics? Because, I'll tell you - there are three things I'm passionate about: my grandchildren, Jesus, and my conservative politics. You ever heard of Winston Churchill? He said if you're young and a conservative, you have no heart, and if you're old and liberal, you have no brain...I know a lot about the world. I watch Fox News, and man, Obama...He's going to drive America into bankruptcy if he keeps doing what he's doing with the budget! Now I really want to give you my phone number so we can just talk on the phone...but I don't know, I gave it to Sheila earlier and I am a fairly monogamous man..."

Again, the actual conversation lasted about an hour, and my only words were reaching over for his stack of money and asking if I could "buy myself a drink." I'd go to the bar, get a glass of ice water, and pocket the money as my own tip...I know someone's an asshole when they actually make my left-wing ass wanna defend the oh-so-centrist Obama...

Exhibit B:
I had met a customer about two years ago at the club who was a BIG talker. But he was also a big spender, buying me commissioned drinks and tons of lapdances (especially when he got drunk). He's a US-born Punjabi Indian, who had an arranged marriage to a girl from back home and had a couple kids with her. She was great - really reliable, a great mother - but not exciting, so he started dating a Puerto Rican stripper and fell madly in love with her. At the time I met him 2 years ago, he had broken it off with the stripper and had "left" his wife (though not divorced her) and was trying to get me to be his new girlfriend. I informed him that I couldn't meet him outside the club. A couple days later I got an apologetic e-mail from him, telling me he was going to give his marriage a shot and that he couldn't email me or meet me (not that I'd agreed to meet him to begin with!) because he was going to move to India with his family and work things out.

Well, he was back yesterday. He went to India and "manipulated" (his words) his wife into coming back to the US. ("I promised her I'd be with her and I love her, but really I just wanted my kids near me. It was all lies, and I feel bad, but come on - these are my kids!") Meanwhile, he's struck things up with Maria again, and even though she's pregnant with another man's baby, she wants him to marry her and be father to the kids. He's still "legally married to his ex wife." He's "dating" a stripper from the club because after Maria got knocked up by some other guy ("granted, I was fucking other women too") he couldn't trust her anymore, and he's "hedging, because I don't want to get hurt" by making sure he has another girl on the backburner. Of course, I talked to said backburner-stripper in the dressing room, who ha$ a very different ver$ion of what their relationship i$ about...

I know these assholes are a dime a dozen, and I've had innumerable conversations like the ones above, but I just can't seem to justify these guys being extremely wealthy (and, in the Case of the Kidnapping Republican, having the right to vote while felons who perhaps sold a bag of coke are disenfranchised - fuckin' 'democracy'!). My age-old question is, are these guys big douche-totes everywhere they go, or do they just save it for their strip club therapy sessions, a commodified, judgment-free space of alien intimacy?

Thursday, April 14, 2011

The Race to the Bottom

To say asses are racialized is a foregone conclusion. Everyone remembers the joke "What's the only difference between dating a white girl and a black girl? The answer to the question 'Do these pants make my ass look big?'" Of course, thanks to Kim Kardashian, heir to the immense throne left by her predecessor J.Lo, the fascination with large asses has become appealing to white boys too (or maybe this has more to do with the fact that I'm in NYC?)

Anyway, the other day I had this Marshall Mathers clone customer who was all over me because, in his words, "I love a light-skinned skinny girl with a huge ass." Each of the three elements of that compliment could, of course, be highly insulting (or equally complimentary) in certain settings.

This regular custie, this Bengali guy, always touches the small of my back after lapdances and tells me "European women don't have this," referencing the curve at the top of my ass.

And of course, the NUMEROUS times customers haven't believed that I was South Asian because "Indian girls NEVER have asses; you must be Latina" has been documented on this blog...

With people who are more conscious of race as a social construct, the "bottom drops out" of conversation. I was kicking it with this Chinese Lower East Side-bred gangster and his crew at the club the other day, and his friend made the same "you have a nice ass - for an Indian girl" remark. The Chinese guy was like "Man, you are narrow fucking minded; you have a certain idea of what you think women's bodies are like, but open your eyes. There are Indian girls with asses that you're choosing NOT to see. It's like people who are surprised that I'm Chinese and built! It's like, haven't you ever gone out of your little circle that reinforces your ideas about race?" Then he switched gears, started talking about how he got in a fight at a club the other day (had swollen knuckles to show me to prove it) - with this guy who was dancing all crazy and kept bumping into him. "I felt real bad, though, because after I hit him I found out he was gay. I felt real bad. I don't hit gay guys." It totally echoed the macho "Never hit a woman" sentiment that suggests it's fine for testosterone dudes to wrestle each other over whatever the fuck they want but you treat "your woman" like a precious little flower petal. Are gay rights here being articulated in the same way?

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Andhra Praneuer

I made a new friend at the club. And by "friend," I mean strangest customer ever! This guy, about 60 years old, looked South Asian to me, and he spotted me right away and flagged me over. We began conversing in Urdu; he's from Andhra Pradesh and speaks very little English (though my friend hilariously pointed out that this limited English guy was proficient enough to locate a place he could see some tatties!). Anyway, he got a couple dances from me and then took me for a drink at the bar, asking me where I live. "With friends," I told him. He responded "Zindagi mein sirf do dost rehte hain: Ammi aur Abba." (Translation: In life, you only have two friends - your mother and your father.) He told me to quit this job and start a business. I assured him that I was a student and didn't plan to strip for my whole life (I had a sense that lecturing him on his rescue mentality would be lost on him, so I went this other angle instead -- I'm just doing this "for now."). "Don't worry, when I'm done with school, I'll get a job," I told him. "Naukri kabhi mat karo. Business start karo." (Don't ever get a job; start your own business.) He told me how to buy a car at auction and then use it to start my own car service; or I could open an eyebrow threading salon, there's lots of money there.

I love how, as much as he wanted me to find an honorable calling for myself and appointed himself career counselor, he had no qualms attempting to fondle my breasts throughout his lapdances! I wanted to tell him, I do have my own business, and you're my customer, biatch!!

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Rio de JanHAIRo

Ah, pubic hair! Can't live with you (imagine a bush protruding from the sides of my teeny G string...), can't live without you (how else can people distinguish my vag from a pre-teen hairless one?) I had never allowed wax to get any closer to my birth canal than my bikini line until about a year ago, when I realized that a Brazilian would get rid of everything down there, and that too, for several weeks. Without the pesky razor bumps or immediate stubble of shaving. If the thought of yanking out coarse pubes by the root with hot wax sounds painful to you, you're absolutely right! But big ups to my girl Nyra at Bliss Spa on 57th Street for giving me a relatively ouch-less Brazilian every 4 ish weeks. I'm not really into masochism, but I'm totally happy forking over $80 to Nyra to induce pain on my labia for a few minutes; it spares me the weekly hedge-trimming I'd otherwise have to engage in! Going at my vag with electric trimmers? Check, please!

After a not-so-brief hiatus from dancing, I'm back at it today! Hence the talk of getting my body hairless and back in shape for club nudity. Going back on a Tuesday should be slow enough for the culture shock to not be overwhelming, plus I've got Irish Gold and a few other oldie/goodies coming in to say hello. Still, I'm nervous! Any time I take a break from dancing, I get trepidation before going keep your fingers and toes crossed for me, friends!