I had the funniest stripper problem last night. I was in the dressing room rushing to finish my make up before stage. I’ve got this funny new gel eyeliner that you apply with a brush. It’s great stuff, but there’s definitely a learning curve and I accidentally made a big black blob at the corner of my eye. No problem, I just used a finger to swipe away the offending blob (this is why I use lots and lots of foundation under my eyes, for easy mistake wiping away). I could hear the girl before me’s last song ending and I rushed to the mirror for a cunt check. Turning around I bent over, pulled one ass cheek to the side, and peered up between my legs to see a dark streak of eyeliner radiating from my index finger across my ass.
“Tara is making her way toward the main stage, gentlemen,” the DJ announced, “this is Tara on the main stage.
No. Tara’s not on the main stage. Tara’s in the dressing room madly scrubbing at her ass, and if you know MAC Fluidline you know how futile that scrubbing was. I scooped up a dab of concealer and swiped it on my ass as I ran for the stage. This is a club where being late for stage is a mortal sin.
On stage I considered the customers, their dollars, the unknown state of my ass, and the possibly helpful effect of dim lighting. Then I shrugged and started dancing my way around the stage, each dollar laid on the rail another crumb along the trail of my night.
It was a really slow night. The good thing about really slow nights is the good music. Busy strip club music is not bad, but it’s mostly loud and fast and not my favorite stuff. Â On slow nights the music is slow and sweet, mostly. There are exceptions. Like that “lap dance is so much better when the stripper’s crying” song. What the fuck is up with that song even existing? And especially being played in strip clubs? While I’m doing lap dances? Most clubs will ban it when I bring the lyrics to their attention, but not this one.
Most of my money for the night came from a sweet old man who is dying. He’s been struggling with an auto-immune disease for twenty five years, and the doctors just last month gave him three months to live. He’s matter of fact about it all, just wanting to talk about dying on new years eve. Like lot’s of people, he has no one to talk to about real things. Nudity and touch create intimacy, and when you blend in the anonymous fakeness of the strip club there’s a lot of soul-spilling realness.
Usually I’m down for mucking around in people’s messy emotions. The anonymous fakeness lets me get down and dirty with people in the moment with the thread of attachment and neediness that comes when you give your love away for free. Tonight, though, I’m exhausted with loving people, and I’m glad when he raises his frail frame from the chair and limps out the door.
Happy new year.
Happy New Year Miss Tara on the Mainstage. I look forward to sharing it with you.
Happy New Year, Tara! Thanks for a lovely year of posts, very much looking forward to reading you in 2008.
Happy New Year! Here’s to q-tips that wipe away black make-up stains miraculously, to the environment that allows one to sit in counsel without long term commitment, and to good music prevailing.
We didn’t add touch to the experience when I was there, I figured it was just a case of women exposing themselves in the background and up in ones face that led to customers exposing their deeper selves…that and the anonymous thing.
One of my main stage songs for the fist month or two was Digging in the Dirt, by Peter Gabriel
Happy New Year to you too. All the best in 2008.
Belated New Years greetings to you, too, lady. I look forward to many new musings in 2008!
haha.. cunt-check. 😉