Ryann Reflections

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

Thursday, September 27, 2007

Full Moon.

I’ve been a horrible blogger. I’m sorry. It’s not that I’ve been away or anything I’m just too damn busy. Oiy!

Life is good and I certainly don’t have any time to be lonely. I’ve got my friends squeezed into the cracks in my schedule and that pretty much leaves time for sleep. I went with Reid and Hank to the Mute Math concert the other night. I just adore Reid and Hank. They play music and they don’t try to fuck me.

I have million sweet and wonderful things to say about those two. But I’ll probably get busted for blowing smoke up their asses and then they’ll just make fun of me. I might do it anyhow. Hank had a BBQ on the weekend. It was a veggie feast with steak on top. Mmmmmmm. And then we went for gelato and saw Across the Universe. Oh I’m in love with that movie. I think I might go see it again, and again, and again.

So… I’ve been busy. But I do have one bar story to share before I immerse myself in business.

It’s Wednesday. But it’s not just any Wednesday- it’s welfare Wednesday. I know it as soon I walk into the bar. The room is packed with enthusiastic drunks nursing cheap beer. The full moon overhead adds another unpredictable factor into the mix. It’s going to be a weird night. We all know it.

The crowd is good for my show. They yell and cheer and hoot and holler. But they don’t tip. Whatever. I glide across the stage and twirl myself against the pole, gyrating my hips. After a quick peek to ensure everyone is sitting back I slam down into the splits. My stilettos just poke over the edge of the stage, scaring the local drunks.

Buddy in perv-row is staring at my feet. His eyelids are heavy from a long afternoon of drinking and his eyes are glazed. Without warning he leans in, full open mouth, and bites my toes! He drools on my foot, three toes in his mouth. I scream. But I can’t move fast enough. I’m in the splits. After what feels like a disgusting eternity I spin out of the splits and stand above him—yelling.

My foot is covered in slimy drunk drool. Ew! Buddy is confused. He looks dejected but doesn’t apologize. It’s too early in the day for the bouncers to be working and the DJ didn’t see it. Oh well.

A minute later I lean against the pole and see a fresh jug of beer snug up against the edge of the stage. If I angle it right…

I do. I slam back into the splits contacting my heel with the pitcher and knocking it into Buddy’s lap. Cause and effect. Don’t bite my toes.

Less than a song later another kid grabs my hat off the stage and puts it on his head. I’m not amused. I snatch it off his head and smack him. “don’t touch my stuff.”

I finish my set in the middle of the stage—out of reach. It was a long 18 minutes. And it’s only dinner time.

Labels: ,

3 Comments:

  • At 2:06 AM, Blogger Glamourpuss said…

    I hate it when they touch me; I am untouchable.

    Puss

     
  • At 4:48 PM, Blogger Tyler said…

    I want to know what went through that drunk's mind when he tried to eat your foot!

    *high5* for kicking his pitcher over though!

     
  • At 3:48 PM, Blogger KellyNerd said…

    you are my hero. kudos to you for kicking the pitcher. the fool.

     

Post a Comment

<< Home