Ryann Reflections

A glimpse into the life of one anti-social stripper nerd.

Saturday, February 24, 2007


I'm going to Vegas.

right... now!



Monday, February 19, 2007


And here I am again pondering myself, my emotions, my detached determination and wondering who the fuck am I kidding?

I know what I need in my life right now. I know what I can’t handle. I know what I’m not willing to put myself through. Yet I care, and I know I care. I don’t want to lie to myself. I don’t want to be vulnerable. Sometimes comfort can lead to attachment, or something. I don’t really know what I’m saying, or if I even know how I’m feeling… but things with The Musician (formerly known as Whiskey) have been pretty intense this week.

I want to make excuses for his attention and write it off as circumstantial and meaningless. I know he’s just lonely and recovering from the loss of his familiar relationship… but I’m finding myself wondering how he actually feels about me. I don’t even know how I feel about him. I’ve avoided thinking about it for so long. I wonder if he ever thinks of me when he writes. I wonder if I’m irrelevant. I find myself wondering if the lyrics are ever about me, if there is a spot in his heart for me, and even if there is a place in mine for him.

I’m stuck. I actually don’t know how I feel. I don’t want to wreck it. I love what we have. He causes no drama in my life; he doesn’t break my heart (I won’t give him the chance). With him I can hide in the security of casual comfort.

But after two years of a roller coaster affair… there are bound to be attachments.

Am I just so cut off from the emotional reality that I can’t even see it? Have I lost touch with my own honesty? I know he’s not right for me, nor I for him. I know what we give each other is isolated, but not shallow... It’s something else. But for all my rationalizing and distance, I still wonder… Could I ever truly love him? Do I love him?

I don’t know.

I want to maintain this cool casual accepting attitude… and then I feel my stomach tighten with pangs of jealousy. It’s ridiculous. Sometimes I care. Sometimes I just don’t give a fuck. Sometimes I’m totally accepting of reality. Sometimes I get jealous.

It’s just late night pondering… a result of proximity I guess. I just need to get it out, let it go, and remind myself of something… Remind myself of futility and pain?

It’s been a long time since I openly sat and watched him play in a room full of people. Surrounded by his friends, and fans, I’m intimately aware of how segregated our relationship is. It’s a secret, hidden in the shadows of stolen memories.

I’m having a human moment. Don’t worry- it’ll pass.

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Saturday, February 17, 2007

ED4C4 letter from Annie

Dear friends, family, and colleagues,

The Naked Truth presents the Fourth Annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer – a stripathon fundraiser – on March 4, 2007 from 4 p.m. to midnight at The Drake Showlounge, 606 Powell Street, Vancouver. Cost is $10 at the door. There will be a silent auction, door prizes, t-shirts for sale, and live exotic entertainment.

This year we made the news across Canada when the Breast Cancer Society of Canada (BCSC) declined our donation. We were disappointed they turned us down and really didn’t expect it since they accepted our donation wholeheartedly last year, being quoted in the news about how cancer does not discriminate. Our decision to go public with their decision to not accept our donation this year had more to do with finding a charity than exposing the organization. But what happened could not have been predicted!

News articles like this one prompted an overwhelming response from people touched by cancer.

Outraged community members from all over the world expressed their support for Exotic Dancers for Cancer and disgust at the treatment we had experienced. For us, it was par for the course. We’re used to having organizations turn us away. In fact, the BCSC had been the FIRST cancer organization WILLING to accept our donation.

Due to the incredible publicity, we had several cancer organizations come forward willing to accept our donation (including some who have declined us in the past) and many more non-cancer related organizations. We discussed our options as a community and chose Rethink Breast Cancer, a national, registered charity that focuses on women under 40 years of age through education about risk factors and early detection. They also provide training grants for innovate breast cancer researchers and have started funding support programs for young women with breast cancer.

Rethink www.rethinkbreastcancer.com seemed like a perfect fit because this event is in memory of Jocelyne, who was first diagnosed with Breast Cancer at age 34 and later died at the age of 40. They are also known for their edgier campaigns, including www.checkoutmybreasts.com.

Please join us for Exotic Dancers for Cancer on March 4, at the Drake. Partial proceeds will go to Rethink with the rest going to Lady Sable, a former exotic dancer who is fighting ovarian cancer for the second time.

We still need items for our silent auction – so please contact me at http://by118fd.bay118.hotmail.msn.com/cgi-bin/compose?curmbox=00000000-0000-0000-0000-000000000001&a=5ae447435e684aa35d0f30d039ed33118f37b19c59913098d59b60984f16cbcc&mailto=1&to=annie@nakedtruth.ca&msg=C996247C-89B7-4B44-9D51-76F2A4648F08&start=0&len=559282&src=&type=x if you can donate towards our fundraising efforts. In the meantime I will leave you with this short video – we’ve gotten permission to show it at our event http://aabc.org.uk/campaign/dancer.html

Hope to see you there! Please forward this email to others you know, and hang the attached poster at your place of work, if possible.

Love Trina aka Annie Temple

Letters from cancer charities found here:

Letters from non-cancer related charities found here:

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Wednesday, February 14, 2007

ED4C4 media circus

For readers that are curious about the media attention we've recieved...
we have letters to the editor. Trina setting the record straight, a hilarious cartoon in the province. Another article in Orato and the cancer blog

There has been an overwhelming response.

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Breast Cancer Society of Canada doesn't want our money

Well I’m back in Vancouver and it’s that time of year again. The 4th Annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer will be held at the Drake Show lounge on March 4, 2007.

I’ve been a little out of touch lately, geographically that is. So I haven’t been participating in the media circus that this event has become. Another dancer came across this video while researching, for obvious reasons I’m using it as an example of why we’re doing this. http://aabc.org.uk/campaign/dancer.html

The Breast Cancer Society of Canada chose NOT to accept our money this year. We received a letter saying… “We will have to decline your kind offer as we have certain major donors that are not in favour of this connection. Believe me you are not the only fundraising event that we have had to decline accepting proceeds from. This decision came as a result of donor disgruntlement and together with the Board of Directors we have decided not to accept any donations from what donors consider controversial sources.”

I have a lot of mixed feelings about our money being refused. On one hand I want to scream and rage at the blatant discrimination. They don’t want our money. Strippers are immoral? What about the corporate men I entertain every day? What about the men who pay me to stare at my pussy? Why is their money welcome and ours isn’t? I want to be surprised, but really I wasn’t. I know it’s not fair, and I know it’s bullshit, but part of me can understand why someone wouldn’t want to intentionally subject themselves to the level of stigma associated with my job.

The media and the public reacted far more intensely than I did. I’m glad. We put out the call to find a cancer charity that wanted our money, and were overwhelmed by the response. Hundreds of emails can in, almost all in support of us. After sorting through everything we finally decided on Rethink Breast Cancer.

Rethink is a national, registered charity that focuses on women under 40 years of age through education about risk factors and early detection. They also provide training grants for innovate breast cancer researchers and have started funding support programs for young women with breast cancer. http://www.rethinkbreastcancer.com/
We’re very happy with our choice and the event looks to be our biggest yet. “This event is in memory of a woman who was first diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 34,” says Trina Ricketts, organizer of the event and founder of nakedtruth.ca – a resource and advocacy website for exotic dancers. “For this reason and so many others, Rethink just seemed like a great fit.”

I’ll talk a bit more about the event as it draws near, but mark on your calendar friends. It’s gonna be one hell of a party!!

March 4, 2007
The Drake Exotic Show Lounge
606 Powell St. Vancouver, BC

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Thursday, February 08, 2007

Just another night at Harley's

I notice him immediately. Early 50’s, peppered hair and obviously self-important, he stares at me, licking his lips, throughout my show. Fascinated by my performance, or just horny, he motions for me to join their table.

Wide-eyed, I smile at him as he explains how important he is, and how much money he has, and how honored I should be that he has chosen me to support this evening. He hands me a $100 bill and explains, “You got my attention. I’m taking the boys out tonight. They all work for me, and I want you to show them a good time.”

The boys are well-behaved and dull. I dance. They pay. We chat. I dance again. I’m making money for pretty lazy work. All I really have to do is sit here and listen to Mr. Very Important Executive talk about how very important he is.

Fiona finishes her show and joins the group. Neither one of us cares how very important or supposedly wealthy they are, but they are spending money. I watch her as she dances, enjoying her performance as I always do. Mid-dance Mr. Very Important Executive leans over to assure me that I’m beautiful and I’m talented and I shouldn’t feel bad.

Dammit! I forgot that I’m supposed to have no self-worth and feel threatened by every other dancer. He’s starting to get annoying… correction: More annoying!

Fiona and I trade entertainment duty, attending to the group for the duration of their company drunk fest. I dance. She dances. I do a show. She does a show. We take turns sitting with Mr. Very Important Executive and listening to his condescending bullshit.

I try to enjoy her show but I’m interrupted throughout by reassuring bullshit. I obviously need him to validate my worth. He is so very important and I should listen to him. I give up explaining that Fiona is a good friend of mine, and I’m not threatened by her. She’s gorgeous, and one of the best dancers in the country.

He replies with “But so are you. Don’t feel bad. You’re beautiful, and I really enjoyed your show.” (Fiona is doing a hand stand on stage) “You’re just as good as she is. I don’t want you to feel like you’re not good enough.”

“Okay.” I nod at him, trying to unsuccessfully end the topic. A question about work effectively turns his attention back to talking about himself.

Finally midnight draws near and the group abandons their fearless leader. They leave him in our care, drunk. I’m squished in between him and Fiona, trapped listening to his advice.

“I know you don’t understand what I’m talking about, but you should listen to me and be smart about things. I know you don’t know how to do that.” His voice is patronizing and I’m fighting the urge to tell him off.
He keeps talking. “You girls have an opportunity to make a lot of money, and even though you don’t understand how the world works, I’ve made a lot of money in my time. I’m a multi-millionaire and I know how to be smart. I know you girls don’t.”

I stare at Fiona, my eyebrows raised and lips tight. She smirks at my obvious desire to say something smart and bats her eyelashes at him “Uh huh…. Oooh. Uh huh…” She gazes at him.

I throw up a little in my mouth.

He continues. “How old are you girls?”

We lie.

He nods, believing us. “Well you girls are young. Too young. My company is big, and I’m very important, and we’re responsible for a ton of big expensive things that you girls are obviously impressed by” (I might be paraphrasing a bit here)

The bartender pulls me away from the absurdly condescending lecture before he gets to his point. I leave Mr. Very Important Executive in the fine hands of Fiona and go get dressed for my show. She joins me shortly having finished the conversation.

“So?” I ask

She shares the remainder of the conversation. “Well He has a lot of money, and he enjoyed my show. I’m a very talented dancer, and in his position he’s pretty qualified to judge that. He’s in room 203 in the hotel and he doesn’t know what I charge, but he thought he’d put that out there.”

“Alrighty then.” I shrug, laughing “He is very important you know.”

“Oh yes!” Fiona agrees, rolling her eyes.

The bar is almost empty as I wander back out to do my show. An old native guy is peering at me through is dirty glasses. Wiping beer from his white handlebar mustache, he waddles over to get a closer look and I catch the overpowering scent of diesel (the fuel, not the cologne). He’s been following Fiona and I throughout the bar all night, each time becoming more unintelligible.

4 regulars are hunched over the bar basically ignoring me as the music plays and I pretend to dance. I wander around the stage playing with the music, doing disco moves, and laughing. The “chicken dance” sends Fiona into giggles and she runs up to the front of the stage. Pulling a chair front and center she sits there for the remainder of my set.

The final notes of my third song fade into silence. Nothing happens. No music. No fourth song. No nothing. The bar is dead quiet. I shrug and lay down on my blanket on stage, clothed only in a pink PVC thong.

The bar is still silent as I watch the bartender fight with the CD player. “Piece of shit!” I hear him say.

“Well someone sing me a song and I’ll take my panties off” I announce to the bar.

The old native guy jumps out of him chair, accepting the offer. He raises his voice high, does a little jig and sings loud and clear…

"I once was happy but look at me now
I’m sitting in jail for raping a cow.
And when I get out how the people will laugh
‘Cuz I’m the proud father of a horny bull calf"

I collapse in a fit of giggles on stage. When you ask for a song… well I guess you get a song.

It’s just another night at Harley’s Hard Rock Saloon.

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Wednesday, February 07, 2007


It’s Tuesday and the crowd is inconsistent. Having lost patience for the young kid who’s in love with me I wander towards the bar. I approach a couple new guys leaning against the back wall and say hello.

“I got stood up tonight.” The guy pouts, looking for sympathy from underneath his dark ball cap.

“Awww. That sucks.” I respond. What happened?”

“I dunno.” He whines.

“Well maybe a lap dance will help.”

He blows off the question “I don’t get lap dances. So I was talking to your friend over there” He emphasizes, motioning towards my friend Fiona. “And we were talking about a cat fight.”

She’s already told me about this freak. I know where this conversation is going, but it’s too late to walk away now. “Uh huh.” I sigh and let him continue.

“So yah I want you girls to rip all your clothes off and have a cat fight in the living room of the house. I’m allowed over there. The ‘no guests’ doesn’t apply to me.”

I laugh at the absurdity of the suggestion and shake my head but he’s still talking.

“I’m a porn star you know. It’s okay the $500 fine doesn’t apply to me. I’ve been over there tons of times. I’ve done some crazy shit with other girls. So don’t worry, I can come home with you guys tonight.”

My eyebrows rise in a blatantly condescending expression. “Ooohh really? Wow. That’s so exciting. I had no idea. But I already get to go home with this hot red head, so what would we need you for?”

“We can film it. Remember, I’m a porn star.”

“Great idea. Maybe we could start a live web feed.”

“Yah!” He’s getting excited as Fiona wanders over and joins the conversation.

“Oh we could wrestle around naked, but oh I’m too shy to do it on camera. That’s scary.” She dotes on the idea, batting her eyelashes.

Flirty, yet totally patronizing I play with him. “But… Oooh there’s no internet at the house. You’d have to get us a high-speed connection before that would work. I guess I’ll just have to go home with her instead. Sorry.”

“But I have her.” Fiona teases, wrapping her arm around me as I cup her breast. She’s a good friend of mine, and we’re always happy to torment the freaks and pervs with suggestions of hot girl-on-girl action. Silently we agree to play innocent and simultaneously bat our eyelashes at him.

He inquires immediately “So you guys are going to go down on each other later.”

“Of course.” She answers, fondling by breast.

But you said you were to shy and innocent for the web cam. How can you eat pussy if you’re innocent?”

“Oh it’s not scary when you have one.” She explains.

He’s too stupid to follow the conversation. “Have one what?” He asks.

“A pussy.” Fiona explains with a straight face. “It’s not scary eating pussy when you have one. It’s the same parts. But what YOU have in there…” She points to his groin. “Well that’s pretty intimidating. The one-eyed snake and all. That’s a lot for a girl to handle.”

“Oh don’t call it a snake.” He interjects.

I laugh as Fiona shoots back, “Oh excuse me, Anaconda!”

“Nooo” He whines. “Snakes are dirty and slimy.”

I shake my head, laughing, but done with the conversation. “Well whatever you want to call it. I’m going home with this hot red head.”

I hear him shout after us as we walk away, “But what about the cat fight?”

As soon as I slide onto a stool at the bar my lovesick puppy is back at my side, tapping me on the shoulder. “Will you come sit with me?”

Young, enthusiastic, and totally out of touch with reality, he’s in love with me. I’ve already been dealing with him for hours, but he’s determined. “In a minute.” I reply. “Did you want a dance?”

“Come sit with me.”

“Do you want a dance?”

“Will you come have a drink with me?”

“No. Do you want a dance?”

“Sure. Will you come sit with me?”

“In a minute.”

“Come sit with me. Please.” He whines, refusing to leave my side.

“Fine.” I shrug, exasperated. I follow him to his table and pull my chair a comfortable distance away from him.

He leans in closer. “Will you have a drink with me?”


“Why not?”

“I don’t want to. Do you want a dance?”

“I’m going to take you to a movie.” He insists.

“No. You’re not.” I sigh, frustrated.

“Why not?” He whines.

“I don’t want to.”

“Can I take you for dinner?”


“Do you want to go on a cruise with me?”

“No. Do you want a dance?” This conversation has been repetitive for hours already.

“How about babies? Do you want kids?” He grins at me.

I shut him down, again. “WTF! No. I don’t want kids.”

“How about Disney World?”


“I love you.”

“Uh huh.”

We’re come full circle again. “Will you have a drink with me?” he asks.


“Why not?”

I get up and walk away, again. I spend the next half hour unsuccessfully trying to avoid conversations. I watch Fiona get trapped into another conversation with the wannabe porn star as I wander into the back to hide for a few minutes. She joins me shortly.

“So how’s the porn star doing?” I ask her as she gets ready for a show.

She laughs and tells me the story “Oh well I was rocking in my chair, trying to stay warm, and he happened to look at me while I was leaned away from him, and he freaked out. Apparently he doesn’t like my body language and I have a bad attitude. So if I’m going to be like that well then I can just forget it. The whole night is off.”

I stare at her, shaking my head. “Wow. Well I guess you ruined everything.” I laugh.

“Uh huh. I have good timing. I picked just the right second to totally accidentally lean away. He doesn’t want me anymore.” She’s grinning, pretending to be serious.

I let her get ready and head back into the bar. My lovesick puppy is motioning to me to sit with him again. I ignore him and make small talk with a couple guys at the bar that I remember from last summer.

I’m interrupted by a pretty blonde girl tapping me on the shoulder. “Can you do a dance for my friend?” She asks pointing towards the new table of lesbians.

“Of course.” I take the money and follow her back to her table. “Which one?”

Lesbians to the rescue! Thank god! Normal people! I’m so relieved. Laughing and amused by feeble excuses I do a lap dance for one of the girls, get dressed again, and squeeze in between them on the couch. “Move over girls. I’m hanging out for a while.” I enjoy the company of the girls and go through the typical questions. “Where are you from? How long have you been up here? What do you do?” Conversation flows easily and is entirely without propositions or porn.

The lovesick puppy taps me on the shoulder again. “Do you want to go on a boat with me?”

“No! I will not do it on a boat. I will not do it with a goat. I will not go here or there. I’m not going with you anywhere!”

“Will you come sit with me?”

“No!” I turn away, ignore him, and go back to my conversation. He continues mouthing “I love you.” from across the bar until he leaves.

I do a couple more dances for the girls, Fiona joins in on one, and the two of us hide out in the lesbian group until the end of the night.

What a freak show.

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Friday, February 02, 2007

Ick. Sick.

I feel awful. My head is foggy, and my nose is stuffy. My eyes feel like they’re going to explode like overripe tomatoes, splitting at the seam and oozing squishy flesh. What feels like an enthusiastic junior high band is pounding at my temple. My tummy is swirling in knots of distress, nauseous and painful. I hate being sick.

I especially hate being yelled at for being sick, and being unable to have the option to not work through illness without coming across as a high-maintenance bitchy princess. Yes, I went home early. Maybe I am too demanding, self-righteous and spoiled and I don’t know my place. But fuck! I feel like I’m going to pass out. I don’t look sick because I’m doped up on cold medicine and I’m wearing a pound of makeup. I try. I really do try to be professional, but I can’t do it 365 days of the year. I don’t show up drunk or hung over. I don’t make excuses and try to get out of working. Sometimes I get sick.

Shivering, wrapped in a blanket I sat in the bar. I watched the scarce customers sip beer without taking their jackets off and I wondered why the fuck am I supposed to get naked in a room where it’s too cold to remove a scarf?

I’m going to bed.