A month after the Occupy Wall Street movement took off, and it's still going strong. Yeah, they haven't exactly ironed out the tensions downtown about the race and class dynamics of the whole thing, but it seems an inspiring, emergent move to radically critique our fucked up political and economic system. I've been down there a bunch of times, and it's certainly better than staying at home watching the Kardashians on E! (Then again, giving a lapdance to a guy in sweatpants is better than that, too, so I suppose that's not saying much.)
Notes from my strip club on Occupy Wall Street:
The bouncer, a muscle-bound dude from Honduras, and I have a rapport. We talk mad shit about US imperialism; he's a religious Christian and I'm a secular type, but this is one thing we agree on (that, and the fact that the guy who wears 3-feet long furry angel wings to the club every couple months and dances flamboyantly to Michael Jackson just ain't right!). Anyway, the other day he gestured toward CNN and asked me if I'd been down to Wall Street for the movement. Yes, I told him, and he gave me a big high-five. "Americans can't sleep forever. They might have comfortable beds, but no, they can't sleep forever."
An Egyptian customer told me he hopes what we see in Zuccotti Park is the next Tahrir Square. Then he asked me if I "have a big pussy" and put $5 between my breasts. (I'm not quite sure what answer he was looking for.)
Then, there was this amazing douchebag who went off on a 7 minute rant that went something like this:
"You know, this Occupy Wall Street thing is just scary. And I know who's behind it. Obama's behind it. And Soros is behind it. It's all Obama and Soros. Obama, I mean, what a scary fucker. He's nothing but a Marxist Muslim. He's a far left, radical, Marxist Muslim. And he hates Israel. I can't stand liberal Jews. Jews who are Democrats. They're so brainwashed by this bullshit liberal media. I don't even watch the news. If I do watch anything, maybe I'll watch Fox News. But, these liberal Democrat Jews just don't understand how the Democratic party is against Israel. I know, I know Michelle Bachman is an evangelical Christian, but at least she cares about Israel. I mean, the Democrats just really control the media, and they've brainwashed the Jews into being Democrats. I am a proud Republican Jew. Now I don't like Ron Paul. He's all right sometimes, but I just don't agree with his anti-military position. I like Herman Cain the most. Yeah, I'm not racist. I am not a racist, even though people might think I am. I mean, I hardly even see race. I see people. Like my daughter, she just happened to marry a good Jewish boy, a doctor. But if he'd been black, I'd have been okay with it. I might have been concerned that there are some degenerates in his family, some criminals, but I'd have been okay with it. It's the goddamn Democrats. You know, when bad stuff happens, the Republicans always get blamed. If Waco happened when we had a Republican president, it would have been a way bigger deal. A WAY bigger deal! Only Republicans get in trouble."
This dude totally deserved to get molested.
Tuesday, October 25, 2011
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Strapped for Cash
The club I'm currently at requires us to band our cash together with rubber bands and keep it strapped to the inside of our ankle. The other two clubs I worked at had no such rules, and after experimenting with rubber bands, tiny decorative purses, and garters, I realized the purse option was my favorite. It was a tiny accessory, it didn't scream "tacky stripper style!" the way the other two options did, and it also allowed for a small stash of lipgloss, my cellphone, and hand* sanitizer.
Not so at my club now! The purses are not allowed, I think because they are worried we'll take our cellphones onto the floor with us (which sounds like totally illegal employment practice since we are independent contractors, but don't get me started on that!). There are a few perks to strapping your cash to your ankle - it's super secure. It's right there, on your leg, and you'd physically know if it went missing. And (I'm just guessing here) it arouses the shit out of guys with a stripper fetish.
That said, after working a day shift last week I hurriedly got dressed (a skirt and blazer because I'd come from my teaching job in the morning that day - which caused another girl to remark "Man, you look so professional. What, are you telling your man you work in an office or something?") so I could run to the gym for a quick post-work workout. Yikes! Almost forgot to take the money off my ankle!
Imagine walking down the streets of Queens to the subway with a wad of cash literally wrapped around my ankle! Or, better yet, going to the gym, where the manager and I have developed a steady flirtatious banter, and awkwardly attempting to explain how an assortment of singles, twenties, and (not enough) hundred dollar bills ended up neatly folded around two rubber bands!
*And by "hand" I mean anything anyone with questionable hygiene may lick, kiss, grab, or (in the most extreme case) cover in semen.
Not so at my club now! The purses are not allowed, I think because they are worried we'll take our cellphones onto the floor with us (which sounds like totally illegal employment practice since we are independent contractors, but don't get me started on that!). There are a few perks to strapping your cash to your ankle - it's super secure. It's right there, on your leg, and you'd physically know if it went missing. And (I'm just guessing here) it arouses the shit out of guys with a stripper fetish.
That said, after working a day shift last week I hurriedly got dressed (a skirt and blazer because I'd come from my teaching job in the morning that day - which caused another girl to remark "Man, you look so professional. What, are you telling your man you work in an office or something?") so I could run to the gym for a quick post-work workout. Yikes! Almost forgot to take the money off my ankle!
Imagine walking down the streets of Queens to the subway with a wad of cash literally wrapped around my ankle! Or, better yet, going to the gym, where the manager and I have developed a steady flirtatious banter, and awkwardly attempting to explain how an assortment of singles, twenties, and (not enough) hundred dollar bills ended up neatly folded around two rubber bands!
*And by "hand" I mean anything anyone with questionable hygiene may lick, kiss, grab, or (in the most extreme case) cover in semen.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
The best of times, the worst of times.
Weird! I was on stage, doing my thang, and I look out to see a) a friend of mine from way back when and b) a guy I've danced for a handful of times over the years...sitting together! Drinking a beer! Looking at me! Huh? Well, I knew that (a) and (b) had been part of the same grad school program, and part of me always assumed they knew each other, but being the discreet (not trying to blow customers' cover) dancer that I am, I never asked her, "Do you know Steve?!" Well, apparently, she does...the two of them met up today for a beer and she ended up mentioning her grad student South Asian stripper friend and he put two and two together and brought her to my club pronto for a 3-way lapdance!
This experience was far superior to another lapdance experience I had involving tears streaming down a customer's face. He was 21 years old and it was his first time in a strip club or getting a dance, and he "felt so sad" that we girls had to do this for a living. "This isn't what intimacy is supposed to be like," he told me, before he forked over enough dough for 4 more dances. He's actually the second lapdance crybaby I've had - the first one cried out of a combination of frustration at his sex life ('cuz he hasn't slept with his wife in 13 years) and because I'd "never love him" ('cuz he's a pathetic loser - I actually judge his wife for sleeping with him 13 years ago). Well, I guess better tears than another liquid discharge!
This experience was far superior to another lapdance experience I had involving tears streaming down a customer's face. He was 21 years old and it was his first time in a strip club or getting a dance, and he "felt so sad" that we girls had to do this for a living. "This isn't what intimacy is supposed to be like," he told me, before he forked over enough dough for 4 more dances. He's actually the second lapdance crybaby I've had - the first one cried out of a combination of frustration at his sex life ('cuz he hasn't slept with his wife in 13 years) and because I'd "never love him" ('cuz he's a pathetic loser - I actually judge his wife for sleeping with him 13 years ago). Well, I guess better tears than another liquid discharge!
Friday, June 24, 2011
Gaza Stripper
About a month ago, Norm Finkelstein, Rashid Khalidi, and Peter Weiss gave a talk at Columbia University on the Goldstone Report and the bullshit human rights violations that occurred during the massacre in Gaza in 2009. It was pretty hot, because they managed to hold the event without any counter-protesters accusing the speakers of anti-Semitism (which happened the last time Finkelstein was brought to Columbia for a speaking engagement) so the audience could focus on the content of the talks themselves instead of the context of the event (not to deny that the latter's importance!). Anyway, I got there early enough to get a choice seat - 2/3 of the way back, in an aisle, so I could make a premature getaway (I can never sit through a whole 2.5 hour event like this) without disturbing anyone. As the hall filled up, I noticed a very regular, loyal customer had taken his seat not 10 feet away from me. I waffled between hiding from him (I was in glasses, braids, no make-up, and a bookish sweater) and waving hello (he is super-nice and probably respectful). I went for the latter; he gave me a polite nod and mouthed a few friendly questions ("how are you? working tomorrow?") and then let me be for the rest of the evening. It's a small anti-racist world after all!
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Something's Afoot
Well over a year ago, I met this customer at my Manhattan club who lived in Boston but was in NYC on business. I vaguely remember meeting him; he refreshed my memory last night by saying he blew a lot of money telling me "just keep giving me lapdances till your shift is over." Apparently he took down my email address and dropped me a line. It prompted me to search my e-mail history today - here's what he sent me in 2010:
"You are brilliant, beautiful and can I say just a gorgeous girl. I would love to stay in touch. I was wondering, if you have sometime tomorrow I'd love to take you shopping at Tiffany's and have brunch before I leave. Please answer. Good luck with school!"
I turned him down, and he left town...I didn't hear from him for a year or so, until just a few months he reported his intentions to come to NY for an orthopedics convention (he's an orthopedic surgeon), offering me a HUGE chunk of money to meet him at a restaurant wearing anklets, toe rings, and black heels.
Let's just say, easiest cash I've ever made. No sex, mostly talking, and I was fed a great dinner and some fruity champagne drinks. He confessed to his foot fetishism being linked to a sort of submissive sexual identity, so I proceeded to come across as super-confident and bold; someone he was powerless but to listen to. He ate it up!
I'm not sure if I'll see him again, but things certainly got off on the right foot! Figuratively, only, of course...
I've entertained probably close to seven or eight foot fetishists at work. One was actually my friend's customer, but when she was out sick, she ordered him (he also saw her as his mistress he had to obey) to worship my feet in her absence. Basically, I'd take a bar stool into the lapdance area, sit on it, and shove my feet all over his face for four or five dances. Once in a while, I'd chime in with "Worship my feet!" Another one is this super-old guy who's deaf and not 100% together up there, yet still has no difficulty wandering into strip clubs every few weeks. He rarely buys lapdances, but will tuck singles into your stilettos if you give him a little sniff of your toes or play footsies with him.
Now, having my feet worshipped is not something that gets my engine going. And while I often put my foot in my mouth, I'm not too keen on putting it in others'. But when it comes to a paid encounter, a foot fetish is about the best thing you can ask for. You get to keep your clothes on, you get compensated for shoe shopping, and provided the guy is more into stockings than stalking, you're sure to stay safe!
"You are brilliant, beautiful and can I say just a gorgeous girl. I would love to stay in touch. I was wondering, if you have sometime tomorrow I'd love to take you shopping at Tiffany's and have brunch before I leave. Please answer. Good luck with school!"
I turned him down, and he left town...I didn't hear from him for a year or so, until just a few months he reported his intentions to come to NY for an orthopedics convention (he's an orthopedic surgeon), offering me a HUGE chunk of money to meet him at a restaurant wearing anklets, toe rings, and black heels.
Let's just say, easiest cash I've ever made. No sex, mostly talking, and I was fed a great dinner and some fruity champagne drinks. He confessed to his foot fetishism being linked to a sort of submissive sexual identity, so I proceeded to come across as super-confident and bold; someone he was powerless but to listen to. He ate it up!
I'm not sure if I'll see him again, but things certainly got off on the right foot! Figuratively, only, of course...
I've entertained probably close to seven or eight foot fetishists at work. One was actually my friend's customer, but when she was out sick, she ordered him (he also saw her as his mistress he had to obey) to worship my feet in her absence. Basically, I'd take a bar stool into the lapdance area, sit on it, and shove my feet all over his face for four or five dances. Once in a while, I'd chime in with "Worship my feet!" Another one is this super-old guy who's deaf and not 100% together up there, yet still has no difficulty wandering into strip clubs every few weeks. He rarely buys lapdances, but will tuck singles into your stilettos if you give him a little sniff of your toes or play footsies with him.
Now, having my feet worshipped is not something that gets my engine going. And while I often put my foot in my mouth, I'm not too keen on putting it in others'. But when it comes to a paid encounter, a foot fetish is about the best thing you can ask for. You get to keep your clothes on, you get compensated for shoe shopping, and provided the guy is more into stockings than stalking, you're sure to stay safe!
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!
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?
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?
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!!
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 back...so keep your fingers and toes crossed for me, friends!
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 back...so keep your fingers and toes crossed for me, friends!
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