Ants IN YOUR PANTS! And other places.

The other night when Shea (who's stripper name is now officially Monster Bitch - a whole other post) spread an entire pack of wheat crackers across my living room floor and couch, I caught myself staring at this crummy disaster, and wearily thinking "if I leave it overnight, the ants will clean up at least half of it for me". This is not a sentence I pictured myself saying when I pictured future nicki in Oz way back in 2012. At least not daily.  Queensland continues to amaze me.

I've caught myself thinking about these ants quite a lot lately.  Its hard not too. They are literally possibly in every square centimetre of house.  Leave a speck of food anywhere and I guarantee these ants are going to be checking it out.  They love meat. Sweet flesh, any kind, or juice of meat even.  They can smell it from the other side of the house, I swear.  Poison them?  Ok, but their cousins will have moved in within 2 days, tops.  Thank god they're teeny tiny.  They aren't scary in the least and I've never had one bite me ever.   I'm grateful for this, because what's going on here is a forced co-existence.  When I go to wipe the counter-top, I tap it first with my finger, then wait and watch for the 20 or 30 seconds it takes for them all to scurry off.
All creatures, great and small.

But still, it pisses me off when they suicide bomb the honey.
 

The Last 6 Weeks

Well holy shit time has flown!   September's half over and the closest I've come to writing about it was a 2 minute attempt on a borrowed laptop with one big problem: a french keyboard.  Too many switched keys equals a typing mindfuck and I gave up.

First off, let me say that the current economic slowdown has hit the northeast coast in a big way!  Used to making a grand a night, (a figure so SO many girls bemoan) ?  You're happy with far less than that now.  In some places, my earnings have been down by a third, and that's with me actually becoming a better dancer and a way more experienced hustler.  There just isn't the same easy flow cash of the resource boom. The resource boom has banged, and all we are making do with now is some weak echos and a pause, and a hope for another boom as soon as possible.

That being said, this occupation is worth its weight in GOLD to me for the sheer staggering amount of first time experiences.  For example?  This past weekend, I was a proud member of a 4 girl-high stack of nakedness performing "the octopus".  8 waving legs; it was epic.  I was 2nd girl on the tier, but barely registered weight pressing down on me because I was giggling so hard.

The simultaneously easiest and hardest time at work was those 14 days I spent away down South. The money is still easier there, so long as you can actually carry a conversation for 3 minutes. I made a KILLING. The men outnumber the women in that town quite a bit and the miners are especially appreciative.  Its the first time I ever got an "appearance tip" (For those who don't know, as I didn't until then, that's a bit of money just for being there and looking good.  I got $20.) But no amount of money in the world stopped me from missing hubby and bubs.  Spending my birthday away from both of them was sad and difficult, and I won't want to do that again anytime soon.  However, even though 14 days was challenging and felt like an eternity, I'm booked in again on October 2nd, and I'll go back again and again as often as I can in the near future.  Its the best money for time out there at the moment, and with hubs out of work, we need it.

I've met more interesting people than you can shake a stick at, coworkers and customers alike.  The man who tossed doobie-shaped bills rolled and tucked neat enough to fly through 20 feet of bar space.  He would literally launch them from the bar and have them land at your feet on stage.  The stripper who has low self confidence, and self-medicates by visiting remote war torn regions to prove her awesomeness and strength to herself.  Stripping merely bankrolls the travel.   White trash, and high class, the seedy underground draws it all in, and if you stay in the circuit for even a few months, you can be roommates with BOTH ends of the spectrum. Hooray.

Hubs is settling into his role of stay at home dad.....rather uneasily, but I suspected that it would take time.  He's had a moment or eight in the last few weeks as his worldview adjusts, but I know he will survive.   Providing for all three of us and our dreams puts a bit more pressure on me and has caused a bit of anxious pondering on my part, but mostly I try to stay positive and remind myself that even in the worst of depressions, sex always sells.

Aside from that, all I've been doing is knitting like a mad thing for Christmas presents, TRYING to house train and socialize this monster we adopted, and lying to the mother's groups about pretty much my entire current life.  

Actually, that last part has gotten so difficult and guilt-ridden that I've nearly stopped going altogether.  The all mommy talk ends up getting to me after a while and I just want to leap up and announce "so I watched a girl light her bikini area on fire with shaving cream two nights ago, then make 150 bucks.  What'd y'all get up to?"

Fuck This Town

I'm so over this place.  Hubs has his last shift on Friday, we are getting a bit of flack from our semi-senile, shingle covered landlord about Shea being an indoor dog instead of a yard dog, and my phone has been silent for weeks.  I have been away too often to socialize regularly, and I think I've fallen through the cracks.  I just want this place in my rear-view mirror.  I fantasize about a Christmas spent in limbo, camping/touring/stripping our way to Adelaide and back.  I wonder how much we would need to save to comfortably explore some 4,000 km of coastline.  Working away these past twelve days, I earned as much as Hubby would in over two months.  If we were going to be hippies ever in our young days, now is the time.

Out the Other End

Hooray, we all survived the 12 days!! Hubs make it through his first really long stretch of solo parenting (although it hospitalized him in the end. - more on that one later)  I made it through an emotional birthday away from my family and everyone I know, and Shea recovered from her spaying and is a completely different dog from the one I left behind.  No more moping!! She's like a little rip tear machine around the  yard now!  Presley learned to say "Yes" and is honing his "shea shea" which currently sounds like "Yesh yesh"

I have so much to write about after my 12 day adventure.  No internet throughout the time, and no computer access at all means I have like 45 little bullet notes on my ipod I now want to type out and expand upon in more detail.  But of course, that takes time, and today's to-do list is alarmingly long.  I'll get to it over the next couple days.  I'm pretty excited about it actually.  It was an eventful time.  A lot of good stuff happened.

For now, Bubs has just given his "woke up from my nap mum" yell, so I'm off.

Dear Mr. Lovesick

Dear Rodney.
Dear Blondie.
Dear Sweet, Awkward 19 year old.

I think we are approaching this from slightly different realities.  I can't assume to know what your reality looks like, but here's what is going on in mine.

If we met within these walls, in this dim lit thumping box of sweat and music, with the sticky carpets and the stage, when I look at you

All I see is money.

We aren't going to be lovers, we aren't going to exchange digits, or meet at any of the wonderful locations I'm sure this town can offer.  We aren't even really going to be friends, (but I'll pretend to be interested in what you have to say, like a friend would.)

In short, there is no relationship.  Its just part of the fantasy the club offers.  It is not real.  And after this dance, despite whatever wonderful adventures you have offered me, your face will lose clarity, and be gone by the time I shake the next hand.

I hope this helps clear things up for you.

Sincerely,

N

Reality

This week has been hectic and full on, so I haven't had time to dwell on it. Or perhaps, I wouldn't let myself.  I can't ignore what's going on for much longer though.  I leave in less than 5 hours.

Twelve. TWELVE days away from my little family.  The longest I have ever done, times 3.  Longer, actually, when you factor in the day of driving round trip. So 13! :(

So. Long.   I know I will be busy, but wandering around my house this afternoon while Prezzer naps, gathering up all the stuff I'll need on this trip I'm actually feeling quite sad.  Hubs just came home for his lunch break, a perk we won't have for much longer once he switches jobs.  He gave me a big cuddle, told me to watch out for roos on the road, and we repeated the mantra "12 days isn't too bad" and I hope its the truth.

I cope by pre-portioning 12 doggie bags with food and laying out 12 outfits on the red table for bubs, prepackaged food for day care and bachelor nights.  I take a million pictures of Pres on my i-pod, trying to capture just a few of the awesome faces my little one can pull.  I tell myself not to be so goddamn melodramatic.

Butt Naked and ...

I've already got my exit dance planned.  The last stage I think I will ever be doing, on the eve of my retirement.  Well, I've got one detail planned:

-I'm going to dance barefoot.  The damned sexy shoes we strap onto our feet are a bitch to dance in! I can't get the fluidity, the sensuality that being barefoot provides when I'm wearing 7" of plastic.  Its an actual physical disadvantage, and a cynical part of me wonders if there is a subconscious pleasure in seeing women flounder about with that hindrance on their legs.

Note the horrible state of my toe nails, which I didn't notice until after I took this pic.
   I'm very overdue for a pedicure!

Anyway, club rules and hygiene risks be fucked.  On my last night, no matter where I am, I'm doing that final stage barefoot.  They'll have to drag me off stage with one of those shepherd's hooks!  I can't wait.


 Practicing at home now to Queens of The Stone Age, who I absolutely LOVE.  (Thanks Hubs, for the introduction to the band)

Dear Daycare

Dear Childcare Worker Person

First of all, thank you.

Thank you for watching the Pres-ler this week, all those hours that you did.  He was happy on Thursday afternoon despite the shitty diaper he'd been sitting around in.  And when I arrived to get him today and some other boy twice his age was dragging him around by his pant leg, he hardly cried at all. I saw firsthand this weekend the hours you ladies work. There's a LOT of baby-ness craziness that goes on in that place in the afternoons, and man, kudos to you.  I barely cope with one, so I dunno how you do it all day long.

Thank you for providing care even though, technically because I was at home this week with no real plans or obligations, I didn't need Presley to be in day care at all. Thank you for giving me that break.  Want to know what I did for roughly half my hours of freedom ? I alternated between sleeping and dozy daydreams, in a darkened room with a heater blanket on.  Four hours. I think I'll call it cocooning.  And man do you come out of it feeling like a different person!

3 p.m. on my second day of cocooning was when my guilt caught up with me.  Rather abruptly too, sneaky bastard.  One minute I was fine, the next I was all "What am I doing leaving my bubba on the other side of town so I can watch afternoon t.v.?" and "Where are my car keys?"

Motherhood, Child Care Worker Person will actually change the way logic works for you. Be warned.

Anyway, thanks for the break from reality, the chance to laze around and knit like a mutha-fucka when I was awake.  I think you're underpaid as a profession, but I'm still upset about your accidentally charging us full price for 3 weeks and never saying a goddamn word about it.  Its an internal conflict.

Thanks to whoever taught him to blow raspberry kisses today. That one's super cute :)

A Religious Experience

Hubs' tax refund came in earlier than expected, so he's off to the Big Smoke to buy us a family car (hoooooraaayyy 4 doors and a working horn!)  Presley normally spends Thursdays and Fridays in daycare because that's when I'm away taking all my clothes off in dimly lit rooms while Hubs works a day shift.  However, since Hubbalicious is away on an extended weekend of car comparing and bargaining (as well as some boozing with long lost buddies, lets be honest), I get to stay home with Presley for the next four days.  BUT, when I called the daycare, they said we would be billed whether or not Prez attended his regular days, since they need 14 day's notice for scheduled absences.

Huh.  Well, if I'm going to pay strangers to watch bubs either way.....  And that's how I came to be alone at home with Shea, for NINE DELICIOUS HOURS two days in a row.

Its one thing to be baby free in a stripper house for a couple days, but this is different.  This is my own home, with all the creature comforts I love. It's awesome! I hardly know what to do first.  Maybe a 40 minute shower? Maybe a nap!

How to take advantage of Drunken Ass-hattery.

Some nights at the club just smell like no money.  You can sense it by 11:00 p.m. and unless there's a strange turnaround, you walk out with a mere couple hundred bucks for 10 hours' work.  That can be pretty disheartening.  However, I've picked up some good tips from other dancers recently, and today's tip involves turning binge drinking into a clear profit for you, changing a shit night into an ok one.

It goes like this:

Step One - Find the loudest, drunkest table in the room.  I find this trick works even better if there are a few ladies in the group too (more on that later)

Step Two - Approach.  Be above average charming, witty, energetic and positive.  Importantly do not mention the possibility of lap dances!!! You want to come across as a party girl, not a dancer at this point.  This group isn't looking for sexy dances, they are looking to get DRUNK.

Step Three - As soon as you notice drinks getting low, offer to pick up the next round of drinks for the table from the bar.  Don't ask for a drink for yourself.  95% of the time they will offer anyway.

Step Four - Fetch drinks.  This is the most work you will do, and most often it involves walking less than 20 feet to the bar.  Order the required drinks, and a soda water with lime for yourself.  Charge the table for the drinks they ordered, AND one for yourself.  Pocket the $10-15 for "your" drink, and make sure you and only you drink your water so that the table never knows the difference.  Ask the bar for as much change as they can give you, and the rest in small bills like 5's.

Step Five - Serve drinks. Serve the ladies first, shake your ass, make a big show of being a sexy server.  When you present the change to whoever got that round, do not hand it to the guy (or girl).  Leave it all sitting on the tray and extend the tray towards the dude so he has to pick it up himself.  Most of the time, this will net you a tip.  I've very rarely served drinks and made no tip.  If the tightwad does take all the change, usually a cheeky smart-ass comment will have someone else tipping you anyway.  Sit with the table, sip your water, be a fun time, and before you know it, it will be time to fetch the next round. Repeat as necessary.

Now I know $15-$30 doesn't seem like much, but if you sit with this table for an hour or so, that's 4 or 5 rounds, and all those tips add up. Otherwise you'd just be sitting off in a corner somewhere staring into space thinking about how crap the night is, wouldn't you?

And you know what? The drunker these people get while you remain sober, the more money there is to be made.  Often times I've had two people pay for the same round of drinks, once as I left to get them and once again when I brought them back.  NEVER correct them when they do this! That's money straight in your stripper bag. Consider it a tip.  Two Saturdays ago, it was dead as could be, and I sat with 5 people who announced straight away as I arrived that they were not interested in lap dances, and that they were just here for a few drinks and to watch the stage.  I told them that was fine since I didn't feel like giving lap dances anyway.  By the end of two hours, sipping water and fetching them drinks had netted me just under $300, and in the end two of the group got a lappy anyway.

The moral of the story is that as long as you are flexible, fun, friendly and SWITCHED ON there is money to be made in a club any night you are there.  You just need to sniff it out, that's all.  Just remember to act increasingly intoxicated ;-)

Good luck!

Fallout

Surprise, surprise, stripping isn't all Dom Perignon and diamond necklaces.  This week I was sad to learn that one of my fellow co-workers had separated from her fiance because of her job.  I'm sure there were other factors too, but when push came to shove and he said "me or your work" she chose her work.  And there she was, Friday night, topless waitressing in a packed bar, fake smile plastered firmly across the lower half of her face, and all the weight and sorrow of her world dark beneath her eyes.

I want to write a really insightful piece about how if you have the right combination of trust and communication you and your partner can actually have a stronger relationship when you strip.  I can't today though.  Milena's eyes keep popping into my mind. I thought her and her fiance were one of those lucky couples that had it all, and turns out they didn't. I hope she's ok.

I'm home now, settling back into family life after a few nights away in that now-familiar mining town.  The work wasn't hard this week.  A few half-hour fantasies fell into my lap, and I got lucky with a couple chatty cats who kept my for an hour or more. I made my minimum goals with very little effort.  There was personal fallout, however.  Hubby is feeling the strain of holding up the domestic end of things while I've been gone. Our lovely little puppy is a whirlwind of chewing disaster when nobody's home, and I didn't get a crate until yesterday, so she had all of Thursday and Friday to trash the house.  I can't believe the amount of things she ATE!!! (shoes, diapers, pumpkin skin to name a few) By the time I got home Hubs was a pressure cooker of frustration waiting to explode.  Lately I've been a mother first, a stripper second and a wife last, and it isn't doing good things to his mindset. 

Long and short of it is that despite the awesome money to be had, I'm not working next weekend.  I need some time with our little family before I leave for my 2 week shift down South, and Hubs needs some quality time with his wife.  

As for our "alternative swinging lifestyle"?  Haha.  Can you still call yourself swingers if you have only had sex with each other for months on end? 

On the plus side, we did sneak out to the in-laws place and have sex on their front steps while they weren't home.  Maybe that makes us "naughty steppers" instead. 

A new family member!

Life is funny sometimes.  Hubs and I have spent months and months talking about getting a dog, the pros and cons of one now vs waiting, the type we want, age, sex, etc. and how we would fit a canine into our life plan.  I've been pining quite a bit. I grew up with animals and have never gone longer than a month without a pet in the house.  These last nine months have probably been pretty annoying for hubby, since I've been prone to whining about it, dropping obscenely obvious hints ("I had the best dream last night honey, and it involved the RSPCA") and at some times, practically begging.  But, since we plan on traveling after this six months is up, and we don't know where or for how long, we both kind of sort of agreed that a dog wasn't a good idea at this present time.

Haha. Thus the funny. Because now we have one.

Meet   Shea!!. 

(Pronounced Shay) Her papers say she is a "Blue Staffy" but she looks more like an ashy brown to me.  She's settling in ok, although this kind of sad, weary look has been the norm for the last 24 hours.  I understand. I mean, the home we got her from had quite a few dogs roaming around in a big social pack, and she has gone from being a  yard dog to an indoor house dog with no puppy friends.  Its a big change, so I expected some moping.

The place we got her from had "sketchy pet ownership" written all over it.  For one, none of their animals were fixed, including Shea. (We will be sorting that out quick-smart)  All the dogs were friendly enough, but when I asked whether or not Shea likes fetching and how she heels on a leash the female owner replied "Oh, I don't know. I don't do that sort of stuff with her."   Um. You don't walk her?

So yeah there were some signs that this girl might need some behavioral work, and that she most likely is covered in fleas, but she comes across as a very low-energy type, was a sweetie with Presley, and when I took her for a walk, even though you could tell she had never been taught how to heel, she took any new situation very calmly.  Now that we have her in our own home, Prez has been crawling all over her and bopping her affectionately on the head and she doesn't even flinch.  We have a check up at the vet this afternoon just to make sure the girl's all hunky-dory, but I think we will be a-okay.

You know what I didn't miss while pet-starved?  Waiting for the little critters to poop while on a walk! Last night took forever!  I'd forgotten all about those 5-10 minutes of "c'mon hurry up please this is the third spot you've checked out, POO ALREADY!" 

An Unexpected Job Requirement

Turns out, you can't just be there and pretty at a club to make money.  You need a serious amount of critical reasoning and social agility.  You need to be able to flex into the "persona on offer" that each different male (aka potential customer) is after.  If you do this, if you are mentally switched ON at work and pay attention to the cues put out, you will make more money, because you can be the girl he is willing to spend it on.

That's a large part of the reasoning behind this blog.   There's only a few posts on it, and I wish there was more because I learned so many new ideas and approaches from a couple of them.   Last week, I was deliberately 100% present at work, especially in the first half hour which we spend downstairs mingling with men who haven't paid to come upstairs yet.  I learned names, and I tried to guess/suss out motivations.  Why were they each here?  I found a bachelor party and subsequently landed a booking as soon as the doors to the club opened at 8.  Man, this shit works.  And the best part for me is that as a result, I spend a lot more time asking the guys about themselves, and a lot less time talking about myself, a topic I really do not want them delving too deeply into.

I know I made more money as a result, and I am pretty grateful to have stumbled upon some good advice.  Who knew how intellectual this job could get!?!?

I wanna be a Thousandaire, so frikin bad.

Man, I'd settle for a couple grand extra in the bank, any day.  I don't need millions. I'm not greedy.

Last Saturday, I met an aging ex-stripper working the sales counter at a sex shop.  She said in her day, working a "high end gentlemen's club" in Brisbane, she would make a minumum (minimum, mind you, she was careful to emphasize) of 8 or 9 grand in a 3 night work week.  Part of me hopes this is just a big exaggeration, like a fishing story from decades back that you only half remember.   I mean, that's just unfair.  When I look at that number, and stick it up there next to what I'm making it makes me sad.

If I made 8 or 9 grand a week, I could buy all the spontaneous presents I see and want to get for Hubs.  A spear fishing kit, for example.  If I made 8 or 9 grand a week, I could fly my whole family over in less than a month's work and I totally would! I don't care that I'd have to answer a few awkward questions about that amount of money.  (Maybe I could just tell them I won a small lotto and am now a thousandaire.)   If I made 8 or 9 grand I would have a house keeper.  Not a live in, wear a sexy apron kind (although......) just someone to visit twice a week and make this place effortlessly spotless.  I'd be happy to fork over the required cash.

So, universe.  A return to the heady, chashed-up days of the mining boom, please?  

Go to SLEEP little demon. I mean, darling.

I think I've discovered the number one negative aspect of my being away so much lately:  Prezley's sleep skills are degenerating.  I suspect its because, unlike me, the daycare/babysitter/daddy are all too happy to just pick him back up out of the cot if he winges for 5 minutes or so.  Obviously it means he doesn't need a nap, right?

Oh, so wrong.

That's what I did yesterday.  Then he fussed again, so I put him back down, he cried and complained for 15 minutes, and I picked him up again.

And put him down 20 minutes later.

And picked him up after 15 minutes of complaining.

It was a cycle that didn't break until 11:45.  By this point, I was completely exhausted, drained, angry, frustrated.  None of those emotions are things I want to feel on one of my only full days with bubs.   So this morning when he gave those first signs of being tired, I morphed back into 4 month old mode, put him down and was content to let myself listen as he protested.  (ok, I wore earplugs)  It isn't a loud pain-driven scream, just a low constant muttering. It lasted half an hour, and he only just fell asleep now.  GRRRR!! I already went through this, already did the hard part of establishing that you go in your crib, you go to SLEEP.  End of story.  But now, when I'm responsible for about 1/3 of the care he receives on a work week, it all goes to shit.

I'm going to have to talk to the daycare/baby sitting lady this week.  I find Mondays hard enough without a no-sleep demonic 11 month old.

I literally just had this conversation

Me               You have gotten a lot better at washing dishes too.

Hubs            I've always been good at washing dishes.

Me                No.  Remember, I  used to have to put half of them back in the water.

Hubs             No you didn't.

Me                Did too!  There was always food still stuck to them!

Hubs             Yeah, but the food had been washed too, so....

Garfield was a Stripper

Of course he was! He hated Mondays with a passion, and now I understand why:

  Because they SUCK!

Sundays I travel home, sleep on the bus, meet daddy and bubs at the car and we all make the drive to the house.  Its half adrenaline, half excitement at seeing them again that gets me through those last 2 hours on the bus.  I should be sleeping at that point, not jostling about with drunk Irish backpackers with ukuleles.  I pay for that on Monday.

Mondays, hubs is up and off, mercifully at 8 now, not 7. But still.  By 7:45 he is gone and its just bubs and I and a lot of laundry.  (How do they make so much? Its a mystery.)  Each and every Monday morning I feel like a sloth with a tequila hangover.  My body is still adjusting to the 12 hour switcharoo I am playing and unlike at the stripper house where I can sleep off the dozy bit, here there is stuff to DO.  And of course, a baby who is now go-go-go. Today Hubs wanted me to print off his resume/cover letter at the library. A mere 900 metre walk away.  It didn't happen.  I just could not stomach the idea of hauling my tired sore grumpy self that far and dealing with people.

Its 4 now.  It took until 3 p.m. for me to feel normal-ish again.  I'm afraid that this is going to be a regular occurrence.

Hmmmm? Is it weird that I want to change my stripper name to Garfield?  Everyone always forgets Nikki anyway....

Cram-a-lam

You can squish a lot of stuff into one week, if you want to.

Ask Presley
This week Prez learned to say "fffff" stand up and balance suspended in the air for an exhilerating 3-5 seconds, scoot feet first off our bed on his own and a whole wack of other cool things.  I celebrate these moments quietly to myself and try to write as many down as possible, because I know this time in his life is going to fly past in a blink.

Ask Hubby
After returning from our vacation, hubs learned that his position as floor manager simply "no longer existed".  Its a slippery way of demoting someone, and it stung that they did so without a) warning or b) personal delivery by any of his 4 bosses, all of whom we considered friends.  BUT, despite the fact that he no longer got a phone and car bonus, they assured him his pay would not be lowered.  So even with an insulting kind of  sneaky snake move like that, if he was going to be paid the same to essentially do less work, we were happy to grin and bear it for the next six months.
This week they told him that actually, the pay would drop.  By 20%.  He had until Monday to decide about the new contract.

I wrote a nice resignation letter for him, and an even more kick-ass cover letter for a job opening the Council is trying to fill.  Taz dropped it off and told his bosses "Thanks, but no thanks."  He'd rather dig holes for more money, happily for the next 6 months.

Personally, I don't mind if he just got a part time job somewhere and watched Amelia while I worked, even traveling with me every so often.  No doubt he will find something to do.  We have 5 months left on this lease to figure out what we want to do After Small Town.

So that's a big turnaround from "we may or may not stay here" to "fuck you guys, I'm living anywhere but here" in a week.

Ask Me
Despite a massive Greyhound fail that resulted in my being stuck on the side of the road in the middle of the Australian inland nothing-ness for four hours and missing Thursday night, I managed to squeeze enough hustling into 2 nights to earn roughly twice what I used to in a week back home.

More on work in a post later.   Guess what else we did!! We picked a guy for our first 2-guy threesome!  Well, we soft-picked him, it isn't cast in stone because we haven't met face-to-face yet.  But still, its been quite a process and actually a lot of fun to go about saying "Hello internet world. I want to fuck.  Any takers?". I feel very safe because of Hubby, and I don't know if I would be as brazen if I was just a single chick on her own.  There's been a lot of talk about the swinger subject in our house lately.  Turns out, conversation is a turn-on in its own right, and I am so glad we don't have neighbours right now.

That's all I have time for.  Prez seems very clingy this week and I want to give him a lot of undivided attention.  It means the housework is less than accomplished, but meh.  Mamma brought home the bacon this week....hmmm....wonder if there's a house cleaner in the budget?

Work It Baby, Work It Out.

Gah, I'm staring down the barrel at yet another weekend of work, and its coming at me a lot quicker than I want it to!! It only feels like I JUST got home, and tomorrow I have to make final preparations for leaving again.  Presley is starting to push himself up and then stand there, wobbling but on his own two feet, for a few seconds before falling onto his butt with a screech and a giggle.  I know he is going to take his first steps any day now and I am terrified that I'll miss them.

This makes 4 weekends of work out of 5.  The only Thurs/Fri/Sat I had off was when hubs was sick and in the hospital, so you can't even really consider that a break.  I'm feeling pretty ok physically, but that's probably because when I'm at home all I do is sleep, chill with bubba, and rest my aching elbows and butt muscles.  (You hover over a couple dozen "gentlemen" maintaining a 20 cm distance between his crotch and yours while trying to look sexy and you'll have the best ass shape of your life, I tell ya!)

Some things I have discovered from this work-a-thon:

1.  It takes me a few hours at home to shed my stripper skin and release some sort of post-work tension.  I don't even know I am holding it, in my shoulders and the space between my eyes, until its gone.  This requires either a nap, or a few glasses of coffee followed by a few glasses of wine.  (Not the healthiest, I know, but very effective)

2.  By the time Saturday night is halfway finished, if I have made over a certain benchmark, I am inclined to sort of....quit, and chill on the couch by myself.  I think I just have a subconscious limit of how many strangers I can writhe all sexy-like on top of in a given weekend.  I hit it, and then flat out refuse to dance any more.  That's one of the best parts: unlike a serving job, or a bartender position, they can never make me serve customers.

3.  If I don't take sleeping pills, I'm up by 10 a.m., no matter what.  That's only 4 1/2 hours of sleep.  That's a grouchy situation.

I'll work this weekend in a lil 'ol mining town, then next weekend I'll head north up the coast a bit and hope to meet up with a ship of American troops docking for some sort of break. (The newspaper said 21,000 troops are expected)  Apparently there is good money in entertainment-starved navy personnel, but I don't find discourse with those of a military slant particularly enjoyable, and when you add alcohol and American citizenship into the mix.....*shudder* it better be bloody awesome money.  

And after that, I'm not putting on those fake eyelashes, the stripper shoes and that stripper smile for at least two weeks.

Girls, Girls, Girls

I tell customers who ask that the best part of my job is all the lovely sexy naked women I get to call co-workers and "play with" all night long.   That's the truth, just a slightly sexed-up version of it.  The best part of my job is all the women I meet, with their incredibly diverse back stories and personalities.  I enjoy sitting in the kitchen and talking to the lady from Darwin about club rules over there, and the slick flow of money from "way back" five years ago when she used to work. I get to talk uni classes with some of the girls, and catch up on Canadian happenings with Celine.  I live vicariously through the rough and rowdy girls who get drunk "e'ry day, e'ry day"  and I fall over laughing at some of the things they say to each other at the end of the night. 

"Here are your three hashbrowns."

"Bitch, I love you"

"No, shut up you don't.  You hate me.  You don't like me at all.  You probably bitch about me to the other girls behind my back all the time."

"No, no bitch I love you."

"Shut up, you do not."

"Bitch, I love you cunt, so just shut the fuck up." *munches on hashbrown*

Classy.

More interesting than the men who come to spend money and ogle, I could talk to the girls all night.  Most of them, anyway.  Some are black holes of negativity and bitch vibes, and I try to stay as far away as possible.  (Those ones are like sinking ships though, and like savy rats, all the others maintain a distance too.) 

 I love comparing customer stories at the end of the night while we peel off our eyelashes and change back into our street clothes.  I love using teamwork tactics with girls like Vixen to lure the guys in like flies into a sticky boob jiggling trap. Men, for the record, are pretty easy targets. I enjoy people watching from a dark corner of a leather couch, tucked away and hidden at 4 a.m.   Each week, by Sunday, I have made many temporary friends, and exchange facebook details with a fair few.  

I know that because this job is so briefly available to me, I only have a short amount of time where I can meet (i.e. grill) as many women as possible about their experiences as strippers, as attractive young ladies, and as hustlers in a game.  So if you meet a new stripper this week, and she asks you about a thousand questions, it could be me!!!

Ciao 

Golden Days, Golden Moments

I haven't written in far too long.  Thing's, dey been busy, but that isn't any excuse.  I have a couple dozen thoughts/moments to jot down.  Here they are in no particular order, just as I can remember them now that I'm finally perched back in front of a computer screen.

1. I learned that pre-meditated "accidental" drink dumping by strippers onto jack-ass customers is kind of....discreetly permitted by the management at my favourite club.  I think this is hilarious.  I witnessed a red cordial/club soda concoction soak the white cotton clad back of one particularly repugnant customer.  Some of it went in my shoe and soaked into my fishnet stockings, but it was worth it to be within 3 feet of that dude's facial expression as the first wave bubbled down over his forehead.

2. My little micro-family of 3 have had loads of quality time together lately.  Presley is such a champion traveler, and we've spent a collective 30 + hours in the car with him this past 2 weeks.  We have slept in 8 different houses in the last 16 days, and he just takes everything as it comes.  Eats anything, sleeps anywhere, loves meeting EVERYONE.  Am I bragging?  You bet your ass. I am in total awe of my 11 month old.  I can not believe that in less than a month I am not going to have a baby-baby anymore.  This little thing will be a toddler.  Guess who's getting clucky?  But for now, we have a 12 month plan which involves me working, and I'm keeping a firm rein on baby mania.  I got an implenon last week.  Hurt like a bitch, (ocal anesthetic my ass) but cost literally less than 10% of the non-hormonal version I used in Canada.  Huh. That was a pleasant surprise.  The 99.99% effective IUD didn't work for us, so I'm not, you know, 100% certain about this implenon bit's 99.5% effective rate for me, but we'll see how it goes.

3. I've worked a couple weekends, in a couple different cities since I spoke last.  Every weekend seems to have one shit night, one average night, and one redeeming night.  In no particular order, mind you.  This past week, Thursday was killer and Friday was the biggest waste of time. The weekend before, Thursday I might as well have stayed home, but Saturday I made $450 more than I usually do.  But no matter what, I seem to make the same roughly every weekend, and its a good solid figure that works out to be very much worth my time.  I think it's about half luck, half hustling skills.  (My hustling skills suck but I seem to get lucky alot, falling into pre-arranged fantasies, or duos at least once every weekend.  And that folks, is all it takes to be a good working shift) I miss Prezler and Hubs, but the time we do spend together is even more awesome because it always feels too short.  Before I know it, I'm back on the road again, wondering what they are having mushed up for dinner tonight, and waiting for picture texts to come through to make me smile.

4. Presley started crabwalking sideways yesterday, and today he learned how to "wipe wipe" his face with a baby wipe, and wipe mine too.  She will be toddling along on her own any day now.  I'm terrified that I'm going to be away and miss that moment.  Statistically its pretty likely.  BUT, I did watch her learn how to give a "kiss kiss" yesterday, complete with smacking noise.  Adorable.

5.  Hubs made his first visit to a club while I was working.  This was rather nerve wracking in the lead up, but actually turned out to be a lot of fun and not stressful or awkward at all. He watched me perform a 4 song podium set, and get right down to my skimpy g-banger, and loved it!  I wasn't sure how the night was going to go.  You really can't be 100% sure how your other half is going to react to seeing you grind up and down on others just because they've handed over a bill of some sort.  It helped that due to an illness and some very necessary antibiotics, Hubbalicious couldn't drink, and therefore was stone cold sobre for the experience.  In the end, he sat with a loud drunk lesbian and a couple regular guys I have seen before, and convinced them all to hand over their cash generously and often.  We didn't tell anyone he was my  other half, and pretended we'd never met before.  Thanks to the team effort, my 4 song stage show netted us a cool $190.  Way to go baby, we'll be doing that again soon for sure!

I have more, but bubs is waking up, and today is chores in town day.  Bill paying, plane ticket booking, and the like.  I am off to work again this weekend, and hopefully soon I have a small discreet tape recorder so I can share with you, word for word, some of the conversations I've been a part of lately.  They're pretty hilarious.

P.S.  My landlord dropped over yesterday, unannounced.  As they do in small towns, I gather.  House was a bomb as we'd only just got back late the day before, but he shrugged, and .  That man can talk a blue streak, and eventually I just carried on with my chores in the kitchen at the same time.  I cleaned counters, washed dishes, and swept the floor while he sat and drank a coffee and told me the latest Charters Towers gossip.  There's no way to see the back of him for a good 45 minutes, I know from experience, but its always an entertaining hour or so.

Alright, enough procrastinating! I'm off!

A Weekend By The Sea. Oh, Wait, Make That Three!

Last weekend was pretty ordinary.  The city's home team lost, and the mystery ship that the management promised (surprise, surprise) never docked.  Or maybe it did, and not a single sailor wandered through our doors.  Not a lot of anyone wandered through though, so it wasn't just sailors and beefy NRL players who were lame.  Many, many many bachelor parties.  You know what I've learned? BACHELOR PARTIES SUCK!!! Most of the guys there are simply out for a night, supporting a buddy.  They aren't looking to blow large amounts of dough.  Most chip in for the bachelor, but even that communal money pot is pretty shallow these days.  I'm shit at hustling, and these ladies I call co-workers can be motha-fuckin sharks.  I only saw true justice once this week, and it was when the queen of the hustling, grass-cutting game was sent home early for pushing guys too hard.

I had a fun hen's party with a 50's housewife theme.  Brought the bride-to-be up on stage to shake it around to "Bad Things".  She spun around the pole with her poufy dress fluttering behind her and the whole place was cheering and throwing money on stage for her.  She made more than $80, and gave it all to me.  Woo.  I'm starting to think that women are my specialty.

I stayed in the stripper house with most of the other ladies.  I'm actually surprised that there isn't more drama.  I was expecting a lot of catty behaviour, or at least the occasional frosty moment in the communal kitchen.  But despite a broken air conditioner in the living room, and a conked-out dryer, everyone got along just fine.

I walked to work all three days instead of riding in the cab at 6:30.  I like the walk, its all downhill from the house to the club, and it takes me close enough to the water to smell it.  I get a feel for the night from how busy the pubs look, all doors open to the street.  I wave to the doormen who I am starting to recognize.  They probably know what I am and where I'm going by now.   Getting to the club hours before everyone else means I have the change room to myself, time to practice on stage and plenty of opportunities to flick through the club music to choose my songs for the night.   I'm always acutely aware that I'm the only naked body exposed to the security camera, 24 hour/day monitoring and time to time I wonder how often the screen is watched in there.  The rest of upstairs is dark and quiet until I turn the music on, and only occasionally does someone like a bar back or a tittie-girl from downstairs wander by.  I enjoy the solitude.  I use it to get into the zone, to drop into the Nicki persona slowly, like easing yourself into cold water, inches at a time.  I start calling everyone "baby" and "doll" and practice smiling with my voice no matter what I am saying.  When the club doors open, I want that mask complete.  Some nights I hardly remember a single conversation, they are that meaningless.

I made $400 less than I'm used to, but I still managed to pay for a LOT of things we had coming up.  There is no question that this is the easiest way to make quick money, and I'm finding that men in these places are actually a lot more polite to women than the average male specimen is on the street.  Maybe its the cameras, or the grouchy, muscle bound men in black standing quietly in the shadows with watchful eyes.  Whatever the motivation, I don't deal with nearly as much dick-itis as I do when I'm just another girl walking around on the sidewalk without stripper shoes on.

Speaking of which, I DESPERATELY need a new pair of heels.

Tomorrow I'm off to the furthest city from home yet, another coastal one.  I'm not looking forward to it.   It means hubs and bubs can't meet me on Saturday morning for breakfast like they did last week.  It means two flights and a bus ride, and I'm not sure I'll make enough to justify it. BUT, its a big city, with anonymity, and I promised I'd check out all the big cities on the East coast, since this job means we can move basically anywhere, so I need to know where I enjoy working.   Hopefully soon we buy the second car, and I won't have to bus it to places anymore.  I'm developing a healthy loathing for buses.

The reward comes on Sunday, when I am meeting up with Hubalicious and Presley in Sydney for a MUCH overdue family vacation.  A whole week of whatever....catching up with friends, revisiting old haunts, introducing Presley to many new people....I can not wait!

Anyway, enough procrastinating. I have clothes to pack, dinner to make, and far too many inches of skin to shave and holy shit! Its 4 p.m. already!

Laterz

Lil' Ol' Luggage

Today I finally got around to sorting out my rolly-bag from last weekend.  Its been sort of...spewed out onto the kitchen floor as Presley has intermittently pawed through it (for edibles?)  As I grouped and piled, debated, and decided, I explained to bubs.


"This is mommy's survival pack.  This is what she lives out of on those days when she is away from you.












ALL the stuff I need fits into this one little case.  Its like a porta-home.













Its also mommy's briefcase.

During the night, a voice cuts through sleep and the dark like an axe through a sweet, innocent chipmunk.

WAAAAAA!!!!!

Now, we haven't been consistently eliminating that last 3 a.m. bottle the way I'd planned, but hey, there's been monster teeth coming through, and I've been away a lot the last month.  The point is, I'm alright with doing the sleepy shuffle out to the kitchen to warm a pre-made bottle. I like the cozy 5 minutes of cuddling with a half asleep bubs. I enjoy the way he smells, and the absolute quiet of the witching hour.

I'm NOT alright with being hauled out of my bed three times a night.  I don't enjoy anything about that.  This morning, 4:45 a.m. found Hubs and I lying on our sides, facing each other, my left hand clapped over his exposed up-turned ear, and his right hand clapped over mine.  Presley had been fed, cuddled, changed, patted and crooned to, and we were NOT getting up for him a fourth time.

And that is how I learned that our darling little monster can whinge for an hour straight.

I'm not sure if we are doing this right, forcing Presley to stay in bed until we are ready to attempt the morning. I don't want to neglect him, but at the same time, I don't want him running roughshod over our lives.  Especially now that he is approaching a year old and should theoretically be sleeping through! I am afraid that if 5 a.m. becomes the norm, then 4 a.m. will be the crappy wake up hour that he moves on to from there.  Sweet Jesus, will I ever sleep normally again?

I left all my parenting books when I moved overseas, and for now, the two of us are our own island nation, making this up as we go along.

Tonight, Hubbalicious brought earplugs home from work.  Hooray.

Nipples, No-Nos and Notorious Houses

Turns out, every taxi driver in the city knows which address is the stripper house.  I wouldn't even have to give it, if I didn't want to. I could just flop in the back and say "off to the stripper house please" and we'd make it there just fine.  The first night on our ride into work, as the last of 8 girls climbed into the maxi van, the Driver asked "going to the Showgirls?"  One of us said "yes", and then after a beat, someone else said "obviously" and we all laughed.  Roxy, sitting across from me piped up "Actually, no.  Take us far, far away" "To the airport Sir!" a girl yelled from the back.
The conversations I overheard and was a part of the last three days makes me want to carry around a sneaky recorder so that I can repeat them word for word here.  I can't do it justice from memory.  Especially the rides home when both my brain and body are completely drained, and all I can do is lean back against the seat and smile as the conversation flows around me.   Maybe next time.
I thought I'd be the only mother working in the club.  Turns out, I was one of 6!!  Three of the other mums travel together, and around 5:30 p.m. is call-home time, and you can overhear different conversations throughout the house. "How was school?"  "Are you being good for Grandma?"  "Mommy misses you very very much! Do you miss me? I will be home soon with lots of money for our holiday."  One woman skyped with her son as she put on her makeup and did her hair.  I called hubby and he held the phone to Presley's ear so I could tell him how much I missed them both.  I wonder what I will tell him if I am still doing this when he is old enough to notice I'm gone and ask why?  Just thinking about that idea makes me feel kind of weird in the tummy.

I made great money, despite it being quite slow Thursday, and absolutely DEAD Friday and Saturday.  We closed an hour early each night, because there were just no customers.  I was lucky enough to find a couple deep pockets attached to lonely hearts.  If I had a type, I would have to say I seem to attract the nice/awkwardly sweet fellows, and that's the way I like it.  Forget egos and confident swagger, it just pisses me off, and seems to encourage them to think they have special bargaining rights.  Two for the price of one? Just because you are young and hot? Um. No.  I don't get special deals at the grocery store or hair salon because I have a pretty face.

There were more mining based employees, more drugs, although less obvious steroid users.  It sounds like there are quite a few high rolling regulars that drop major cash, but I didn't meet any of them. I expect you have to be any place for a few weeks to build up regulars and get to know faces.  That being said, quite a few guys came in multiple times over the weekend:

1.  Mr. Cart, a short dark man with a goatee that made him a spitting image for a mischievous dwarf or garden gnome.  I learned some basic math from that nice man.  Main lesson was that if you have a known extender, some one who usually buys more dances immediatly once his time runs out in the lap room, its more money in my pocket, and less in the club's if I don't push him to spend more initially.
It goes like this:
$100 gets you 10 minutes.
$130 gets you 20 minutes.
You'd think most guys would see the obvious bargain and spend $130 off the bat, but surprisingly, there's a LOT of extenders.  20 minutes ends up costing you $200 instead, which I get $120 out of, instead of the $85 I'd receive if you spend $130 up front.   Thanks Mister Cart!
My goal this weekend is to turn every Butt-and-Booby-Blind customer into an Extender.  A bird in the hand, right?

2. Birthday Bob  If you come to a strip club alone on your birthday, I'm probably going to ask why.  I'm that kinda girl.  But Bob's answer (or rather, what he didn't say) was that he would rather spend his time here, with all the nice girls, spoiling us like the princesses we are.  No friends or family came in with Bob, and no one made him a birthday cake, or came to see him (I asked).  When Bob walked in the room, as I approached him to say Happy Birthday, he handed me a white and silver bead bracelet.   Bob's birthday, and he is the one giving out gifts.  All night around the club girls sparkled in cubic zirconium and wafted clouds of perfume courtesy of Bob, and a couple of us thought that next birthday, someone should bring in a card.  It gave me pause, as I wondered how many of us might still be around, this time next year.  Stripping is a flash in the pan occupation, and time goes by quicker if you smoke and drink, as so many of them do.

There were others, but by far the freakiest freakazoids were the husband/wife-uncle/niece-old/young ....uh...twosome.  Seriously.  In the space of about 10 minutes, they told me they were married and looking for a threesome, then uncle and niece trying to find a girl to sleep with the guy while the niece watches (I mean, I'm into quite a bit of kinky shit, but....just the psychological fuckery of that....ew.), then complete strangers who just met.  It was puzzling to begin with, and then just annoying.  I left, realizing a conversation with those two would get me nothing except freaked out.  Just for all you potential customers out there, ummm..... joking about obvious incestuous intentions is NOT FUNNY.  In fact, I would call it a Hard No-No.  Just because we are dressed all sexy like doesn't mean we naturally want to hear your filth.



I made a few new work friends, including a Canadian, a girl who strips using my real name, and someone named after an unlikely Disney cartoon character.  There was a girl dancing for her very first time, looking like she was about to vomit the entire night.  I think it was nerves.  The self-proclaimed "Token Black Girl" was lovely and quite a few of the ladies could dance their asses off.  There's hard hustlers, the really drunk chicks, and the lazy loungers slumped in pairs in the darkest corners.  Its been the same in both clubs so far.

Oh, during my last stage performance on Saturday night/Sunday morning, a chick flashed me her pierced nipples and asked me to come home with her and her boyfriend.  Just another working moment, 3:45 a.m.  

Dear Presley

Already I'm wondering if we'll ever talk about this.  I can not imagine if, or when I should tell you about mummy's job as a stripper, or "that time way back, when I was naked quite a bit"  How will it come up?  What will you think?  I want to be a positive role model for you today, and for the rest of your life.  Am I doing that enough?  Does stripping count as a positive example?

Well, I think we can all agree that a wide range of answers exists to that question. 

Today I booked my train tickets to and from my next "occupational destination"  A new city, new faces, new club.  I'm excited and nervous.  You are chasing banana peel pieces around the floor, picking one up, putting it down, choosing another and doing the same.  Its fascinating to you, and its fascinating to me just to watch you do it.  AC/DC's "She's Got The Jack" is playing, and you are bobbing your head to the beat.  You sure are one cool kiddo, and I love you to pieces. 

I hope some day we can talk candidly about this time in our lives, which I'll remember and you won't.

A Stripper's Wet Dream

If money is your motivation, your buddah and your lube, then in this business, there is almost NOTHING better than a bachelor party accompanied by the organizer, and his fist-full of bills.  That's what I walked into last Saturday night at 6 p.m., when all the other girls were still at home making dinner, and putting on their faces.  Turns out, early pole practices really do pay off!  

Courtney (Young Hopeless) proceeded to get herself "removed" from the bachelor party within the first hour.  She really is hopeless.  If I see her working another weekend anywhere I will be very surprised. In comparison, I was having a great time!!  The men were relaxed and flirtatious, but even better, they were young, and smart!  No one was drunk or lecherous, (although every group will have its "dirty boys") and they were in the palm of my hand before you could say "putty".   Its hard work though, rotating between conversations, between the bachelor himself, a shy, quiet guy with a long narrow face, and his best man, the bankroll and organiser for the weekend who was a massive dickhead personality squished into a 5'8" package.  Plus there's the cuter ones, (WHY are they never the bachelor???) and the ones I'd rather be talking to if given the choice because everything they say is so interesting.  Its a busy start, and before I know it, 2 hours have flown by, I've made no money, but I've had a lot of fun.   I pull Imagine (what a cool name, eh?) from the V.I.P. area and bring her into the party.  There's no way I can handle a fantasy room with this many guys on my own, and I admire the way that girl can just keep on smiling. 

Fantasy rooms rent in half hour $450 blocks, of which I see $150.  Its easy money when you compare it to the amount of hours serving in a student bar you would need to put in before $150 was tipped out to you.  BUT that doesn't mean its an easy half hour.  It's WORK! It's physically demanding to squat, crawl, dance sexy, move sexy, be sexy and smile smile smile in a room full of seated jeans.  Its mentally challenging to work over that first snag of fear and uncertainty when those panties of yours fall down past your knees. For me, its all a blur, and only a few details stand out. The bachelor seemed uncomfortable the entire time, while his best man shouted directions to his friends, and sent Imagine and I around the room with pointing sweeps of his arms, trying to orchestrate us so that each guy got equal attention.  I kept track of my PC Bowler hat as it moved around the room from head to head.  Allan, a married man who I bonded with over comparing wedding rings, and swapping honeymoon tales, wore joop, which hubby used to wear all the time, and triggered a heap of scent-based emotions.  With twenty bodies in a room designed for about half that many, it quickly warmed up. I realized with a jolt at one point that I was really enjoying myself.  And then, just like that, the controller was calling time, and the room emptied.  I gathered my clothes, my props and my money, and exited stage left. $150 up, and it wasn't even 7:30.

I was buh-buh-busy after that!  I had my first stage of the night, a requested duo with Courtney, and then as soon as I left that 8-song set, the owner informed me that I was booked for another bachelor party fantasy.  Right away.  In the bondage room. 

So ummm.... this should be fairly obvious, but I'm going to say it anyway.  Not all bachelor parties are filled with young hot classy male specimens.  Some are quite the opposite.  This was one of those ones.  Luckily for me, they were also quite juvenile, and spent half the time tying each other up in the bondage gear, and taking turns spanking each other while Lacy and I watched on and pretended to be amused and thrilled.  The groom to be went first, then his best man, and then we just sort of encouraged all the others to get up too... it killed the first 20 minutes.  Then we tied the bachelor up and danced for him.  It was easier than the first fantasy booking of the night, but so boring, and so.....unpleasant that I couldn't wait for it to be over.  The owner acted as controller, and I know I shouldn't be bothered by the fact that he's male given how many dudes see me naked anyway, but I like it when the one upholding the rules of the club also has the parts you aren't supposed to touch. 

What else stood out about Saturday night?  Three stage performances.  Some nice tippers, two proffered hotel keys, the difficulty of giving a fat man a lap dance discovered.  Wraps served in the change room instead of sandwiches.  My first 5 a.m. finish.  Dancing the Macarena as a group onstage to end the night. Counting a WAD of 50s and 20s on my bed back home and falling asleep with it under my pillow.  

Sweet, sweet, sexy Saturdays

I might not always like Saturdays in this business.  I could end up hating them, become jaded or just plain sick of the scene's music.  But for now, based on this most recent Satruday night, I kind of fucking love them. 

I decided to go in two hours early to practice some new moves and transitions on the big stage, and help courtney (aka young hopeless) learn how to do something....anything.  The stage was dark, the red lights switched off and the music system silent.  It was just courtney and I, and the occasional manager or security guard drifted by.  A downtown Irish bartender with a thick brogue stopped by for a chat.  At 6:00, Boss Lady Number Two came rushing up the stairs, and in a rapid fire panic mode, said the best line I've heard in awhile:

"I have a 25 person bachelor party downstairs arriving now, and we need you two to cover it"

So much for pre-shift practice, but hot damn thank you God YES!

I could write a shit tonne about that first group.  You know what? I think I will.  Tomorrow though. I have to eat my boiled eggs (craving something weird at 10 p.m. much?) now, and then go to bed.  Presley has been at the hospital today, and is one sick little monkey, so I should take whatever sleep I can get.  Its been a crazy stressful day, but the best part was having Hubs by my side the entire time.  He has been such a rock lately!!  Tonight the three of us cuddled on the couch and watched a David Attenborough special together, roughly the same time as I was being showered with twenties two nights previously as I jiggly-wiggled my way around stage.  I know which one of those two is my favourite experience.  100%.

Workin Woman

And thus ends my first full weekend as an employed young lady since the fall of 2011.  Hubby had Presley at home, and I worked Thursday, Friday, Saturday at the club.  Apparantly it was a slow week, but I still made over $1,800.  Not too shabby considering my last job was a serving gig where I would be lucky to make $400 in wages and tips over a weekend.  If being naked a small portion of the time, and assessed on my looks and conversational abilities instead of my drink carrying/ order remembering skills means I make $1,400 more for WAY less effort, I'll take it.

There's some stuff I want to get down here.  I suppose I should do it chronologically.

Thursday morning I caught the bus into the city.  It only took an hour and a half.  I slept most of the way, so it felt like 5 minutes.  I think I'll be using the bus more often.  It only costs $31, which is not much more than fuel for our gas guzzling turbo machine.

The house was pretty quiet this week.  We had our regular "house mom", the stereotypical 40-something stripper who is still pretty and slim, but has a tired voice and jaded eyes.   The two other quality private rooms were occupied by Germans "twins" and a girl from London, England.  That put me in the basement dorm bunkbeds, next to the washer and dryer.  Again. I don't mind though, since I'm still really new and untested.  Its part of my long-term goal to get the Londonite's room.  Right next to the main bathroom, with a private balcony and a big chunky timber bed that just whispers "lay here and sleep all day, darling" its the best one for a solo girl, I think.

The club was pretty dead again this Thursday.  The only reason I made any money at all was because the self-declared "awesome", "special" "all-round great guy" multi-millionaire (the last bit is the only part I believe) bought 3/4 of an hour with me.  After kicking a ridiculous amount to the club, I still made $360 off of that.  I''ll tell you what, you can put on as much makeup as you like, and wear the sexiest stuff, but nothing gives the same confidence as having already made lots of money early on.  It keeps the desperate out of your voice.  After that, a couple of lucky one-offs and a duo dance with the Brit, plus my stage tips brought my total up to well over $600.  I tipped the MC $20 (unnecessary, but I find it helpful to have the dj as a friend), paid my $120 in rent, and still left with the most money of all the girls there.  After only making $150 last week, it was a nice feeling to start off successful.

I spent nearly all of my Thursday night earnings on underwear and jewelery the next day.  But hey, quality knickers are an investment in this business, and the confidence they give you can't be measured in dollars.  I spent Friday night in a Playboy set with thigh high fishnets, and made $800 even though we closed early due to NO customers after 3 a.m.  Is this because of quality underwear?  I think at least partially.

Friday was an interesting night, actually.  I met, charmed, and danced for some memorable people.  I had my first couple in together for a set, which costs WAAAY more than a single, and is WAAAY less work.  These two were, anyway.  The guy didn't want any attention; he wanted to watch me seduce his wife.  I find these married ladies to be much more gentle than men, and she was very appreciative as well, so this was simply a pleasure dance for me.  Every once in awhile, they would stop watching me, and just kiss for a few seconds.  Dirty, slobbery, with tongue and noises.  It was pretty intense.  I didn't really care though, because it gave me a chance to rest for a moment.  5 songs later, they were on their merry way, promising to come back in a month or so to see me again.  Walking as slowly as possible, across to the side exit, and back out onto the floor, I wondered whether they would go straight home for sex now, or off to another bar or strip club first.  Either way, I'm pretty sure I was in bed with those two in their fantasy land later on.  Reminded me of Hubs and myself, only older.

I also met and landed my first quadrant.  I'm not sure if thats the official stripper lingo for a pack of four men, but that's what I call the group if I manage to dance for all of them over the course of the night.  They were four work mates.  I'm amazed at how four such different personalities get along well enough to call each other "mates", but maybe....work commonalities? beer?   There was the gentle, reluctant divorcee who was bought a lap dance by someone else and refused to watch me dance at all in the private room.  Instead, he insisted on my sitting across from him and discussing frankly and professionally, my business goals and life plan.  I found myself telling him about Presley.  He told me about work/family balances, mistakes he made, and reminded me that no matter what, the little Prez bundle is Numero Uno.  He ended up extending his time voluntarily, and we talked some more.   The man who bought him these dances?  A married stubbie-shaped dude with a two-year old son, who regularly emotionally cheats on his wife via the internet, and is desperate to sleep with a man, although he keeps it secret.  Its a mad world.   The other two were younger, dirtier (or maybe just drunker, since I didn't get around to them until almost midnight) and much more like our average customer.  I don't even remember a single thing I talked about with either of those two.  75% of it was probably bullshit.

Super-awesome-multi-millionarie dude came back again.  I weighed the pros and cons of dancing for him again, and decided that my quadrant had given me enough moolah that I wouldn't have to be near his stinky cigarette breath on this particular evening.  I went on stage twice, and enjoyed my first "full-house" where all the seats around the stage were full of rowdy, appreciative tippers and I don't know what I enjoyed more: the money, or the cheering and the name chanting.  Its nice to be good at the dancing part.  I was glad I came in early and practiced a couple of new moves with Veronica, and doubly glad I'd changed my music.  I just can't be sexy to the house dance stuff, ay.  Its rock or R&B for me, baby. 

I called every single one of the customers baby or darling or sweetheart, or something like that.  Its just way easier than remembering names, and it comes across nice and friendly.  I fluttered my eyelashes until I gave myself muscle spasms.  I laughed at things that I did NOT think were clever or funny in the least, and I practiced letting the sour smell of liquor breath wash over me without dropping my smile.  That last one is pretty difficult, not gonna lie.   I was too focussed on hustling to notice the other girls discussing how dead it was, and I was shocked when they turned the lights on at 3:30 instead of 5.  It was half a pleasant surprise though, because I had been aware that I was losing energy and bounce by then, and trying to decide if a red bull was a good idea.  I made $740, and smiled all the way home. 

Saturday was pedicure day.  Gawd, that process is enshrined in my top-10 experiences post-baby.  Nothing is more indulgent than wandering the harbour-front streets aimlessly window shopping until you find a suitable day spa, and splurging on a little self-spoilage.  I left an hour later with fire engine red toe nails and happy little feets.  You can't do that sort of thing with bubs in tow. 

I knew that Saturday night was supposed to be much busier, so I spent the rest of Saturday relaxing, dozing, stretching, bathing, applying makeup, and generally revelling in my sweet sweet free time. 

Saturday night is a post in its own right, and the baby is awake and trying to grab the keys, which makes typing difficult.  I'll finish off recording this weekend once the house is asleep tonight.

Part III of the Epic Weekend Story

Its late in the evening of Mother's Day, but I'm milking it to the end.  I'm staying up late, even though Hubby's already slouched off to bed.  I'm enjoying solo internet/computer DOMINATION. Mwahaha. 

Now to finish my foursome story.  Where were we?

Oh yes. The strip club. 

And THEN, while the four of us were trying to decide who was going to get a round of drinks, and who was going to sit here and stare at the ladies being all raunchy with some guy's head and his twenty dollar bill, Hubby runs into a girl he used to go to high school with.  She works here now.  I admire her sparkly g-string/garter belt combo.  We are introduced to her GI Jane "girlfriend" (may or may not be legit).  A 6' mountain of a woman with bazooka coconuts right at nose height.  I was intimidated as hell and hubby said later that he was too. 
All in all it wasn't our scene.  We left without buying a lap dance, or talking to any of the girls at all. I don't think I'd need to ask many questions though.  The set up and the behaviour on stage said enough.  And if I'm really curious, I did see a girl working there who I met at the other club the night before, so I can ask her in a few week's time.  Hmmm.... I'm pretty sure that's a contract no-no.  Wonder if its something the don't enact, like the dress code, or something they do like Strip-O-Rama, (or whatever that stupid 1:00 a.m. group strip thing is called.)

But I digress.  We poured out of the club and back on to the streets.  Ever notice how much louder the place is at night?  Drunks are looouuudd.  Street fights are loud.  A half dozen police officers running towards a certain club all at once? Also loud.  It was pretty chaotic compared to the sleepy town we call home, but nice to experience.  Our hotel was a mere 400 meters away, and what mysteries and excitement awaited there!  There was quite a bit of sexual tension in that walk.

The lobby, the elevator, the door key and the green light.  Green lights mean go.  I was actually giddy, and also felt wildly predatorial.  Like we'd just managed to lure prey within our grasp.  Of course I did not say this out loud.  Good grief, NO! Besides, Hubby was talking a mile a minute.  I didn't actually say much at all.

Hey, here's something I've learned the hard way:  The first couple seconds, even the first few minutes that you really break the ice are always awkward.  But then it gets much, much better.

I am still grappling with how much detail to go into on this space.  For now I'll say that I was extremely pleasantly surprised by how natural swapping, sharing a different partner each felt for hubby and me.  I thought everyone involved would be more unsure but sex is like molasses, and at the right tempurature, everything just flowed, sticky and sweet. 

There are a LOT of position possibilities with four uninhibited individuals involved.  One could die of exhaustion before getting bored!

If I ever get into shooting porn, *majorly unrealistic life-plan-goal alert* I only wanna shoot group sex and orgies. mkay?

The rest is pretty cuddly and boring and I won't get into details. I don't know if we will uh, engage in similar activities with that couple again or not.  I know we will stay friends though, and that's really the point. We're firmly entrenched back into reality now, with our dustbowl town, and our little 3 person family.  Today we hung out and celebrated mother's day by staying in pjs until noon and playing a lot of silly peek-a-boo and tickle games.  Presley is pulling up to standing and saying bay-bee, da-duh and ma-ma, but I'm not sure he knows who is who.  It was lazy and wonderful.
Prez, by the way, handled the two night separation from me like a CHAMP!  I was the anxious mummy with a frustratingly regular baby alarm malfunction.  Know the type?  I will explain.

You are somewhere without your baby.  Someone else is watching it for a while.  You are FREEEEE!!!
Ten minutes into your coffee, your book, your catch up with your best buddy, or your blissful nap, your brain will scream at you

CHECK THE BABY!!!

And its like your brain has a one second lag before you can remember you don't have the baby with you and you aren't currently responsible for him or her at all.  Its a very confused, panicky second. And it happens every 15 minutes or so for the first little while. 

I had a hard time adjusting at first.  But the second night was much easier.  I had hubby with me, and he brought a phone loaded with cute videos of Prez dancing.  We watched them 5 times like the lamos that we are.  Taz showed them to everyone we met all night.  Chicks dig it. ;-)

Alright. I'm going to end this post now so I can write about other things.  Some new and exciting things happening this week.  Presley entered day care and spent her first full day there on Friday.  That frees me up to go back to the club this week coming up, on Thursday and Friday and Saturday.  Three nights away.  But we need the money.  The sooner we don't rent anymore the happier I will be.

Besides, if I'm being honest with myself, I've missed clubs. I have missed the nightlife, period.  Motherhood curbed a lot of opportunities I was only beginning to explore and now that baby is getting older and we are settled and sorted, I'm ready to back out there.  More than ready!

Just hope to GOD I don't get pregnant again anytime soon.  Fingers crossed.

What A Start, Continued

We decided to stay at the uni bar until at least 12:30, because Oliver couldn't come with us anywhere else that night, and we wanted to visit with him.  I met one of his roomates, an international student here on a student visa.  Him and his girlfriend chatted with us for a bit, and then they caught the bus into town.  I'd heard it was a 45 minute ride.  Been there, done that as a student.  Now, as an interloper/oldie at a uni bar, I think I'll splurge on a cab thanks.

The first half a pill did nothing, I'm pretty sure.  Oliver explains that most people "double drop" whereas I half-dropped.  Taz gave me another half a pill and his practically empty budweiser bottle.  I carried both off to the bathroom.  Once again, I think I was the only girl in there alone.  I sat on the toilet for a while after swallowing the pill, not really needing to pee, but not wanting to pop in and out of the toilet cubicle in under thirty seconds.  Conversations washed under the partitioning walls, meant for ears on either side of me.  Drunk laughter bounced off the mirrors.

I think that was the point I started to notice the effect of the x. Haha.

The cab ride was random because we rode with a handful of people we met at the taxi stand, to save money on cab fare.  I stared out the window and clenched and unclenched my jaw, and didn't attempt to participate in the conversation at all. I have to say, I enjoyed myself the entire ride.

The strip was busy, and the Red Bull was packed!! I don't know how, but we managed to find Oliver's roomate (who now needs a name for the first time... I'll call him Tom, and his girlfriend Crystal)  Yeah. Tom and Crystal just sort of popped up near the bathroom, and we all grabbed drinks, and a table on the upper balcony.

We've never arranged a foursome before.  Its always been us and another girl.  Since I met hubby, I've slept with three other girls, but not a single other dude.  I wanted that to change!! Its no fun being bisexual if we only ever include other women!  Conversation quickly turned to sex, as it seems to do around us.  It took us less than 5 minutes to have them both on board.  Good thing too, because out of nowhere, a bouncer appeared and told Tom that he had to leave.  I have no idea why, since the four of us were just sitting there talking.  Working in clubs all over the world, I have never seen a more innocuous customer kicked out of a club.  All four of us left.

Where to go at 2:30 a.m?  Why, the strip club, of course.  But not the one I worked at the night before. I wanted to check out the competition/alternate place of employment down the road.  I've heard rumours about the place, and not all of them were positive.  But you never know.....

This time, the rumours were true.  I saw more trashy pussy spread buck naked on the stage for free in that club in half an hour than I have ever seen anywhere else in an entire night!!!  *shudder* No way could I work there....  I might be working in a morally questionable environment, but dammit, if you wanna see the pink, you PAY for it!

Surprise, surprise, I'm needed urgently in the baby department.  I'll have to make a part Three later.

Mwah! xoxo

What A Start

We are sitting at the end of an EPIC weekend, watching footy on the television and Pres scoot around the livingroom, more mobile than ever.  This is as relaxed as we've been the last 4 days.  Little miss spent her first overnight away with friends, and from all reports, she had a blast.  Hubs and I had an adult away SPREE and I got back into stripping at a club in a nearby city/town.   Yup. My first night away from the Prezler and I spent it in my next-to-nothin sexies and back on the poles with the mirrors smudged with fingers and ass cheek prints, and the couches that smelled like beer.  I was excited to be back, repulsed by the same things I always was, and more than anything, I was SO SO tired!!! By 3 a.m. I wanted to cry I was so exhausted.  I forgot what 7 hours in high heels feels like. The money was shit, but I planned to take Friday night off with hubby on the town, and then work Saturday.

That didn't happen. 

Friday went like this:
--"sleep in" until 9 a.m.  After 5 1/2 hours, I feel like a nocturnal animal being forced awake during the daylight.  I wanted to sleep, but there was no way it was happening. 

• on a side note: I never gave much thought to staying in "dancer's accommodation" before this weekend but holy hell, there is a LOT of skin walking around that place!  I still have to get used to having casual conversation with the chick who's noncholantly getting undressed in front of me.  I told hubby that given the price, I wouldn't mind staying there from now on. ;-) 

--Hubby arrives at 12:30.  He got lost on the way, and I had to listen for his car as he randomly drove around the subhurb he knew I was in "somewhere close by." Eventually I could hear him accelerate from the next block over, and shouting "Turn left, LEFT!!" while jumping up and down and waving your arms around makes you look like a crazy person. 
--"Breakfast" at a coffee bar without the baby.  I even had time for the  second coffee I so desperatly needed.  I didn't realize they serve pancakes with ice cream over here.  Weird.
--Check into the hotel room, with its King-size bed and balcony overlooking the water.  I'm surprised by how nice it is for what we paid.  Gotta love big town/small city atmosphere. 
--Adult time. :-)  Then, a very enjoyable adult nap.  Only new parents can appreciate how wonderful an uninterrupted afternoon nap can be.
--Happy hour drinks at a waterfront pub
--Hubby's friend / our tour guide arrives.  We pile into his suspiciously lemon-y magna, and drive off to a house party.  Hubs decides to just drink for now. I smoke half a joint and tuck the rest in my handbag.

The first house was stunning.  A wide sweeping patio overlooking the water, and chairs full of people.  A lot of strangers, but in no time quite a few were chatting happily away in a circle with me, discussing everything from immigration to drugs, mother in law stories to local restaurant reviews.  After 6 months in a small town with small town people and small town talk, it was refreshing to meet new faces.

It still tickles me to be introduced as someone's wife.  I wonder when that starts to feel normal?  I know that hubby and I are not exactly the poster-people for a standard, monogamous marriage.  Then again,  I have to remind myself that the vast majority of 22 year olds are still single/exploring the idea of a full-time partner.  There wasn't another 22 year old married mother in the room to compare myself with.  In fact, I didn't meet one all weekend. 

We left, and drove to hubby's friend's house.  I'm going to call him Oliver I think.  Oliver lives in student housing, which I was happy to discover looks the same as back home.  Put 4 young bachelors in one house and of course you have more pet reptiles than clean cups!  The boy had some awesome snakes though!  I think I want a snake now.

Oliver had a shower and shaved, which took longer than it takes me.  Hubby paced, impatient to be started off to town.  Oliver produced from nowhere a bag of ecstacy, and he and hubs crushed and snorted a pill in front of me.  I'd never seen anything done like that before, although I'd heard about it many a time from hubby recounting his younger days.  (This is the first time I've seen ecstacy since the winter of 2010/2011 and that was such a shit experience that I never wanted to touch the stuff again) But the night held such mystery, and potential and best of all, no tiny loving whack of responsibility in the morning, so I swallowed half a pill in a mouthful of spiced rum and soda, and we all got back into Oliver's car.

The second house party was at another uni house.  One of the young guys there knew Hubs from years ago, and his girlfriend was really nice.  We didn't stay long because by then both Hubby and Oliver were starting to act like they'd just snorted something (surprise, surprise) so we all just kind of jumped up and left.  We told the nice people there that we'd see them at the uni bar.

From there the night kind of took off.  One of the best things about Hubs and I is that we can go to a party together, and still be together, but be on opposite sides of a party.  We sort of circulate every once in a while to check in, but I swear, sometimes it feels like the lyrics from that overplayed "Bad Girlfriend"

      Come together, leave alone
      See you later back at home

Hubs liked the dance beats but I had a blast sitting outside on the picnic tables chatting with whoever.  There was a live band playing covers in the corner, and people started pouring in shortly after we arrived.  Moths to a flame in a courting dance.  I told Oliver we were looking for a blond.  Did he know any blond girls?f

I have to go make Presley's dinner up now.  I'll have to continue this later