Tuesday, November 29, 2011


Today was my first shift back after a gluttonous Thanksgiving* weekend and, man, I was as bloated as a stuffed turkey. (Word to those who are even remotely attracted to me: Please stop reading.) Yes, I hadn't laid cable in a couple days, and suddenly had the urge halfway through a mega-busy shi(f)t at work! I am never 1 to do a #2 at work, and I was too busy working the floor to s(h)it down with my UsWeekly for 20 minutes, so I just had to hold it (figuratively speaking, of course) while I did stage sets, sipped drinks with customers, and did more than my fair share of dances.

Of course, it has to be the one day I'm fighting my little feud with Mother Nature that I give a lapdance to Cheek Puller. This dude always grabs both cheeks when I'm straddling him and, in trying to get me to move the way he wants me to, ends up pulling them apart like a Thanksgiving turkey wishbone! I was like Ass Ventura, When Nature Called!

One of my regular customers strolled in today and, in making my day perfectly thematic, decided to talk about why he's NOT into any kind of scat-play. I don't know why he felt the need to discuss this with me today of all days. This was like the physiological equivalent of how hearing running water makes you want to piss; I totally thought I'd have to drop off John, Kate, AND their 8 at the pool right there on his lap.

As if I wasn't dealing with enough shit already, I had to spend a crapload of time with this asshole customer. He was this white, shaved-head, sexist dude who immediately started telling me 1) how I didn't belong here if I grew up in suburbia 2) that I had a rare combination of hot body and nice face "which most chicks don't have" 3) that I was hot now, but had probably been an ugly kid because I seemed too down to earth for a pretty girl. Then he told me, in an extremely condescending voice, that I should definitely try getting fucked up the ass, "especially since you're a g-spot girl. Clit girls don't get off on anal." He also told me he had a lot of money, and was THE head honcho at [major corporation]. Needless to say, this Rockefeller spent a whopping $38 on me. The hilarious part was him asking me to guess his age. Being the great stripper I am, I always guess a good 7-10 years younger than I actually think, so I said "30." And he said, "Pretty close! I'm almost 28." WHAT! I guess being an asshole really adds years to your face. "I'm not a cop," he told me at one point, "so you can tell me your rates for BJ's outside the club. I know you're horny." Other gems from this dude: "You like kosher sausage?" [grabs his crotch] "I'm a great husband, other than cheating on my wife all the time." "This would be a great lapdance if my boner weren't getting all bent inside my pants."

Whew! I feel so much better just having unloaded all this. Also, it's nice to have written this blog post.

*Speaking of Thanksgiving, I worked the night shift before Turkey day and, any time I cozied up to a white dude and tried to get a dance, I'd say "So, does this Pilgrim wanna sit down with this Indian for a lapdance?" It worked like a charm! Dots, not feathers, you racist motherfuckers!