Yup, that's right. My humor has ceased to get me through this farce of a job. I'm going to say, tonight and last night were mostly shit so this is really, really negative... but so is my life right now and I'm blaming it on the industry.
I do what I want.
Why such shit?
Another night of frustrating amounting to tears that may or may not be cried because I have guys come and go from my stage because I didn't make physical contact with them. That in and of itself doesn't make me cry. It's the frustration of knowing you could be a great dancer and making nothing for it. It's the frustration of knowing that you are at least average, if not above looking and while many women strive to achieve that, and many asshole men make their girlfriends need to achieve that, guys (most that come into clubs) aren't putting their money down on the gorgeous girl's stage.
I am not alone in this. Don't think, oh maybe she just thinks she is gorgeous and really is hideous and that's why she doesn't make money. Nope. It's a phenomena of strip clubs and life. The most attractive, the most talented, the ones with great personalities... they make nothing compared to the ones that laugh like they are drunk and finger fuck themselves. I figure the guy might imagine a paper bag over the girl's head. I don't even fucking know.
I feel beaten and bruised. More emotionally than physically. My physical bruises don't frustrate me or leave damage once they are gone. I don't care about those. I'm pale, they happen.
It's the scars and the hardness you develop from showing up to the stage to perform for the bored and overstimulated.
I'm a fucking girl, a cute one, with a good body standing in front of you, above you so you get a better view, with barely anything on, about to spin around and do things that could make me fall and break my neck... for you. Instead of be thankful it's always "what else" or "can I touch" or let me blow on you. This isn't an interactive show. It was not meant to be interactive, that's called a whore house.
The worst part is the roller coaster ride of it all. You're high some days because you made a decent amount of money (to you, other strippers would laugh at your good days which you try not to think about or that makes you cry too) and life seems alright. If that could happen all the time or even most of the time there wouldn't really be an issue. Besides the not really being able to date due to the strain the job puts on relationships.
But then those days come where you make nothing for doing everything (well, not everything) and other girls are skipping around drunk as fuck and practically throwing money around because they let custies touch places that only doctors and sex partners should touch (i mean, besides yourself). Or they finger themselves to make the same amount smart girls would just give a dance for.
Please ladies, charge extra for doing more. I mean, if you're going to do it, and obviously you are, charge more.
This is not my industry, this is not my scene and I can't be a feminist in the clubs I've worked in and somehow think it's okay. Do I think it's impossible to be a feminist stripper after it all? No. I just worked at the wrong clubs and possibly in the wrong city.
I think it's a sad reflection on society when guys sit at a rack bored out of their minds with a vagina or titties around a foot away from their face. Am I suppose to shoot ping pong balls out of my black hole?
You're going to tip me $1 and expect me to want to take my top off? One dollar? Girls the Go Wild get more than that. They get free alcohol and hats and shirts, all of which cost more than a dollar. Seriously.
I'll have a couple more posts after this one, sum up my experience. Maybe find some highlights of this journey. But tomorrow night is my last actual night of working. I'm ready to break mentally.
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