Did everyone else know that the people who show up in your “friends” list on your Facebook profile are the people who check your profile the most? It is interesting to me because there's one person consistently showing up on that list who definitely shouldn't be there. I think some stalking has been going on.
|stop it. (via)|
Anyway, today, children, I will tell you a story about my first (and only) outing to a strip club. When I was kicking it in Portland, pissed the fuck off at the only friend I had in Portland who wouldn't even call me back (I didn't end up seeing her at all), I was staying at this dude's house, via couch surfing. There were another 4 or 5 people staying there too, from all over the world. There was also this guy, Charlie (Charlie is not his real name), who didn't live in the house but hung around all the time and loved to show us foreigners around.
|amazing tourist-congregation map of portland, or, by eric fischer|
One night we went out the weekly Couch Surfers get-together in a bar with cheap yummy bear. We got properly shwasted. When Charlie was driving me, Masa (an awesome japanese guy with an awesome website and thousands of twitter followers), and a girl from California home, California suggested we go to a strip club. I was all for it, I had never been to a strip club and I'd been told that Portland had the best. So we stop and get off, I finish my cigarette and I was quite nervous. We go in, the bouncer gives us a stern warning: you have to tip the girls for every song. I didn't have any change (I wasn't about to shell out 20 dollah bills), so I drunkenly stumbled over to the ATM (which charged me 3 dollars for the withdrawal) and bought a really expensive and shitty whiskey sour to get dollar bills.
|my new fave!|
The place was em-ty and I felt awkward. But I sat in the front row with my new friends and waited for the show. I don't really remember which dancer came after which, partly because this happened more than a month ago, partly because my third whiskey sour (after a couple of beers) was getting to me.
There was a girl who came out pretty nakes already. When M.I.A started playing, I knew I was at the right strip club. She didn't wear heels, she wore jazz shoes. She was all tatted up and had, like, perfect tits. She flirted with everyone, of course, but payed extra attention to me. 5 bucks later, I was smiling. I got more comfortable.
Now, I want you to form an image of me, sitting with my legs all lesbian-like, my eyes unfocused, smiling the Spike/Billy Idol smile, acting like I owned the place. I was rocking, shall I saw, some swag. All the strippers noticed this. It was weird. One of the girls gave me her number. Too bad I was leaving the next day.
|one of these days, i'll make a list of all the men who could turn me straight.|
A girl with huge boobies danced to Blondie. 4 dollars. Another girl danced to Chromeo, 5 dollars. These were probably girls who went to Reed, judging by their age and hipster looks. It was weird when they would, like, bend over and get their pussies like, a foot away from my face. That part wasn't very sexy. But I totally enjoyed it. I stayed for four dancers and then left, afraid I would deplete my bank account right then and there. I mean, I still had San Francisco to hit up.
Walking to the car, Charlie told me that most strip clubs in Portland are like that, young, pretty girls, who don't have saggy boobs or tired faces, dancing to eclectic, non-stripper music. He was surprised it had been my first time (I didn't mention it before) and he said: “Really? I thought you were a pro”.