i’m going back to stripping. i start friday.
i’m going back to stripping. i start friday.
In case anyone wanted the set!
Also I thought it’d be fun to make a group picture that looks like an ad.
(Please don’t delete text)
oh my godddd they are so cute!!
hi, i was a complete dork in middle school, how did you guess?
a million bonus points to anyone who can guess which scout i used to be.
i’m so conflicted, i don’t know how i feel about it.
on one hand… i need money. and it’s been years since i danced. the burnout is probably at record low levels!!
on the other hand… i am out of shape, and it bothers me. so i am kind of ridiculously wary of dancing again.
damnit, i need a dance buddy. or like, some extra confidence or something.
A: i have no earthly idea what dancers make in Kentucky.
B: to find a good club, try out a few. whichever one you feel most comfortable in will likely be the one you make the most money in.
C: shea butter is your friend. like, 100% shea butter. also, vitamin E oil. regularly rub that stuff on your boobs, and they will thank you.
this blog really is no longer accurate; i’m not a dancer anymore. but i’m sure i can come up with some interesting tales for you, despite my former dancer status. they won’t necessarily be about dancing, but… well, just read. i’ve got to have some place to put the stories that don’t fit anywhere else, eh?
thing to know: my boyfriend and i are polyamorous. so we see/date/fuck other people.
last night, he invited over a friend of his, who he occasionally sleeps with. she professes to love girls, and so we all were in cheerful expectation of a nice threesome as a nightcap to our slightly drunken evening. well. my boyfriend and i were slightly drunk. she was shitfaced.
i have never had worse sex in my LIFE. or rather, i wasn’t having sex - i was fleeing from it! this girl… she’s young, and at least a drunk, if not a budding alcoholic. she was in no position to take directions. and her idea of giving a girl head was to shove her fingers in blindly (OW) and like… i don’t even know. she certainly wasn’t just licking. it HURT. she may have bitten my goddamn clit. and just in case that wasn’t enough, she would periodically stop what she was doing, and blow on my crotch, while shaking her head - like someone blowing raspberries on a baby’s stomach, i shit you not. if she whinnied, it would have been like she was a fucking horse going down on me.
WHAT. THE. FUCK.
i have no idea how anyone who claims to have fucked a lot of girls could be THIS FUCKING TERRIBLE at having sex with one.
i swear, if she wasn’t a friend of my boyfriend, i wouldn’t allow her back in my house, on general principle. no one should be that shitty at eating pussy - especially not another woman. jesus fuck. it should be criminal. unfortunately, she IS his friend - they go way back - and the sad part is, she’s a nice person. fun to be around, entertaining - although i will admit i’ve never seen her sober until this morning, when she woke up in my bed. so there’s that.
i… i foresee problems. here’s my problem: she will probably try to fuck me again. this is not good. last night i literally escaped by “needing to pee” and i didn’t come back until the two of them were finished fucking, for fear she might try to start back in on me. i was willing to pretend i’d puked and gone to bed, rather than fuck this girl anymore.
and i thought i’d had terrible threesomes before.
i actually looked at my boyfriend, at one point, and put a finger gun to my head, and pulled the trigger. that is how bad this was. i couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t horrendous. i was saying “OW!” at the top of my lungs every five minutes.
combine this lovely experience with her drinking, and i don’t think i ever want to be around her naked again - at least, not in a sexual context.
seriously, i have no idea what the fuck to do. it was so goddamn awful, and i’m definitely not fucking her again - but she is a friend, and i don’t want to be a dick and hurt her feelings. but this is a shitty dilemma to be in. i frankly don’t know what my boyfriend sees in her, as far as sex goes. maybe if i had a dick, i would enjoy it?
i bet she uses teeth with blowjobs.
HELP ME. advice is welcome - fuck knows i don’t have any brilliant ideas.
i dance for fun, now.
i put on fuzzy leggings and a sweater and a hat, and pulled on my heels just to show some of my friends how to shake ass in a proper stripper fashion, the other night.
standing in their suburban garage, on a cul de sac, just shaking my ass.
i miss being proud of stripping. when i first started dancing i had a blast. it was fun to be able to pull out that fact at parties, snag my heels, shake my ass without a care.
i can do that with my friends now, they know me. they know my history. but i wouldn’t be so keen on doing it at some random party.
these days, i wouldn’t go to a costume party and wear my stripper heels.
i’m not ashamed of me, and i’m not ashamed of dancing. i am ashamed of what dancing is like right now in this country.
but i dance for myself. sometimes i pull out my skanky little dress and my legwarmers, throw on my heels. just walk around the house, trying to recall the feeling of what it was like to LOVE dancing.
i’m trying to learn to love it again. i just don’t know how.
for now, i’ve quit being a stripper. i haven’t danced in months.
it’s just not worth it, when the money’s not there.
i’m moving to Austin, TX at the end of the year. i’ve been curious about possibly working at some of those clubs, but i want to go and see what the clubs are like, before i even entertain the possibility of working there.
i hate stripper burnout.
sure, i don’t want to have stripping be a career for me. i have other goals and plans. but i used to like stripping. i used to love it, actually.
i hate that my experiences have made me hate something i used to love.
i hope one day that i will be able to be back in the stripping world - if only for fun - and regain a positive attitude about dancing.
for now, i do hate it, which is a fucking shame.
this was submitted to http://wearethe99percent.tumblr.com/
Degree: BA in Creative Writing. I want my MFA, but I can’t afford it.
Debt: $20,000 in student loans (AFTER receiving merit scholarships that required a 3.7 GPA - I was a Cum Laude graduate.)
$10,000+ in credit card debt (from the unemployed years, part one.) I can’t afford to pay any of it. Creditors call every day.
JOB LOST: laid off by large prosperous law firm in 2009. Since then, I have not been able to find a steady job, part or full-time.
Unemployed years, part two: I WAS HOMELESS. I moved 3,000 miles away from my home to try to get a job. Any job.
Because of moving, I lost my unemployment.
The economy is worse here.
I have been trying to find a job for 2 YEARS. Not even a good job. Just A JOB. No luck.
FIRED FROM: one part-time job because i was SEXUALLY ASSAULTED and wouldn’t shut up about it. (I live in a fire-at-will state.)
My Dad: had to declare bankruptcy after over 30 years of being in business successfully. His house was foreclosed upon.
My Mom: is one paycheck away from complete disaster. My step-dad was just diagnosed with cancer. I’m terrified that this crisis is going to bankrupt them, too.
My Partner: has lost 40 pounds that did NOT need to be lost, because we can’t always afford to eat.
Me: months behind on rent.
can’t afford meds. I have no health insurance. I have no prayer of health insurance, even if I could afford it. I have preexisting conditions.
I AM A HEALTHY 27 YEAR OLD WHO CAN’T GET INSURANCE.
Medicaid won’t accept me because I can’t prove my income. Ditto for food stamps.
I only have part-time work - usually about one day a week. Sometimes, far less. I can only work when I get hired for gigs. And sometimes, the gigs just aren’t there.
I have been a stripper to pay bills & rent, and to EAT. Until that money dried up, too.
I’m overqualified for the jobs I can get, so I don’t get hired. I’m qualified for the jobs I want, but the publishing industry isn’t hiring.
We have condiments in the fridge, ice packs in the freezer. I ate yesterday because I worked a gig which fed us.
WE ARE THE 99%.
and we are being screwed.
actually, we are being FUCKED IN THE ASS.
i haven’t been dancing because not only is it not worth the money (if there is any), but i have been having such severe anxiety attacks just *thinking* about going in to the club, that it makes working impossible. (My bipolar is barely controlled; my anxiety is running rampant because the only doctor i can afford won’t prescribe me anxiety meds. why, i do not know. she just won’t. maybe she thinks i’m a drug seeker. maybe she just doesn’t care.)
There is not much that feels worse than 8 hours of work in 6 inch heels, and walking out with $60. or $20. or $3. while being naked, and constantly insulted by asinine men.
this erudite dancer hasn’t been a dancer in a long while. who knows if i will ever try again.
i’m a smart, educated person who “did everything right.” i should not be in this position. no one should be in this position. no one.
i’ll be moving again soon, because i am going to try to start again in another town, which will hopefully have a better economy.
honestly, it can’t get any worse.
Yes, these are the droids I’m looking for.
FUCK YES STAR WARS BATHING SUITS!
where, where are these things???
such good advice.
what, i’m only one of five?? ; ]
oh love, we’ve been hanging out together since college (well, we hang out on facebook now, but you know what i mean). good times, good times. you’re welcome to crush on me anytime.
i’m surprised you didn’t know i was dancing, i was during college and i wasn’t closed-mouthed about it. can’t believe i didn’t drag that whole social scene in there!
carry on, good sir. carry on. <3
i’ve lived an interesting life to date, that’s for sure.
the first guy i ever danced for (lap dance) was named Michael. he was the sweetest person, and he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable at all. he also complimented me profusely about my dancing, even my awkward first-time attempts on stage.
man was a sweetheart. if i’d had a horrible first lap dance, i probably wouldn’t have kept dancing. so really, he made all the difference in the world.
after i became so burned out that i was crying before i went to the club every time i worked a shift, i decided it was time to go.
i have never felt more relieved in my life.
for the past few months, i’ve been relying on a part-time job which is awesome, but now it’s summer. and work is tapering off.
i’ll have to get another job.
i may have to go back to stripping, for a while. at least for the summer.
i dread this more than anything.
i won’t go back to the same club. too much bad energy there, and not enough customers. i know some good friends of mine who are dancing at another club, and i may just go there, if all else fails. i’d rather get a “normal” job. one with a steady paycheck. it’s the uncertainty that i hate the most.
i’d certainly post here more if i went back to dancing.
one part of me wants to go back to dancing, if only to remind myself that i really do love it, if i make enough money. if the customers are nice. when i can lose myself on stage, amidst lots of cash.
the other part of me never wants to go into a strip club again, unless i’m a customer.
last summer, i was desperate for a job (hmm, not unlike this year), and i finally got one: on Bourbon Street (much to my dismay) - as a “go-go” dancer. it wasn’t a stripping job. i’ve done that too, as you all know; this one was worse. i was hired on at the Bourbon Cowboy. it was pure hell and misery. i had to listen to the same shitty songs every single night, and i unintentionally learned every lyric to all the country songs i’ve always wanted to forget existed. it was high summer, and the entire time i was dancing and waving those stupid 3 for 1 signs, i was dripping with sweat. i hate sweating. i’m not from the south originally, and the humidity down here makes me feel like i’m wearing a thick, wet wool blanket in 120 degree assholeness. ahem. anyhow.
last summer they also opened the Bourbon Cowboy 2 - as if one wasn’t enough. this one had a stage, and before they started having live bands, they had us “go-go” dancers dancing in the open windows. evidently i didn’t have enough opportunities while dancing in cowboy boots, cut off jean shorts, and tiny tank tops, to get harassed by every drunk idiot that walked by. at least the other Bourbon Cowboy had our little dancing stage away from the street, where bouncers could shoo away the creepy guys. they switched all the dancers back and forth between the two Cowboys, and i ended up at Bourbon Cowboy 2 a lot. the dancer “manager” hated my guts for some unknown reason, so she wanted me out of “her” club (Bourbon Cowboy).
One night, as i was dancing on their stupid stage at Cowboy 2, (three feet away from the open windows, mind you) some stupid goddamn popped-collar frat-boy douchebag LITERALLY climbed through the open window, got onto the stage, and slapped my ass SO HARD i stumbled forward a bit. i whipped around, grabbed him by his fucking collar, and followed him out of the window - choking him with his own collar. the bouncer at the door was yelling - “HEY! what the hell! WHAT DID YOU DO???” he screamed at the frat boy - because i am not the type to start choking out a guy with his own collar on a whim.
i was yelling at the popped collar douchebag - “WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU???” while alternating between pummeling and slapping him with the hand that wasn’t choking him with his collar. “i didn’t do nothin’ man, she just went all crazy on me!” he said to the bouncer. “BULLSHIT!” the bouncer and i yelled, simultaneously. the bouncer had to forcibly remove my hand from the guy’s neck, and pushed him off the sidewalk. “Get the fuck out of here!” he said. then he turned to me. “You all right?” “NO i’m not all right, that fucker just assaulted me!!!” i stormed up to management’s office, and commenced to screaming. the fucking asshole bullshit male manager basically told me that “you’re a girl on Bourbon Street, people are gonna do shit like that, what do you expect?” Well. i didn’t take that sexist bullshit lying down. i started screaming louder.
and that’s my story of how i got fired from a shitty club on Bourbon Street, because i wouldn’t take getting assaulted and sexually harassed lying down. i was glad to go. and i was even gladder to go out swinging, and choking some frat-boy dipshit with his own shirt. that part was worth every moment.