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
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