red_diary_days

Well.
Now that the website is as done as it is going to get without further input (which was my priority before getting into any other sort of project, no matter how small), it's time to shop for a better club.

Last week I was talking with the queen bee of our current establishment and being that she was drunk (and probably high) and that we were largely alone (early) she told me a lot of things that she admitted she ought not be telling me due to her political position there (she is the owner's girlfriend) concerning other clubs in the area that would be worth looking into.

Basically, all but about 3 of them are suffering hard. She outlined the rest for me, told me where they were, what the girls looked like and how much money could be made at each one. She also admitted that if she wasn't in the relationship she was in right now, that she would most definitely be working at them instead.
She encouraged me to switch over because she knows that a) they are better and b) there is money there and that c) they apparently are way more into my aesthetic than where we are now, customer-wise.
She also told me that she shouldn't be telling me all this, because if her bf found out she was sending his girls to other competing clubs, there could be ugly happening.

So!
Being that my 'schedule' there has basically been reduced to Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays (and even those are tentative sometimes, too) due to modeling and spending time with my boyfriend--I'll be applying at what the Phoenix New Times dubbed the best strip club of 2008. I hear tell that they love tiny, cute, white girls and that I would be 'snapped up by them in a second'.

There are many plusses to this that I can foresee whitout even having stepped foot in the place, and they are:

1. It's only topless.
This is good for a number of reasons; first of all it means there is booze. Secondly, I won't have to deal with teenaged dancers/customers and thirdly, I get to keep my panties on. Boobs are way awesomer than vag anyhow.
2. It is NICE. This place is classy and huge. They have the valley's only indoor smoking atrium (yes!) in which both customers and dancers can entertain in with a full view of the rest of the club as well.
3. It's more up 'my demographic' alley. More rock, less rap. More actual dancing, less attempted booty popping.
4. More money. This place is crazy popular and has tons more customers and would be more apt think I'm more entertaining than scary and weird like they do where I'm at now.
5. DAY SHIFTS. I would sooooo rather work during the day (more businessmen types) than the party atmosphere clubs have at night. The one I work at right now doesn't open till around 9pm and doesn't close until at least 2am, depending on how busy it is.

Some of these 'facts' are mostly conjecture, but the rest have been backed up by other girls I have known to work there.

So, next week, goodbye E's.T.C and hello C's.F.C!!
At least, if they hire me.
Ha.

In the meantime, I'll be doing my 2, maybe 3 day weeks at the current place until the switch.

Wish me luck, kids.

So, I'm officially sick and tired of the club I work at. I'm going to shop around for a new one. But in the meantime, I'll keep dancing and only because I have a stupid amount of debt to try to take care of (which is kind of failing miserably, more on that below).

To be honest, I'm kind of put off by the work in general, I'm thinking maybe it was just a juvenile lark and it was something I needed to get out of my system and was an easy stop-gap for my fucked up finances and that now I largely do it for my own weird amusement. I don't mind, and in fact, I rather enjoy dancing on the stage. That is the best part. What really kills me is the constant attempt at hustling, the lapdances and how other people treat me like I'm some common whore. And I'm not just talking about the customers.

But here's the catch: I know that in the short amount of time I've got left in Az, that I won't be able to find or much less get another job where I make the kind of money that is possible dancing. Oh sure, I may not like it much, but then again....I've never liked any job very much and if I have, it paid minimum wage. There doesn't seem to be a a good ground or even middle ground when it comes to finding personally satisfying employment that pays well. It's either one or the other, baby. And at least with dancing I can get paid enough to put up with idiots, retards and assholes for 8 hours whereas at other jobs I basically had to do the same thing but for substantially less money. Also, there's a lot of flexibility with dancing. Don't want to come to work? Don't have to! Don't even have to tell anyone. I can dress how I want, listen to what I want, act how I want, show up when I want, and if I'm feeling pinched enough...I can also make however much money I want, assuming I put forth the effort needed to get it out of people. But I usually don't.
But I am a shitty salesmen. I always have been, I always will be. Selling people shit has always been an ethical dilemma for me. If they want it, they'll buy it. I hate always having to try to convince people to buy shit they don't need, but that's just the hippie in me and it has been the same qualm I've always had no matter what job I was working at. The difference being that in the club, if you don't sell you don't get paid. Working retail that isn't strictly commission based, you get paid no matter what. Hustle or no. But, you'll also probably get fired for not keeping up with quotas after a while. There are no quotas here.
I think I got off track.

So, I'm AZ for only two more months. This month's rent is paid and next month M isn't charging me any, so I stand to make a lot of money in the next two months via having most of my expenses cut out (rent, electricity, internet) and having pretty free schedule for dancing (in the summer my modeling gigs....slow down or don't exist). If I dance as much as I can put up with within that amount of time, I could make some serious BANK, especially if I work at more than one club at the same time.
I'm just....SO unmotivated to do it. Like, at all. Paying off debt is so removed from my personal existence that I might as well not even bother (and I haven't since, like, November!), as I really don't see myself getting anything out of it. I mean, nothing's going to happen if I don't. My credit score is already in the toilet, I have no official wages to garnish and I don't plan on making any important/big purchases in the near future anyhow, so I'm just having a hard time trying to get myself to WANT to work towards this end when there's really nothing in it for me. See, I'll dance for my own gain, I don't have a problem with that; it's my body and if I can profit from simply putting it on display...then I'm exploiting an error in the system to better my own life...and that works for me.

But dancing just to hand all that hard earned money over to fucking creditors....kind of makes me sick.
But here is a golden opportunity for me to realistically be able to 'do the responsible thing' in this very limited window of time. I just don't see the point, especially when I could be keeping all that money and putting it to awesomer/better/more self improving uses than that. Traveling the world, moving out of Mesa, furthering my education, supporting a leisurely farm-dream lifestyle, funding my lofty creative pursuits etc etc etc.

BLARG.

I haven't danced in about 3 weeks. Like last time, it was mostly due to time constraints with my other jobs via either having actual night shifts or needing to be up at 7 am...I simply won't be dancing on those days. Logistics, case closed.
Because I have been MIA for weeks on end before without anyone even noticing or simply just not caring/saying anything, I thought it would be no problem once again when I came back last night. And I was mostly right, everyone else was glad to see me but the owner himself was thoroughly displeased.

Let's back up. A rival/neighboring club down the street had closed down in my absence and so we now have an influx of recently unemployed girls who have migrated over to our club. I had come in last night to find myself 1 out of 10 girls on the roster for the night (which is a lot given how small of a club we are/mid-week-day) and only after having been gone for a couple of weeks I only recognized 3 of them. Given this huge spike in our ranks, I figured the owner probably had more girls than he knew what to do with and wouldn't have even noticed that I was missing or cared (especially since he was in Vegas for a week!).
Well, he interrogated me as to where I'd been (as if it's anyone's business! I'm an independent contractor!) so I told him I had been busy working and then he replied with, "Look me in the face when you're lying to me." which made me want to stab him right in it. And then he proceeded to have me rattle off a list of all the places I was working instead.
Excuse me?
First of all, I'm not lying to you, ok? I know a lot of girls here rely on this as their sole means of income, but I'm not one of them, so what reason would I have for lying to you?
Secondly, don't fucking take that tone with me because while I may not make the club loads of money, otherwise I'm one of the best girls here. I give clean/legal dances, I'm polite to everyone and good terms with all the girls, I stay out of/don't start any drama and when I do show up I'm always on time and I never leave early, so you can take your high horse and shove it right up your ass.
Needless to say, this put me in a foul mood before my shift even started when I walked in the door on a little cloud thinking, "Tonight! I am going to have fun and make me some money!". Dick.

So, I hopped into a chair and went on a brooding texting spree to help elevate my mood when the show guy came in and told me I was fired. It hardly phased me, because at that point in the night, I had already made a pact with myself that if the rest of the night ended up shitty--that's it, I was going to quit. Out of sheer (dumb?) curiosity, I asked why. He shrugged his shoulders and apologized and said that the owner told him to do it. Again, I asked why and he said it was because I hadn't shown up in a couple of weeks. Well, I shrugged mine back, scoffed and began to dial up Michael to inform him/ask for a ride home when the show guy cut me short and told me that HE WAS JUST KIDDING.

So, I'm off to a great start and the first customer hasn't even walked in the door.
However, the night did turn around. I was the only girl who sold anything for something like the first 3 or 4 hours of the night, and only 3 out of 10 of us sold anything at all the whole night through and while it may not have been much, I did end up being the highest earner which is nice because for me is rare these days.

If I had to gauge the state of the overall economy on strip club economy alone, I would be horrified and scared for the future of this country's stability (moreso than I already am!). I mean, when clubs are straight up CLOSING DOWN (also, the owner has two clubs, and he is in the process of closing his other one) and/or the clubs that are open are making numbers like we did last night (MAYBE $400 for the whole club before paying the girls who sold dances. 10 girls, 8 hours. Think about it. This does not, however, include stage money, just lapdances.) you've got to be just a little concerned. But being that I only got to go up on stage maybe 3 times because of the large number of girls there, I only made maybe $20 off of it.

So.
Given the fact that I made out decent last night without further incident, I'll be staying there just as long as I don't get anymore shit from anyone (well, specifically the owner, since everyone else treats me pretty awesome). But the moment I do, I'll be saying hello to some other club.
And to be honest, the ONLY reason I'm even still dancing at all is because I still need money for Europe/moving to California. And with Bryan back in my life, the whole thing just rubs me the wrong way these days. I've got to figure something out.

Though, one highlight of the night, I must admit, was when one of the older dancers asked me, "So, you just turned 18, right?". This, I'm not surprised at hearing form younger girls who haven't cultivated a sense of determining other people's ages yet, but it takes me aback when I hear it from somebody who is clearly 30+.

So much more to report. But later.

"He thought part of me must have hated men even to start working as a stripper. He told me my body was private. I told him it wasn't; I would be looked at sexually whether I acquiesced or not. He said I was cynical and defeatist. I told him dancing silently for strangers was easier than one might think.
...
Any of my male peers could casually mention that he had seen a stripper at a bachelor party or that an employer had taken him to a strip club, without raising an eyebrow. But I had participated in the same relationship, one that men could talk about openly, and I felt silenced. I couldn't tell most of my friends or family, and I could never tell an employer. For a man to say he had paid a stripper was unremarkable, but for me to say that I had been one changed other people's perceptions of me permanently."

( Part 4 )

"The sexual morality I grew up with was rife with inconsistency. It had words to insult promiscuous women but not men, it ticketed strippers but not their customers. It imposed on women, far more than on men, an intricate code of modesty that came down to a few inches of fabric, and then read a woman's clothing or lack thereof as an indication of character. I didn't want the morality that said I must cover my body, and that if I didn't I was responsible for whatever came my way. I didn't want the morality that said I should be coy and shameful about sex."

Next book: Working Sex: Sex Workers Write About a Changing Industry.

I haven't danced in something like 2 weeks.
With the BF coming to town, modeling in night classes and building these websites, I simply haven't had the time.
It's nice to have a job with that kind of flexibility AND not have to justify your actions/answer to anyone for them.
I don't have to tell anyone I'm not coming in, or why. I don't have to tell them when I'll be back. I just show up when I want to and not when I don't. The trade-off? It's your money you're not getting when you don't work. But hey, it's worth it.

However, I think I'll go back tonight, seeing as how I paid my rent yesterday and will probably need to pay it next month too. (I would have gone last night except that I have sworn off Saturday nights, as they're just not compatible with my groove).
Ha!

Also, I think I've (possibly incorrectly) been able to separate strippers into 2 different categories: those who wear clear shoes...and those who don't. The characteristic distinctions can be vague in attempting to explain, but they're obvious when you're 'in the shit'.

Boy howdy, I will need to do some serious stretching.

Oye.
Apologies for not writing much at all this week.
I've been so busy with the schools, doing this boring ass website and dancing to really have a chance to sit down and crank some stuff out. I barely have time to sleep.
But here is a quickie just to sate you in between posts with any substance/merit.

A) I don't know what the fuck is wrong with our patrons, but no matter how the night is going "I Hope You Die" by the Bloodhound Gang is always my best stage song of the night, money-wise. I suppose they just love to be mocked? Or, as I suspect along with most of my other song choices: the irony is lost on them completely and they "just like the beat, yo".

B) I want this outfit:


That is all.
Back to the grind.
Real updates coming soon.

"And I was tempted to see sex work as more of a symptom of social illness than a cause. The sex biz was nothing more than a sophisticated arbitrage operation, dealing in morals rather than financial instruments. The greater difference between the sort of sex people wanted and the sort that was socially sanctioned, the more business thrived. It exploited the spread between lust and deeply ingrained social expectation. At some point, women had become artificially divided into two types--the good and childbearing ones, carefully trained to disdain sex so that they wouldn't stray, and a separate pro-sex class. The second group were despised and disparaged so that the good women wouldn't want to join them. One group of women ended up with respect but no freedom, and the other with freedom but no respect....I don't think the divide between the two types of women would go away until all girls were raised to be free, responsible and unashamed of sex. And until society had bridged the sex-ed gap--porn for boys and religion/romance for girls--there would always be Lusty Ladies."

( Part 3 )

"Here, I was in control, relieved of the notion that my very nature put me in danger. I was free from all the terrible whispered things men would allegedly do to me, free from the message that I should travel in male company, free from the leaflets on my new campus that read, simply, "Men Rape". I had stared down on the worst men had to offer, and it wasn't threatening at all. I was in charge here, and it was because of, not depsite my sexuality."

Slow nights allow more leeway in the types of music I can get away with dancing to.
For instance, last night afforded me with the pleasure of the following:
-Dick in a Box (Lonely Island)
-Chasey Lane (Bloodhound Gang)
-Everyday Normal Guy (Jon LaJoie)
Those were sprinkled into the night's 'normal' Weezer, MGMT, Ting Tings, Goldfrapp, Billy Idol, Spacehog setup.

I love being able to test the boundaries of what I can and cannot get away with. Basically, if the place isn't bumpin, and the song isn't less than 2 1/2 - 3 minutes long, it's a free for all.

I will post my complete playlist very soon. It's fun.
Admittedly, not the sexiest thing ever, but fun.

"My aversion wasn't visceral. Rather, I felt a fear of getting caught. I wasn't opposed to being viewed, I was opposed to others knowing that I allowed it, which showed an immature submission to received morality. So most of my discomfort came from worry over what others would think, and it was my willingness to join in what the men were doing that I knew I would be looked at askance. There was very little stigma to attached to being a passive sex object. Images of the legs, breasts, and lips of strangers suffused my life thoroughly, from billboards to magazines to television. Far from shaming the bodies' owners, society made the, starlets, supermodels, and video queens, glorifying them with money and fame.
Yet, to actively pursue sex object status--to say, 'Okay, I agree, please look at me'--in this I felt as if there was reproach. The difference between a stripper and a woman modeling bathing suits was that the stripper acknowledged her intention to arouse, whereas the model could pretend ignorance. I felt uneasy at the sight of all these men because I crossed the line from passivity to engagement."

( Part 2. )

Parts 3 and beyond: later.

I think I enjoyed this book more than Burana's from an intellectual point of view, but what it lacks is emotional insight. I appreciate the clinically sterile and cold logical approach to the subject matter that she uses to describe her experiences, but it could get a little dry at times. Though, probably the most thorough book I have read about stripping.

( Part 1. )

I've never been one to be at the front lines of fashion or style, but other people's transgressions against logic and good taste concerning it can send me into a middle school meltdown. The strip club is ripe with things that, if I were the Fashion Police, would land some unfortunate women in the gas chamber.

Offender #1: Unused garters.
Hi. You know those little dangly things that are hanging off of the bottom of your skirt/panties/elaborate thong/tiny dress with nothing attached to them? Perhaps you've wondered what they were for. Or perhaps you didn't, as is more likely the case (I just have to assume, given 90% of the girls at the club do not understand my leg tattoos).
Well, those serve a purpose, a utilitarian one. See the plastic connectors at the bottom? Yup. Those. Once upon a time, those were used for holding up thigh high stockings before elastics, lycra and spandex were invented to hold them up on their own. And what's even stranger is that you're not even wearing stockings of any sort at all! Whyyyyyy are you doing this to me? If you're not going to use them, please do me a big favor and just remove them. They looks stupid and so do you, like you forgot to put on the rest of your outfit.

Offender #2: Hammertoe.
You know it. You've seen it. And it makes you vomit.
Ladies, the edges of your shoes are not mere suggestions as to where you feet should be situated within the shoe. And, that is the key word here: IN the shoe. If your toes are hanging off/out of the front of your shoes, they're the wrong size. I know you covet the tiny, bound feet of the ancient Chinese, but a) you're doing it wrong and b) it looks horrible. Please stop. I know you spent over $600 getting your toenails hand airbrushed and embellished with tiny rhinestones, but all of that work is negated if they're not neatly tucked into a pair of comfortably fitting shoes. Shit, maybe that's why you insist on having them hang over the front edge, so everyone can see your awesome toenails. Ah, mystery solved.

More to come.

Last night was so dead and there were 10 girls on. I only got to go on stage 4 times.
But! The less people that are in there, the more cheek/obscurity you can get away with regarding your song selections.
My sets were:

-On a Boat
-Natalie Portman rap
(The Lonley Island)

-Code Monkey (Jonathan Coulton)
-Buddy Holly (Weezer)

-Stagger Lee
-Loverman
(Nick Cave)

-Big Poppa
-Hypnotize
(Notorious B.I.G)

More later; I have a website commission to sort out with my dad's boss. Also, need to pay rent.

My first instinct when tackling anything unknown to me is to approach it from a strictly academic point of view first. It's the only thing I really know how to do with any degree of competence and I enjoy digging myself into a stack of books. I was always the booksmart asshole, thinking that I can experience or fully understand something personally just because I read it somewhere. I still am. But we all know that nothing can ever truly be known that way. Still, it's a hard habit to break and it certainly cushions the landing, if nothing else.
Before getting into this business firsthand, I had to read up on the subject. It was difficult finding material because 99% of the women who work in this craft are a solidly silent majority, and unfortunately it's not because they choose to be, but because they have no thoughts on the matter or no desire to impart them. At least, publicly. Because they have had such a huge impact on shaping and forming and/or reinforcing my already held notions about stripping, I would like to share some of the more striking passages from all of the books I have read on the matter, from time to time. Hopefully, they'll shed some light into my trains of thought in a simpler fashion than my overly prolix rambling.

( Read it! )

The nude body, male or female, is not an inherently sexual thing in and of itself.
It only becomes one when the intent of its display is made clear via context and/or environment.
But sometimes, even these lines can become muddled.

For instance, I am a nude model for art schools, and a large amount of my time is spent around teenagers (yes, they have live nude models in high school art classes). For me to believe that my display isn't erotic to some of them on some level would be ridiculous. Some of those kids are definitely getting boners. On the flip-side of that coin, when I am in the strip club with my legs up in the air and my panties around my ankles, and I am probably killing the boner of the guy who was salivating over the girl who was just on stage before me. Different strokes (please mind the pun) for different folks.

The context of your nudity doesn't always guarantee its desired end result.

In terms of objectification, nudity isn't even a prerequisite 95% of the time. I probably get hit on and harassed by way more people outside of the club than I do inside of it.
The difference being is that inside of the club, I am in control of my sexual objectification, and it is, in fact, my intent. I am there to be a sexual object and turn the tables by openly, unashamedly flaunting it and making men pay for the privilege to become an active participant in an exchange, as opposed to having to cover myself up head to toe out on the street and ignoring the constant cat-calls, car honks and ride offers. Out on the street, you are really at their mercy. You may be visible, yes, but not necessarily on display. You are not parading around in a sparkly bikini offering yourself to whoever is around, you are walking to the grocery store fully clothed in sunglasses and headphones and this does not stop them.
In the club, you are safe. If some guy gets the wrong idea and puts his hands on you, the situation can be diffused and the perp taken care of. Outside, you have fend for yourself, which is especially frustrating since you are not inviting the sexualization of your person in any way.

The underlying problem here, I think, is the misguided notion of "power" over us that men seem to think is either their inherent "right" or is just something that is natural. Or both.
The reason why it is so easy to pick up a guy out in public is because he thinks he is the one who is conquering and succeeding over you (as if you were some sort of unattainable thing), and also over all of his rival male competition, to think he has some sort of leg-up on the situation.
It can be incredibly hard to sell lapdances in a strip club because of this fact.

One might think (as I did, mistakenly) that in a strip club, if you're there and you're hot, guys will be flocking to you to get a piece of that action.
Because you are there in a capacity to be accessible, attainable and available to every single male who walks in the door, that illusion of 'male power' is diminished.
They no longer feel as though they have anything to offer you that you can't get from the guy sitting next to him and as a result they can no longer feel that by 'getting you' they have achieved anything.
This is an important part of the psychology behind the strip club and the male psyche, this is also why they desperately try to pick you up, get your phone number, pay you to do 'extra' things, take you home at the end of the night, etc, because they need to know that they can do/have something (or some part of you) that other men can't. They want it. They need it. They feel inadequate without it, and undermining their supposed prowess or virility is insulting and is not going to convince them that you are worth what you are trying to sell.
This line of reasoning also lends itself to why most guys would be opposed to their significant other being a stripper.
It's possessive, it's territorial, it's a vague form of 'ownership' to forbid an adult with free will from doing something, and it is largely ingrained in all men. There are exceptions, of course, but they are few and far between.

Next: emotional ownership vs. monetary ownership: how we almost always exchange our sexuality for something in return and its varying levels of stigma/acceptance.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote, "The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposing ideas in the mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function."

Attempting to write a treatise on feminism and sex work provides a unique challenge when the only side of that study you're acquainted with is the feminism.
Looks like I'll have to do some first hand research.
Wish me luck.