tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57263820812305176512024-03-04T21:26:13.666-08:00I Hate Your FaceRuby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-21725098387694780902009-04-29T11:32:00.001-07:002009-04-29T11:57:38.692-07:00My Brain is Beginning to Atrophy<div>I'm currently trying to rub together the two brain cells I have left and get back to being productive. I need a life change damn it!</div><div><br /></div>I know it's been awhile but a lot has happened since I last logged in. I'm moving to a new apartment just outside of the city and am both anxious and excited. I'm also working on my grad school applications. I feel stupid calling up my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">professors</span> and asking them for a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">recommendation</span>. The first question I'll get is "What happened to law school?" the second will be, "Why do you want to get a master's in English?". I'm all over the map. How embarrassing. Still, school never hurt anyone.<div><br /></div><div>I have to go back to school. I can feel my brain begin to atrophy just sitting in the club all day. My new apartment is a teeny tiny one bedroom in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Sausalito</span>. I'm moving in, in two days and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">haven't</span> even begun to pack. I was just about to pack when I turned on my computer and realized I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">haven't</span> written a new post in a long time, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">LOL!</span> I hate packing when I have to downsize. My living space is going to be a lot smaller than it is now.</div><div><br /></div><div>My goal is to quit the club by September and save up as much as I can before then. It's a lofty goal considering I have no other source of income but I do have some time to brainstorm. My boyfriend thinks I need to slow down with it all... whatever that means. I had a panic attack a few days ago and I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">haven't</span> had one that bad in a long time. He was there to <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">wittiness</span> it and wanted to take me to the hospital. It was embarrassing at best, I hate having them <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">in front</span> of people. </div><div><br /></div><div>I quit Broadway club (actually, I just pulled a 'no show' and never called in) after a bouncer was shot in the entryway. I also found out, after some bitch started shit with me, that in the upstairs dressing room there's a gate in front of dressing room the girls will shut and use to lock the managers out when they decide to jump a bitch. Fuck Broadway! Working in that place is like being in prison.</div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-55639745342505069082009-03-20T00:19:00.001-07:002009-03-20T01:12:34.296-07:00Shame and Booze<div>I'm always hung over. This would be the perfect job if hang overs didn't exist.</div><div><br /></div>Last time I left off with a customer who gives me very little money but lots of useful information. I'll get to that in a minute.<div><br /></div><div>Working five shifts a week is bullshit. I took the day off. I have so much to do at my house. My room reeks of cat piss. My cat won't stop peeing on everything. It doesn't help that I have to give him an I.V. that fills him up like a water balloon everyday. Still, the fact that the urine smells means his kidneys are still working. I need to clean my room badly. My boyfriend has been sleeping on the couch. </div><div><br /></div><div>Last Friday (or Saturday, I can't remember which) mine and Summer's boyfriends brought Summer's boyfriend's brother and his girlfriend to the Broadway Club. Everyone saw me dance on stage and I was thrilled with being able to show off. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Unfortunately</span> everyone was just a little too fucked up for it to be comfortable. The brother's girlfriend was so wasted she introduced Summer and I to two of her friends by our real names in front of customers. The two friend's of hers work with her at S.F. General Hospital as doctors in residency. When I got off stage I was still putting my top back on when all four of them approached me. The girlfriend loudly called me by my real name while I winced and smiled <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">politely</span> as I shook hands. I was painfully aware of my nakedness, not that I have any shame. Lets just say that I felt like a loser. A <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">smokin</span> hot loser. I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">desperately</span> willed my grad school applications to turn themselves in and my novel be published. Anything to prove I have a brain.... and then I let all that bullshit go.</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm happy. I'm <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">figuring</span> myself out on my own terms. </div><div><br /></div><div>Before I go on I want to respond to a few comments:</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); font-weight: bold;">Sapphire Smoke: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(0, 0, 153); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">... It's interesting, you all are so much more strict in CA. In Texas you have to have your top off on stage (or bottoms, if it's nude) and during lap dances even our "strict" rules can be bent a little...</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I guess it's really like that everywhere. It's all about who you are and who you know when it comes to whether or not you'll get in trouble. I know girls who get away with murder. Although, since we do serve <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">alcohol</span> you cannot have your top off during a lap dance. However, some of the girls might as well have them off. They'd wouldn't be showing much more. I get guys in the club from Texas and Nevada all the time who can't wipe the astounded looks off their faces... "<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">You expect me to pay for that?"</span> </div><div><br /></div><div>My favorite are the girls who act all high and mighty they work at a 'topless' versus 'full nude club. "I could never show my vagina. That area is sacred!" Yet you can grind on guys dicks all day. Bitch please.</div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-weight: bold;">Natalie: </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">450 for a double shift? I would think that's a slow <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">LONNNG</span> day.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div>Everyday I go into work is a gamble. Some times I break even, some times I hit it big. The more I show up the better odds I have. I never lie about my money which the majority of dancers do. It's the whole, 'I have to inflate the number or everyone will think no one wants me complex.' It's bullshit. I've seen the most beautiful girls make shit while others not so blessed are raking it in. Half of it is luck, half of it is skill. Some days are like being trapped in a time warp. I blame my <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">excessive</span> drinking on such days. Without booze I'd go out of my mind with boredom. </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(153, 0, 0); font-style: italic;"><br /></span></div><div><br /></div><div>I started this post talking about Alec. Alec was a strip club manager and knows a lot of people currently in the industry. Alec is also considering opening his own club. After a couple drinks Alec reveals to me that the reason Blondie and Ashley are both doing Evan is because he's their dealer. Apparently Ashley approached Alec with a little blood trickling down her arm and nodded off on him. Whoa. The moment I heard that I'm thinking, poor thing. She's only twenty-four and the Broadway Club has already chewed her up and she's soon gonna get spit back out.<br /></div><div><div><div><br /></div><div>Well, she was spit out. Last week actually. I heard at Classy Club that she was walking around with a horrible nose bleed that she didn't notice. Evan was refusing to speak to her and he didn't notice in his attempt to ditch her. Finally, after a few horrified customers complained Ashley was approached by house mom who told her to get upstairs to the dressing room and clean her face and chest off. When Ashley descends back on to the floor she still has dried blood all over her. Ashley was terminated right then and there. </div><div><br /></div><div>Ashley waited a few days and shows up at Classy Club. Our manager hires her and tells her he just needs to call the Broadway Club to cross check it really is okay for her to come over to Classy. Ashley waves him away with a 'never mind, thanks anyway' grabs her shit and bails. I wonder what she got caught doing.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-26005578373627433292009-03-16T08:01:00.000-07:002009-03-16T09:00:56.959-07:00Five Shifts In One Week... Again!I took my cat back to the vet and he seems to have <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">stabilized</span>. That's a load off my mind. It still cost me $275.00 for the vet visit which is really nothing compared to the 3+ grand I've already spent on him.<div><br /></div><div>Last Friday Summer and I worked a double, Classy Club for day shift and Broadway Club for night. I walked with about $450.00. That's $450.00 for 16 hours of my time. This week Summer and I are no longer pulling doubles. It seems every time we try to take on a double shift by midnight we're too tired to work the crowd. Midnight to 2am are the two most lucrative hours. It's not worth it. Summer and I will be working day shift at Classy Club Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday and night shift Friday and Saturday and Broadway Club. I'm hoping to stack up some cash this week. All my rainy day money has been spent on vet bills and I want to take a week off to focus <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">solely</span> on my book so I can finally get this first draft finished already. Writing a book is like running a marathon, the last lap is the hardest and the most important.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've been getting the strangest requests to meet up outside the club with alarmingly accelerated frequency. Wither it's directly related to working more shifts or more and more girls are doing extra outside of the club. I'm guessing the latter. Men are starting to expect more when I sit down at their table. Times are tough. Dancers are desperate. But if you give a customer an inch they'll take a mile. A man I sat down with at a table with four of his friends asked if my breasts were real and tried to put his hand inside my bra. I caught him by the wrist trying to laugh it off but he was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">persistent</span>. I hissed in his ear that if he continued I would have the bouncer throw him and his friends out of the club and head first into on coming traffic. His eyes filled with surprise and he jerked his hand away as if my tit were on fire. His pathetic attempt to touch me didn't surprise me. I deal with that all the time. His shock at my reaction caught me off guard. Really?</div><div><br /></div><div>And ladies, come on! I love giving dances to women, in fact, I prefer to. However, just because you're a woman doesn't mean it's cool to molest me and rip my fucking outfits. We're both women for fucks sake. We can have sex whenever we want. Why are you acting like some desperate dude?</div><div><br /></div><div>A man I say last Friday named Rick, a <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">successful</span> silver fox type, threw me for a loop. I can tell the reason he chooses to spend time with strippers is because he relishes control. I could spot him from a mile away. We were doing three for $100s and he was pushing the envelope as far as he could getting mildly annoying. Then Rick asked if I was a cop.</div><div><br /></div><div>Rick owns property in the <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Caribbean</span> and a four story house in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Potrero</span> Hill with the most spectacular view. I've never been inside but I drive by it on my way to my favorite pet food store, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Pawtrero</span>.</div><div><br /></div><div>I answered that I was neither a cop or a prostitute. He then chastised me for <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">being</span> so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">presumptuous</span> and '<span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">assured</span> me' he didn't want to stick his dick in me'. Yeah, right. Rick then told me he wanted to photograph me in his private studio at his house doing <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">tasteful</span> lingerie poses. Rick said he would pay me $500 per shoot once a week. He would open an account at his favorite lingerie store for me to charge my outfits too, and some of the photos would be 'tastefully' involving other women. I could use the money but it's not worth the head ache. <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">I'd</span> be crossing too many boundaries. </div><div><br /></div><div>I looked Rick up online just like he suggested. He does have his own <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">business</span> and he has been <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">written</span> up in Forbes and such. This intrigues me because this means he's actually busy. I just assumed the reason Rick wastes so much time and money at Classy Club is because he's rich and bored. He buys lots of dances and pays well. I hope he doesn't drop me once he realizes I'm not actually going to participate in his 'private photo shoot fantasy'. Rick's all time fantasy is to photograph me with an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Asian</span> woman. Apparently their are many girls working at Classy Club that have been photographed by Rick. I wouldn't put it past any of them but it's hard to tell. Customers lie.</div><div><br /></div><div>On to my next problem, Alec. I'm nervous to write about Alec. The reason I <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">haven't</span> told you guys about Alec before is he's the man I can get in the most trouble talking about if the wrong person discovers this blog. Alec now works in consulting and just opened a bar. When I met him he told me he worked for a consulting firm. He bought dances from me. All the other girls in the club were stunned. Apparently Alec never buys dances from anyone. I saw him as a mark and I played him for all he was willing to give me. I told Alec 'maybe' I'll meet him outside of the club, 'maybe' I like him enough to date him, <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">etc</span>. Now I find out he used to be a strip club manager and knows everyone in this city that's in the industry. Even worse, Alec is friends with all the club owners. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">WTF</span>!</div><div><br /></div><div>Alec actually thinks I'm going to be his girlfriend. Everyday he grows more impatient and more <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">insistent</span> on me meeting him outside of the club. This job has given me so much insight to the male ego. Even though Alec has been a club manager, managed girls, and knows the games we play he still thinks he's the special one that will go home with the dancer. </div><div><br /></div><div>I've known Alec in the club for eight months now. It's not going to happen and he keeps getting more and more desperate. He's not a big spender, in fact he hardly gives me any money at all anymore. Still, in this small city everyone knows everyone and Alec is a vat of <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">useful</span> information. More on that later. I have to get ready for work.</div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-88915072809020372262009-02-28T20:17:00.000-08:002009-02-28T21:27:25.550-08:00My New Club RocksI'm hung-over and have the worst menstrual cramps. I worked a double shift yesterday. Exhausting! I have two different names at two different clubs:<div style="text-align: center;">Ruby = Classy Club</div><div style="text-align: center;">Chase = Broadway Club</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I've been at the Broadway Club for a week now. My friend Summer started with me at the Classy Club almost three weeks ago and said she wanted to check out more clubs. The Broadway Club has the same house mom as the Classy Club (which is only temporary for her. All the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Deja</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Vu</span> clubs in the city are co-owned by the same people.). Summer and I were offered a one shift per week schedule and the usual standard in all clubs is that you have to work at least three. The Broadway Club gave us this option simply because we're coming from Classy Club and they are in desperate need of good looking girls. I know girls who work mandatory three shift schedules at two different clubs. That's a mandatory six shifts a week. Um, part of the reason we're strippers is so we don't have to do that. The Broadway club said we can even do splits if we want to. That means that if we work at Classy Club during the day we can then show up at Broadway Club at 8pm even though check in is at 6pm. They're suppose to charge you a late fee of up to $200.00 if you're late for check in. Our deal is pretty sweet and that's what we did yesterday.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The Broadway Club is a lot of fun. It's seedy, has way more if a party vibe, gets out-of-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">towner</span> Broadway foot traffic, and some crazy bitches that work there are down right hilarious! It also has history. It was this countries first strip club and employed Carol <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Doda</span>, the first woman to ever have had silicone injected into her Ta-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">tas</span>. They're also famous for a piano they keep hung over the back entry way. The piano used to lower from the ceiling with girls dancing on it who crawled up onto it from the second floor. One evening, after hours the assistant manager was doing his girlfriend on top of the piano. Some how the lever switch switched on and he was crushed between the piano and the ceiling. The girl was saved by her pelvic bone and his enormous belly....<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">ew</span>.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I worked a double with Summer at Classy Club during the day and Broadway Club at night. We both ended up walking with a little more than $500.00. This may be seen by some as pathetic but I try to keep it in perspective. I remember working as a legal secretary making $550.00 a week. Now, with a debilitating economy where people getting laid off on a daily bases I can make that on a Friday and it's fun. It also allows me time to work on my novel and travel. Not only do I not have to fuck anyone I don't have to even interact with people I don't like. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Last night was slow at Broadway Club. Still, it was entertaining. Both Summer and my boyfriends came in to see us. My boyfriend took a liking to another dancer named Ashley. Ashley is a shorter busty brunette with nice fake tits and pretty blue eyes and ink black hair. I myself am tan, tall, thin, v. leggy with long <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">blond</span> hair. My tits are a perky smallish C. I'm proud of them. They're real. All of us were getting drunk and my boyfriend kept the drinks coming and gave us plenty of money for our doubles dances. I didn't even feel a twinge of jealousy, although I would feel pretty awkward if Ashley found out he's actually my live-in boyfriend, not my regular from the Classy Club which we had her believe.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Ashley was fighting with Evan, the Broadway Club's Assistant Manager. Rumor from the Classy Club is that Ashley and Evan are an item. What is it with hot strippers hooking up with not hot managers? Ashley is twenty-four and dumb. There, I answered my own question. Ashley talked her friend from grade school into coming into The Broadway Club and taught her how to dance. Her name is now Blondie. Blondie is about Ashley's same height with a bigger boob job, twice as much fake tan and obviously, is <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">blond</span>. It didn't take long until Evan was fucking Blondie in the office while Ashley was working the floor. Some how Ashley found out and the air is tense between the two girls. Ashley thinks she's in love with Evan for whatever reason. The girls are civil enough with each other now but talk a lot of shit behind each other's backs. If Ashley is drunk she'll yell at Evan on the floor in front of everyone for talking to Blondie for too long and/or ignoring her.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I first saw Blondie on my second shift and she approached my with disdained <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">curiosity</span>. Being tall and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">blond</span> I'm her biggest competition. Her regulars kept insisting on introducing us to each other creating awkward <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">tension</span> each and every time. Because Blondie didn't like me Ashley <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">automatically</span> became my ally. It's really stupid.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">There are only four hot girls that work at The Broadway Club. Me, Ashley, Blondie and Summer. The other girls are <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">tweekers</span>, old, ugly or all of the above. During the week we hardly have to work. Guys will approach the floor of us to ask us for dances. It's quite an ego boost. I was trying to 'make friends' and called one of the girls over after she got off stage to do a doubles dance with me. On stage she looked kind of pretty. Up close she looked ravaged. She was sallow, had missing teeth, and her eyes darted nervously around while she chewed her lips and scratched her face. She wouldn't stop talking and when she talked, it was really fast. Her name is Phedra and I will never ask her to join me again. She made my customer so <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">uncomfortable</span> he left.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Still, my all time ultimate <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Fugly</span> Award goes to Miss Asia! According to Classy Club girls she's danced at almost every club in the bay at one time or another. Even though she's beat up looking she has a pretty okay body. Still, she actually as some <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">thinning</span> hair on the verge of becoming straight up bald spots on the back of her head. Even though there are black spots where her teeth should be in her cavernous mouth, Asia's eyes are her worst feature. At some point in her life she attempted to have her eyes widened through cosmetic surgery. It was a botched job. You can see her entire eyeball and she doesn't blink that much. It looks almost like tooth picks are holding open her eyes really wide. Her nick name is The Grudge. She doesn't <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">wear</span> stripper shoes but <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">professional</span> dance shoes. Two inch <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">cha</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">cha</span> s to be exact which gives her an even <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">weirder</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">Lynchian</span> film feel. She moon walks across the stage, and when she's not <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">moon walking</span> she sorta scuttles around. Out of all the strippers I've ever seen she is by far the most disturbing.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-31948990637363676962009-02-23T14:44:00.000-08:002009-02-23T15:05:51.524-08:00I Came Out Of The Pole Closet... to my Mom!I told my mother I was a stripper yesterday. My cat has been really sick. He has kidney renal failure and he's only two. I've taken him to four vets and all of them say he must have been born with bad kidneys. My mom came over to my house in the city to look at him. She loves him too. We went to dinner and a movie. Over dinner I outed myself. I don't like lying to my family and I wanted to come clean. She was fine with it. Then we went to see The Wrester. Bad idea.<div><br /><div>I've been under a lot of stress lately with my cat and vet bills. His vet bills are almost $3,000.00. If I wasn't stripping I wouldn't be able to afford his meds or his prescription food let alone take him to the vet. Times are tough all around. </div><div><br /></div><div>I forgot Marisa Tomei plays an older stripper in The Wrestler. After the movie my mom immediately launched into my degree, how hard she worked at helping me get a college education and how she will support me in whatever I do as long as I'm moving forward. I agree with her. It really made me think. Since then I've worked on my resume (I have a couple of VP friends at different companies helping me fill in some gaps) and am looking for unpaid internships at local magazines. I have the money to do it. Why not? Maybe it will help me get into the Grad school I want to go to. My mom always helps me put things into perspective. Honesty really is the best policy.</div><div><br /></div><div>Some dancers were outed as call girls last week and were fired imediatley. Apparently management finally found their website. I was wondering when that was going to happen.</div><div><br /></div><div>In other news, I've gotten my friend Summer to come work with me! It's been so much more lucrative tag teaming guys with her. It's also a lot of fun. We decided to branch out from our 'mother club' in the finance district and go to a club on Broadway. We both love it. So far we've been working one night a week at the Broadway club and three times a week at our mother club. I find that I don't drink or smoke nearly as much around her because she hardly drinks and doesn't smoke at all. I should end this update here. We're working on Broadway tonight and I'm supposed to meet Summer at the spa in half an hour to get our spray tans. </div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-81718928465749224492008-12-04T16:22:00.000-08:002008-12-06T10:35:55.367-08:00Just Say NoWednesday was surreal. I pulled $600 and was incredibly inebriated the entire day. It really wasn't intentional. I was given a cigarette packed with weed and was so dunk on gin martinis that by the time a realized what it was I had smoked half of it. I don't smoke at work. It makes me paranoid. <div><br /></div><div>My day in a nutshell: 2pm- Champagne room with regular.</div><div> Me: Sipping gin martinis on my costumer's lap</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Him: Begging me to go out with him.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Me: guzzling my martinis<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> Him: Getting more annoying.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> 3pm- Another regular comes in. Hands me a cigarette full of weed <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> which about ruins my day. I demand he buy dances from me every <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>time I'm on rotation for main stage because I'm too paranoid to go <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>up. He backs down and submits. The only problem is we're both <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>too fucked up to properly follow what's going on and the next <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>rotation he leaves for the bathroom right when I'm called up to <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>stage. Lame. I almost slipped and fell out of my shoes about a dozen <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>times. How I managed to climb the pole to take my top off on my <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>last song I have no idea.<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> 5pm- Another girl's regular comes up to me and demands to talk about <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Naom Chompsky for an hour. He tips me $40 bucks. I'm tired and <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>just want to go home. I spend the rest of the evening hiding out in <span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>the dressing room. If I wasn't so inebriated I would have told him no.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-40190178187348918382008-12-01T20:44:00.001-08:002008-12-02T13:38:40.690-08:00Why Am I Here Still?Work was awful today. Really, really bad. A cocktail waitress that I used to work with was murdered last week by a stalker. She had a husband. She had kids. The stalker shot himself after shooting her. We now have mandatory escorts to our cars. Even day-shift girls are now being pressured to valet our cars with the club. Is this a result of the economy? Perhaps not. Girls have ended up in dumpsters outside of strip clubs for decades. I feel horrible that it doesn't have to make sense. She was a sweet girl. Nice person with an okay disposition. I really didn't know her that well. I remember she looked tired most of the time. Probably because she was taking care of two kids and trying like hell to keep her house which was located outside of the city. Not easy to do these days in California.<div><br /> The club was pretty much empty today. I left with one hundred dollars which made me want to cry. Living in the city is not cheap and rent was due yesterday. This of course was the direct result of the cops coming in earlier in the week showing pictures of the guy to see how many dancers/staff recognized him. Case closed assholes! The freak show is dead. What more do you want? Needless to say customers fled.</div><div><br /> I have a funny feeling about it all. It brings me back to the saying 'believe none of what you hear and only half of what you see'. There has got to be something more to the case if the cops are still asking questions. Still, I feel incredibly guilty getting pissed over such mundane things as money when that poor girl is dead. She was a mother of two for fucks sake! Her murder is now a taboo subject in the club. I exchanged ideas with the bartender who gave me a few free shots of raspberry flavored vodka. There was a creepy guy who wore jeans and a dark hoody that stood in the alley way across from our club and watched the girls leave at night, but that was months ago. He only did it for a week or two. The bouncers and floor hosts scared him off after the girls started complaining.</div><div><br /> I don't know. I'm broke, drunk, and still trying to process. I want to get my .22 Ruger I have stashed in Florida right now.</div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-45035105873962993212008-11-25T08:42:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:39:43.939-08:00I Think I'm Getting Played<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I've recently befriended a young girl at the club named Mandy. Mandy moved here from Seattle and started about a month ago. Mandy had already been dancing for 2 years. It's been slow. She's striking, beautiful and not that quick to pick up on subtle hints. My friend Sapphire has hated Mandy since she started but I think it's a jealousy issue. I've looked for guile in Mandy and I just don't see it. Mandy is a good dancer and has been working for 2 years now. Honestly, I think she's just dumb and I hate this big sis <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">responsibility</span> kick I'm on right now but boy did she luck out. <div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Mandy has taken customers from the tip rail after being told not to, she has stepped on Sapphire's toes poaching Sapphire's customers more than a couple times and I really don't think it's intentional. I think that she's just not that smart. After warning Mandy to be careful about stealing guys from other people's tip rail I was dancing on the main stage with a full tip rail and heard someone go <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">pssssst</span>! I turned and saw that Mandy, who was dancing on the smaller stage near <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">my</span> tip rail was trying to poach a customer. I mentioned it to her once I got off stage and her eyes welled up with tears. I tried to ignore the tears and walked away and still felt bad. 10 minutes later she was downstairs throwing up in the bathroom. Mandy had drank way too much. </div><div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I've had her sit with my regulars with me and they quickly became hers (or more appropriately 'ours') before the Johns got so fed up with her 21 year old naivety and her inability to handle her booze. Then they ask for more private time with me. Ruby minus Mandy. Am I a sucker for beautiful doll like girls or what?<br /></div></div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-9372762422416334622008-11-12T04:36:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:43:50.622-08:00Rinse and Repeat<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>It's like 4:30 in the morning and I wolk up sweating for no reason. It's probably because I've been drinking copious amounts of alcohol these last two days and now my body is trying to release the toxins. One can only hope. I worked out before work today (technically it was yesterday) and had to take it easy on the pole. I told myself I would only drink four glasses of champagne but that went out the window after the fourth and I had about five or six more. <div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>To work as a stripper you have to be either emotionally fucked up enough to crave abuse or have an ego made of titanium steel. Let me premise this next rant with the fact that I'm fucking hot. I have this job for a reason that has nothing to do with being surgically enhanced with jumbo double d jugs. I look good naked. I work out <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">hard</span>. I'm 5'8, toned and sculpted at 120 pounds and I have a pretty face. I've been told I look like Giselle Bundchen. So, with that said I've had guys go out of their way to take me down a notch while dancing for them. A guy paying me a compliment about my hair will in the same breath say to me, "You'd have the perfect body if you just lost a little more weight around the middle." The man who so eagerly handed out this advise is a trader who obviously stays sedentary for days on end given the fact that he's one bag of Cheetos away from obese. Thanks! You should be my personal trainer.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>My favorite from today was "You're a sleeper." When I asked what a sleeper was he said that he didn't notice me at all and is surprised that I'm so good looking because from far away you'd never know. Is that why he called me over and asked me to sit down?<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"You're actually really beautiful." <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Thank you."<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"This outfit is kind of frumpy on you." I'm wearing a black bra and panties made of french lace. I stare blankly at him.</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"It's just that you're not at all my type. I never call girls like you over."<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Would you like a dance?"<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"I'm feeling generous today. I'll let you give me a dance. I never get dances from girls like you."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Immediately after stepping off stage I was motioned over by a man in a suit in his mid-forties. Not a bad looking guy but not a good looking one either. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Did you just start dancing?"<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Did you see me climb the pole and hang upside down?"<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Is that hard?"<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Some might say it is."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"You look familiar. I used to get dances from you a year ago. You've gained weight."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"That's not possible. I've only been here six months. Would you like a dance?"<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"No offense. You're pretty and all but I'm waiting for a stone cold fox."<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Must not have seen anybody he liked because he didn't get any dances. Even my friend Elise didn't have any luck with him and after her boob job dropped (I'm told you have to wait for implants to settle in) she now models for playboy's lingerie catalogue. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Some men come in here to escape into a fantasy world and some to share their hatred of the real world. They get off on fucking with dancers and feeling out their insecurities. Some girls, mostly really young ones, can't help but let it get to them. They go blonder, five pounds lighter and add to more sessions to their work out routine. Wash, rinse, repeat. I feel sorry for them. They usually end up overly surgically enhanced, in debt because of the surgery and bitter.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-12739979636691635192008-11-04T10:26:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:44:23.750-08:00Where Has Your Mouth Been?<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I have to reinstate my old rule. No more hard liquor. I wolk up this morning barely able to remember what happened yesterday. I was missing $600 and started flipping out. My roommate/landlord gently reminded me that I paid him rent in cash yesterday. I hate this feeling. I am now officially on a champagne diet. No more hard booze. <div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I drink when I'm upset and my Grama passed on Halloween. She was like a second mom to me. I grew up with her a big part of my life. I ended up doing nothing this weekend because of it and today I'm going to the mortuary to give moral support to my mom as she signs the papers. As a result of all this emotional stuff my stupid mind has to process I have to drink to work and drink I do. I was in a champagne room with a friend of the day shift manager and he actually kissed me on the mouth. It was all I could do to keep from dry heaving right in front of him. I actually gagged, I'm not kidding. I never let guys even close to being able to do that. Men are more likely to get away with grabbing my breasts than kissing me. Kissing customers is disgusting. One of my friends got fired for making out with a customer and even thinking about it now makes me want to puke. No, he was not hot.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I think my manager broke up with his girlfriend Leslie. I haven't seen Leslie in the club in a long time and the girl that just got put on two week probation for fighting is Leslie's friend. Leslie rarely had to dance on stage and could come into work whenever she felt like it with out having to pay a fee. Every customer she had was a champagne room and she rarely gave floor dances. She seems to be a taboo subject these days. I'm pretty sure she broke up with him.<br /></div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-55867558222884234552008-11-02T19:31:00.000-08:002008-12-02T13:44:53.324-08:00I See You Damn It!Why do guys think it's cool to come into a strip club, sit at the middle table closest to the tip rail, and pretend that they could care less about whats happening on stage? I hate hate hate that. I work during the day and at lunch hour like clockwork a group of suits will sit around a table and pretend to be really engrossed in some kind of discussion they're supposedly having with each other while they click away at their crackberrys. They don't tip and they think they're sneaky with their secret ninja glances but I see you damn it! It sucks. Everyone is so cheap now a days!<div><br /> Topless women in plastic shoes have to make a living too. Unless my manager is on the floor I will not take my top off until some one tips me. Sorry but nothings free. Unless of course you're the aforementioned men in the group that are incessantly scrolling emails with their crackberrys. They wait until a guy with some class actually tips me and try to look and me when my back is turned. The back wall is mirrored morons. I can see you doing it. I work at the nicest club in San Francisco and still the guys can be so cheap. I'm sorry the economy is bad. I'm sorry you just got laid off from Goldman Sachs and now only have that measly 10million to help you figure out what your next step is gonna be. I know you wanted at least 20million by the time you hit 35. Really, seriously? I hate you people!</div><div><br /> On a more dramatic note there was another fist fight in the dressing room this week. One older dancer (in terms of her longevity at the club, not her age) and a newer dancer were hanging out the previous weekend at a night club and the newer dancer tried to get in the other's boyfriend's pants by selling her up the river when she went to the bathroom. I could see the tension between them build through out the day until one of them took a cheap shot in the dressing room hitting the other one square in the jaw. The older girl is now on a two week probation. Go figure. I like the older girl better than the newer one. I hope she comes back.</div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-3020037455431313462008-08-14T15:22:00.000-07:002008-12-02T13:47:23.320-08:00I See Dead People<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>It really doesn't take long to get your feet wet in this industry. I haven't been stripping for very long and I've already had all kinds of weirdos with the most off the wall requests. I've had foot lickers, arm pit sniffers, butt sniffers, pantie buyers, biters, hair pullers you name it. It takes a lot to shock me and even more to make me uncomfortable enough not to fuck with you. With the exception of the guy who told me he paid a woman to castrate him, and then proved it to me (I don't need to go in to how) I've been able to handle it all.... until yesterday. <div><br /><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I was on stage when I noticed a friendly looking attractive man sitting by himself dressed in a suit and tie. He motioned me over once I stepped off stage and bought me a glass of champagne. After some small talk he ordered a glass of ice. He asked me to hold the glass with both hands. I picked up the glass and asked him if he wanted a dance from me. He took a hundred dollar bill from his wallet.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"I'll pay you a hundred dollars to sit with me for ten minutes in the bubble lounge and pretend that you're dead. Don't move, try not to breath, and keep holding that glass of ice until right before we start our time."</div><div><br /></div><div>Sure, why not? I figured it would be the easiest dance I'd give all day. However, you get what you pay for and he proved himself bat shit crazy by the time our ten minutes was up. </div><div><br /></div><div>"Do you have hair extensions?" He asked right before we started. By now my hands were starting to become numb and ache with cold.</div><div>"Yes."</div><div>"Is it real human hair?"</div><div>"Yes."</div><div>"Oh wow." he started to play with my hair his excitement inherently obvious. "You know where they get the hair?" he asked, his voice shaking with arousal."</div><div>"No, where?"</div><div>"Corpses... cadavers. This is probably some beautiful dead Indian woman's hair."</div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span></div><div>That did it. I set down the glass quickly signally the time was now starting. The entire session he played with my arms and legs, arranging them in different poses I thought about the hundred and tried not to think about where the extensions on my head really came from. <br /></div><div>Gross.</div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-39472966868519095682008-07-27T15:42:00.000-07:002008-12-02T13:48:23.657-08:00From Ball Parks To Small Penises<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpL1dkR_RimIPH5c2C6xHqYeXAJzqduVGKoTXtqlNxs81V5gkcax8CxQZ0Yn4JarbWI2ki7HRZZWO4MJeSgg8qdDKxWP8gd6pQIiBnpQWXruQsalyJmNx5TdZMMNiq8Zbx4r6yalKwy0/s1600-h/absinthe-flame.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNpL1dkR_RimIPH5c2C6xHqYeXAJzqduVGKoTXtqlNxs81V5gkcax8CxQZ0Yn4JarbWI2ki7HRZZWO4MJeSgg8qdDKxWP8gd6pQIiBnpQWXruQsalyJmNx5TdZMMNiq8Zbx4r6yalKwy0/s200/absinthe-flame.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227837358212334882" /></a><br />This is a shout out to the mother fucker that ripped me off last Thursday. This burly little Asian guy came into the club after a Giants game wearing a button down Giants shirt and he was drunk. I recognized him or, more accurately, he recognized me. He called me over and as I sat down with him I noticed he looked familiar. He used to come into the club twice a week when I was <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">cocktailing</span>. All the girls know him and his friends. He reminded me that he promised to buy a dance from me if I made my audition. I asked where he wanted the dance and he grabbed my hand and led me up to our VIP area upstairs. He's a regular so no need to get the money upfront.<div><br /><div>That sneaky fucking bastard! After the required three dances he said he needed to go to the bathroom. Even though he took the longest fucking time I didn't let him out of my sight. When he came out he side stepped me saying he needed to go to the ATM which is by our front door. I followed him hurriedly and when he tried to open the front door I grabbed his arm. He shook me off and ran outside. I attempted to run after him but our door man grabbed me by the waist and pulled me back in as I swung my tip box in vain at the now running cheap bastard's head. Mind you I was in six inch plastic heals, a thong and a bra. My manager said there's nothing they can do. No matter who it is always get the money up front. Even if the bouncers did manage to catch the guy before he ran out the door what can they do to him? The customer can just say I was <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">lying</span> and that he already paid me. Shaking him down for the money is extortion. Towering over him menacingly until he pays me is totally legal but unless he actually assaults me the bouncers can't rough him up. Lame! Fucking Lame!!!</div><div><br /></div><div>The insult to injury is that he's in the club all the time. My manager said if I see him again to let management know and they'll tell him he's not aloud back in until he pays me. Pretty much to just pay me or leave. I told all the girls who know him. When I see him again he's getting a swift kick in the balls before I even bother with management.</div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-75677628037413152632008-07-14T00:32:00.000-07:002008-12-02T13:49:54.103-08:00My First Foot Fetish Experience<span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Last Wednesday at work was slow, real slow. Dial-up slow. So when my favorite co-worker Jessie pointed out Sapphire's regular (Sapphire was not at the club that day) I was intrigued.<br /><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"He's a weirdo," Jessie warned. </div><div><br /></div><div>I remembered Sapphire telling me about him. He would pay Sapphire to sit with him and smell her feet. Sounds like money for nothing right? Still, I approached him cautiously due to the fact that Jessie wasn't the least bit inclined to go up to him (which usually meant the money was less than easy). A sly dancer named Ronnie suggested we go sit at his table together. We walked across the room to his table, cheerily introduced ourselves and sat down. He eyed us up and down slowly, eerily with a tight skeletal grin creeping up on his face. He then ran his finger tips lightly down my thigh. I forced myself not to shudder. He explained to Ronnie he only wanted one of us. Ronnie got up and left.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>The man was Italian, in his early to mid sixties, and had a nasty huge boner the entire session. He wanted me to twist his nipples, when I refused he twisted them himself until I told him he had to stop. While sitting across from him I moved my bare feet up his leg and across his face, keeping them in motion and playing dumb while he kept trying to shove my toes in his mouth and my foot into his crotch. If I let my foot linger on his face or near his crotch he would start shaking in his chair in his chair like he was on the verge of orgasm. It was so embarrassing I had to tell him to stop that too. We were close to the D.J. booth and Mr. D.J. was eyeing us suspiciously. Sure enough after twenty minutes of sitting across from him and letting him kiss on my bare sweaty feet while he eyed my legs like a starving carnivore he handed me five folded up twenties and walked away. It wasn't easy. Each minute with him made me more anxious. Completely unrelated to his foot fetish he gave off such a perverse negative vibe that was so strong I was tempted to forgo the money and leave more than once during our encounter. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>If I see him in the club and Sapphire's not around I'm not sure I'll approach him again. It'll probably depend on how shitty a day I'm having.<br /></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-86215321052737079062008-07-12T20:19:00.000-07:002008-11-12T23:05:53.347-08:00Dressing Room Drama<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkpZavFc_q6W-7_kTsHIshJ7xVaztEXTjYE5tWAKll75BA4RaRTHj7Voa1RyqiTVE2BO37SOaSfh1vYfWZyAOiX493p8j1mfBIuo6I_9d_TjYZo-7pH9ek5CBnZuzVlAMO8jr2kbgFM4/s1600-h/DSCN0132.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkpZavFc_q6W-7_kTsHIshJ7xVaztEXTjYE5tWAKll75BA4RaRTHj7Voa1RyqiTVE2BO37SOaSfh1vYfWZyAOiX493p8j1mfBIuo6I_9d_TjYZo-7pH9ek5CBnZuzVlAMO8jr2kbgFM4/s320/DSCN0132.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227769159514580818" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA6kXlT0QfN1QTEw8ferrHVCOvYwTNROZXJ9f7iXLQRMy29amMb1haMao1GwCKP9fllt3YUCa6kmt-jPsYnZrFcBzURdaV_ZD4gJPxQUo_aw7FLRKKoNxfTNj6Fwy2X-Xa2ncLHXpiuNs/s1600-h/IMG_0232.JPG"></a><span><span></span></span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>Yesterday was the strangest day yet at the strip club and is partly what prompted me to start this blog in the first place. The rest of the impulse is a direct result of the fact I now know I'm not aloud to write about the club. A woman from the club was fired three days ago after our General Manager who religiously googles our club's name and location discovered her dominatrix website which made reference to the club. Uncermoniously she was told to come to the club on her day off and clear out her locker. She explained what had happened while shoving shoes and outfits into her carry-all her face void of any emotion.<div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>After Diablo Cody's big hit with her memoir (and once daily blog) <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">CANDY GIRL "A Year in the Life of an Unlikely Stripper"</span> and her even bigger Academy Award winning screenplay <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;">JUNO</span> stripper blogs have been popping up on the internet like U.S. military bases in the Middle East. Two of my personal favorites being River City Kitty and Hobo Stripper. Both are thought provoking and racy reads. <div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>I've been at this club for three weeks and already four girls have been fired. That's not including the ones who have auditioned, worked one day and asked to leave. I witnessed one girl from Atlanta, GA get tossed after she took her top off during a lap dance. She was too intoxicated to remember the rules. Dancers have to have an inch wide thong and bra on at all times. Our breasts are only revealed on stage for one full song and always the last song of the set. Even then our breasts can only remain bare between the pole and the back wall. If we step in front of the pole we have to be within reaching distance of it at all times. When a customer wants to tip from the tip rail (meaning the front of the stage, there isn't an actual rail at our club) we have to cover our breasts before we approach them. To be frank it's a pain in the ass. Men from Georgia, Texas and Washigton are astounded at how prudent we are in the most liberal city in California. No clothes no booze. If the guys are that hard up to have tits in their face and stare at some twenty-one year old brazilian waxed poonany they have to give up their $8 beer and go sip on a $12 sprite at the clubs on Broadway. Not that I'm judgmental in anyway mind you. To me there's little difference between giving an all nude air dance to grinding on a dude's hard-on fully clothed for three minutes.<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>These last three days I've been at the club the same dancer, we'll refer to her as boney, has been napalming my love jungle. She has worked at the club for a few years and is a great hustler. The problem is she deems every guy she has ever danced with as her regular if they approach me or I them. I'm the new girl and it's been pitifully slow this week. I'll be in the middle of a conversation, chatting up a customer for ten minutes and she'll run up screaming and jump in his lap while he winces in pain, his eardrums rattling from her super sonic mating call while her boney ass slams into his crotch. She's a problem because 1. She's always drunk 2. She talks shit and can't remember the next day. Already there has been more than one instance of her cursing me one evening and greeting me sweetly the next day. I couldn't take it anymore and yesterday after she pulled the squealing into my customers lap move I did it right back to her. I waited for her to sit down with some one and I hoped right into the man's lap shoving by breasts high (mine are big only in comparison, she's a member of the itty bitty titty committee) into his face. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"Hey stranger! It's been weeks." I giggle. The boney drunk's eyes narrow suspisiously. She had made so much money this week from me being too polite letting her walk all over me and I hadn't sold one dance that day. <br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>"I don't know what you mean but I like where this is going." said the man and with that she stood up and stormed off walking straight to the house mom. The funny part is I tip the house mom and she doesn't. I was told by a dancer sitting with them the house mom suggested to boney that she switch to water. That did it. Boney went back to the dressing room to wait for me telling anyone who would listen that I gave head for a hundred dollars and let guys finger me in the champagne room. I guess she was waiting to get in my face and try to fight me, to bad I was giving dances to that guy I stole from her. Boney threw all my stuff on my dressing room table, make-up, accessories and curling iron on to the floor and left early. House mom told me boney would receive a warning for it and told to stay away from me. I don't care at this point. She's on my last nerve. It's on.<br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span><br /></div></div>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5726382081230517651.post-60130327518934588672008-07-12T17:46:00.000-07:002008-11-12T23:05:53.716-08:00The Audition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW_IjJiXOieJua0GrtsL72yIq1D2ymkJj5RyuzDy9qC9FyinGpaIFWBoIN34XpaKachrsJUSepKmxTkuN3wyGwqP_Opf89PTz4kJDeuTj5sHauiCDE3DFDxcFrTBTMXS8oEC6W6b_-hA/s1600-h/images-1.jpeg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidW_IjJiXOieJua0GrtsL72yIq1D2ymkJj5RyuzDy9qC9FyinGpaIFWBoIN34XpaKachrsJUSepKmxTkuN3wyGwqP_Opf89PTz4kJDeuTj5sHauiCDE3DFDxcFrTBTMXS8oEC6W6b_-hA/s320/images-1.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222301076177951330" /></a><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap; font-size:11px;"><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">I'm a closet peeler. The only people that know are my boyfriend and close friends and family. I.E. those who are on a need to know bases. Why cause needless worry? Family drama is already unavoidable in my upper middle class liberal bubble. Don't burst the bubble man! I already have the reputation of the family bubble </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">burster</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">. If I told them all at Thanks Giving I'm a peeler I doubt they would bat an eyelash. Why do I strip? Money. duh. </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></div></span><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><br /></span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> </span></span></span></span></span></span></div><img style="text-align: justify;float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; " src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglWXH9KU7NhK738w6KwcFnz7zPnBcYMLjcTh65vLKrWSaTqox_dteR7kXlQwE_g-BbjCcIrFdv1lyJxEF5kVOBRpW8_cwS9KTZ04PavMdlhYEhCgQqv4xk9IOwUUMI5ndHnXJLvNam4kc/s320/images.jpeg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222301074598250514" /><div style="text-align: justify;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="white-space: normal; "><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> I audition</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style=""><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">ed for the day shift manager who said he’d ‘take me on’. I had never stripped before. The day shift manager said since I lacked experience he would only commit to giving me three shifts a week. Two slow days and one really good day. I was hoping the situation wouldn't last long and I could prove myself as a competent sales person quickly. I’d heard some real nasty rumors about the day shift girls and the day shift clientele from the night shift girls. Ah, well…I have to start some where and dancing is where the money is.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 51); font-family:'Trebuchet MS';font-size:13px;"><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">My audition went by so fast. Getting ready in the dressing room I felt like I was going to throw up. The day shift house mom </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">wasn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">’t that supportive either. I think she kept forgetting that I already worked at the club since I never worked a </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">dayshift</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> as a cocktail waitress. She went over the rules of my audition briefly and then ignored me leaving me shaking </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">infront</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> of my dressing room mirror until it was time to approach the main stage. She walked me up to the DJ Booth and made a hand gesture to go up and talk to him.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">“What kind of music do you like?" He asked.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">“Can you play something fast by Nelly </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">Fertado</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> for the first song and the second song can you play Heartbeats by The Knife.” The second song was important to me because that was the song I had to dance topless to.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">“I can’t do any more Nelly today but Heartbeats </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">hasn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">’t been played yet so you’re in luck.”</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">The house mom then walked me up to the stage entrance and instructed me to meet her on the other side after I was finished. </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">“Remember, she said, do not leave the stage until the next girl has arrived and do not except tips from the tip rail without putting your top back on.” Then she left me standing there alone waiting my turn watching the amazing dancer before me spin around the stage and crawl up and down the pole showing off her amazing boob job. I was hoping there </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">wouldn</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">’t be many customers that early but for 6pm on a Tuesday the house was packed.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">“Everybody put down your drink and clap your hands for our newest auditioning dancer, the lovely Ruby!” </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">At least the DJ thinks I’m lovely, I thought miserably as a took a </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">shaky</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> step onto the stage in my dangerously high </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">strappy</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> heels.</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify; text-indent: 0.5in; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">It was over before I knew it. You know how people say time just stops when your nervous? Well, once I got on stage and strutted around the pole I just had fun. Erotic dancing is just real slow with your body weight centered around your ass and your pelvis. It's not hard to do. Men aren't that complicated. They just want you to bend over until your top comes off. All the </span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">butterflies</span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> in my stomach</span></span></span><span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> </span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);">managed to fly away and before I knew it my last song was over. One more week as a cocktail server and it was official. I was Ruby.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 0);"> </span></span></p></span>Ruby Chasehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13225354460288795145noreply@blogger.com0