Ryann Reflections

6th Annual Exotic Dancer for Cancer Fundraiser

2009-04-26T09:25:00.002-07:00

6th Annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer Fundraiser

Probably the best thing that could've happened to the Exotic Dancers For Cancer is when some toffee-nosed charities refused their stripathon money a few years back.

A lot of folks bridled at that caste-implied snobbery. The ED4C's efforts gained a higher profile and, subsequently, larger hauls for charity.

The dancers' sixth annual fund raiser takes to the stage this Thursday at Vancouver's Cecil Showlounge. (May 24 at the Fox Showroom in Victoria.) "Last year we raised $10,000, and I'd love to beat that," says Ryann Rain, whose company, Stilettostorm, is organizing the show in Vancouver.

"The theme this year is 'Believe,' so it's this whole fantasy atmosphere of hope and beauty and inclusion -- this really fun atmosphere." Along with organizing fund-raisers, Rain's company holds erotic arts workshops, philosopher cafes, and provided most of the entertainment for the Naughty But Nice trade shows in Vancouver and Abbotsford.

"I customize the show for the event, so Exotic Dancers For Cancer is a stripathon -- it's very much about exotic dancing. Abbotsford, they would set us on fire if we did that." Says Rain: "One of the reasons Exotic Dancers For Cancer is so dear to my heart is that it allows people an opportunity to support the cause in a sex-positive, women-positive event -- and remember that really it comes down to cancer doesn't discriminate and nor should we."

© Copyright Dan Murphy, The Province

I'm not here

2009-02-21T18:32:00.006-08:00

I'm back... but not here!

Life is good. Life is actually amazing and I'm super busy, inspired, and in love with every single moment of each day. Obviously it's been a while since I wrote anything and that's for a lot of reasons.

Honestly I didn't write in 2008. I wasn't doing a lot of soul searching or reflection. It was a very productive year for stability, practice, and professional growth. Stiletto Storm has grown in leaps and bounds and I'm amazed every day. Exotic Dancers for Cancer is coming up again on April 30 and I hope everyone will come out and support the cause. You can keep up with what I'm doing professionally at Stiletto Storm

I am a writer and it is core to Who I Am. I'm writing again-- just not here. The new blog is much more intimate and spiritual. As such I am keeping it anonymous. I haven't decided if I'm willing to share it, but you are welcome to message me and ask for the link. I may or may not respond.

I'll try to post updates on here occasionally but as I'm no longer dancing, and that chapter is over I think this story is finished.

Please enjoy the archives and thank you for sharing this journey with me.
Ryann Rain.

full speed ahead

2008-09-10T21:26:00.003-07:00

Things are happening...
big things.
exciting things.

Fun and wonderful and loving things.

Full speed ahead! No walls. No fear.

I'm filled with Love, Passion, Faith, Ambition, and one hell of a Dream!

Create.

Come be my friend. I'm fabulous and I'm doing incredible things.

Seduction 101 teaches women how to strut it

2008-05-24T08:49:00.004-07:00

Seduction 101. Lap dancing all about confidence
Sandra Thomas, Vancouver Courier
Published: Friday, May 23, 2008

A team of who's who in the exotic dance world will share trade secrets next month at a workshop designed to bring out the erotic dancer in every woman.

But learning the art of arousal isn't cheap. For $235, tax included, Ryann Rain and members of her production company Stiletto Storm teach women everything they need to know about pole and lap dancing, as well as sexy moves like the "stripper strut." The group produces one Seduction Workshop a month.

"It's all about teaching women confidence," said Rain. "And in particular, their sexual confidence."

Rain, who helped organize the recent Exotic Dancers for Cancer fundraiser, said women attending the workshop will be broken up into groups of eight. Each group will take lessons in one exotic art for about an hour before rotating to the next class. Rain will teach the lap dancing classes.

"I've taught a lot of lap dancing," said Rain. "There's a real level of curiosity about it. A lot of women want to give it a try but without knowing how, they might be too shy. This goes right back to the basics on things like how to stand and how to look."

Rain recently taught lap dancing to a group of women in Duncan--all 50 years old and up. Rain said women of all ages and sizes come away from the lessons with a newfound awareness of their sensuality. She adds they have a lot of laughs along the way.

"I teach them how to move, where to move and what to move," said Rain. "And how to maintain control of any situation."

Rain notes no experience is necessary and nothing is off limits. The workshop includes a floorshow and demonstrations by industry professionals, makeup and clothing tips, lunch and a chocolate fountain. Sex toys, lingerie and exotic clothing will be on sale. Rain suggests for maximum "giggles," women should bring a friend--or several.

"It's perfect for a stagette or bachelorette party," she said.

The Seduction Workshop takes place June 14 at the Croatian Cultural Centre on Commercial Drive. Tickets are on sale at www.stilettostorm.com.

© Vancouver Courier 2008

change... again.

2008-05-18T16:02:00.004-07:00

I’ve been fired. I’m not even sure why. That’s not entirely true. I know their reason I just think it’s stupid. It boils down to my refusing to turn off my cell phone. I refused to be unavailable to return business calls Monday—Friday, 10-4. That would run Stiletto Storm into the ground in three weeks and obviously my business is my priority. I thought I’d made that clear when I was hired but I guess not. They felt that I didn’t take the restaurant job seriously enough. *rolling eyes*

I suppose that tons of people say they’re doing other things, but few actually do. Faced with concrete proof that Stiletto Storm is a functioning business the owner freaked. It really pissed me off that I was given no warning, no notice, no... anything. The day just ended with "We're letting you go."

I’m caught between feeling like there’s a flaw in my personality and work ethic, or that I’m just so far beyond that job that it’s a waste of time for me to show up. I know there’s a certain amount of pride attached to it as well. I should be able to do anything… even serving at a minimum wage job. I might be what people mean by “over qualified”. I could run the restaurant with my eyes closed but I can’t handle filling out checklists and taking orders like a toddler.

I’m not even sure if I’m upset. I know I’m pissed off but I can’t decide if I even liked the job. I really liked the cook, she’s a doll. And it was a nice change living in the mainstream world a while but it’s not a reality for me. I’m not meant for the 9-5 life. A new job will appear soon, hopefully one that works better with my life.

I just texted Monkey to tell him I was fired. I didn’t want to but I’m really trying to include him in my life, not just the good stuff. It’s too easy for me to seek comfort from my friends and try to shelter him from anything about me that is less than perfect. Well I’m not perfect. I was fired today. He replied, “Aww hun, you’ve been fired for being too beautiful.”

I do adore him. We’re heading in a tough direction now. He’s going to be working too much, too far away for the next few months and I'm going to miss him. It’s going to be a challenge but I think what we have is worth it. We'll see how it goes.

Seduction Workshop

2008-05-14T21:16:00.003-07:00

Stiletto Storm is hosting a Seduction Workshop taught by industry professionals. The day will be split into morning and afternoon workshops and will be a full day of sexy and educational fun. Grab your girlfriends and get set for a day of no holds barred, step-by-step introduction to the exotic arts!! Ladies Only! Nothing is off limits. No experience required. Get ready to strut and be prepared to laugh.

The workshop will feature lessons in: Lap dance, Pole dance, Floor show, Stripper Strut, and Makeup and clothing tips. There will be shopping, a chocolate fountain, demonstrations by industry pros, and sexy secrets to inspire and empower! ~
Capacity for this intimate event is only sixty-four women that will be divided into small groups of eight. Register with a couple of friends and enjoy learning to shake it while spending quality time with your girlfriends. Each group will have time in the social area for snacking and shopping. Food will be provided, and what is seduction without a chocolate fountain! I know oozing warm chocolate always heightens my enthusiasm!

Booths will be set up to outfit and accessorize your complete seduction package. From new lingerie, to makeup tips and sex toys for later, we have all the bases covered. A gift bag will be distributed to every guest.

The day is split into morning and afternoon workshops and SPACE is LIMITED. Register now!! To take these classes separately would cost over $600. Stiletto Storm is bringing you an inclusive 4 hour lesson in the exotic arts of seduction for only $235. Book your Stagette or girls party of 8 women and receive a group rate of $1500. (save $47.50 each)

Tickets are $235.00 including GST. Check out the Stiletto Storm website for more information or email me for registration.

just a quick hello

2008-05-05T22:25:00.003-07:00

I miss writing. I want to post stories but the stupid ones I don’t want to relive and the beautiful moments I don’t want to share. I don’t miss feeling like I have to purge the turmoil. It’s rather the opposite now. The emotions inside me are blossoming quietly and I’m filled with a calm joy. I don’t want to shout about them or give away the precious details. I want to hold each moment close to my heart and allow the feelings to grow.

It's been a while since I posted anything. I just don’t have much to say to the world… Life is good these days. I’m finally starting to get back on my feet and I’ve learned how to be less stressed about finances and other things that are out of my control. I know I’ll always be okay and I know things will work out. I’m creating something. It takes time, patience, and a lot of work.

Monkey makes me happy. I love spending time with him and I’m peaceful knowing he’s next to me. I don’t feel like I need to wear makeup or dress the part when I see him. I’m not a fantasy in this one… I get to be real. He’s wonderful. It’s the little things, the details that I don’t want to share, the late night conversations, and the early morning smile.

Sometimes writing isn’t good for me. I can get wrapped up in my own head and start over-thinking everything. I’m not going to do that. I’m happy.

Maybe I should learn to write fiction.

Peeling with Purpose

2008-04-04T11:25:00.001-07:00

April 2, 2008
Taking it off for breast cancer
By DHARM MAKWANA, 24 HOURS

A group of local women are trading pink ribbons for pink boas at a racy fundraiser for breast cancer awareness Friday night.

Retired exotic performer Trina Ricketts said the fifth annual Dancers For Cancer allows adult entertainers to contribute to breast cancer awareness as a concerned community just as other professional associations do.

"The coolest byproduct of our event is the women volunteering are given a great opportunity to challenge the stripper stereotype," she said.

Last year, Ricketts' troupe gained national notoriety when the Breast Cancer Society of Canada considered their $8,000 donation too controversial to accept.

Other charities were open to receiving the group's donation anonymously.

"Everyone kind of woke up and asked, 'Why don't you want their money?'" organizer Ryann Rain told 24 hours. "We're women."

Rethink Breast Cancer, a national charity responsible for edgy awareness campaigns targeting women under age 40, rose as Ricketts' beneficiary of choice when the two groups' mandates were an apparent match.

"We just looked at their heartfelt message and their goals to advance the breast cancer cause," said Rethink executive director MJ DeCouteau.

Dancers for Cancer is a continuous live show featuring 19 performers Friday from 8 p.m. to 2 a.m. at the Penthouse Nightclub on Seymour Street.

By popular demand, a second strip-a-thon takes place in Victoria on Sunday.

Dancers for Cancer 5

2008-03-31T09:37:00.003-07:00

5th annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer is only days away. This Friday, April 4, at the Penthouse come out and join the cause. Tickets are available at Urban Body Laser or you can buy them directly from me. $15 in advance, $20 at the door.

See you Friday!!!

We're also holding a sister event in Victoria at the Fox Showlounge (Red Lion hotel) on Sunday April 6. Admission for Victoria is by donation.

Ryann retires.

2008-03-27T11:11:00.003-07:00

This isn't a stripper blog anymore because I'm not a stripper anymore. Something changed and I didn't even know it. Even though I left the stage when Mugs closed I was still looking for Ryann Rain to provide the path, the income, and the answers. Ryann Rain saved my life. I created her when everything fell apart and she allowed me to hide, recover, and rebuild. But I'm done now. I'm not dancing anymore and although I still have the occasional gig as Ryann the reality is I have to stop hiding behind my precious alter ego.

How do I stop being Ryann? I have no idea how to actually walk out from behind the cover of Ryann and take on the world as myself. I know in theory I'm more powerful. I know I created Ryann and everything about Ryann is just a reflection of a piece of myself but Ryann became so powerful. She saved my life. She is strong, hidden, and invincible.

My heart can be broken. I cry. I’m still detached and I need to get out of that right now. I’m scared. I need to be myself. I need to rediscover who I am without being a stripper.

Who the fuck am I?

I believe in love and friendship is the most important thing in my life. Friends are the family you choose. I love unconditionally and pure. And even though it surprises me I know now that I truly do love forever.

I have an unwavering, nonnegotiable loyalty to my family that hurts my soul. I love them with every fiber of my being and it kills me on a regular basis. I believe I should be able to fix everything. I have a very strong caretaker relationship with them and I just want to make it all better. It’s taken me many years to establish boundaries with my family and it doesn’t come naturally. I love them dearly. I think they’ve done an incredible job of parenting and I’m happy with how I’ve been raised. I’m thankful for the random pieces of advice and guidance I received while growing up. I think I was well equipped to survive.

I truly am invincible. My capacity for love is a quiet rock in my core. Trevor dying shattered my universe because I let it. I loved him. But more than that I felt a need to be with him as he died. I have a need to give. I can handle death. It doesn’t scare me and I know I will keep going. I was emotionally crippled for years and afraid to feel that pain while I was rebuilding. I was afraid that if I lost too much and added too much more pain while I was so raw that I wouldn’t recover.

I created Ryann Rain as a façade to protect me while I healed. I threw all my strength into her while I quietly licked my wounds in the darkness. It worked. I healed. I’m now fully capable of love again.

I’m a perfectionist. I think I should be able to do anything. I know I’m smarter than most and far more ambitious than many but I’m still lost. I need to be creating something, it doesn’t matter what. I want financial independence and I want a career that allows me to create something of my own.

I’m feeling weak because of the financial disaster I’m in. I’m angry about the car accident and resentful of what it robbed from me in the past year. I don’t feel emotionally ready to walk out from behind Ryann.

I’m 27 years old and I really don’t know what I want to do with my life. I wish I had a clear path.

Wikipedia defines "power" as the more or less unilateral ability (real or perceived) or potential to bring about significant change, usually in people’s lives, through the actions of oneself or of others.

How am I powerful?
Endurance
Love
Compassion
Ability to see and validate different experience
Education
Experience in the sex industry has increased my awareness and understanding of different social structures
Belief in the right to live and work in a safe and respectful environment
Ambition. I want to succeed
Perseverance
Personal drive and need to accomplish for myself, it’s an internal motivation.
Liberal studies and the skill to argue and dissect and argument.
Creative thought.
Passion
Friendship
Intelligence. I’m smart. I’m really smart.

My foundation is solid. I rebuilt from nothing and the structure is solid. I believe in myself. I know I will survive and when something crumbles I know I can pick it up again. My foundation is strong enough now to survive a fall intact. I’ve created a very strong foundation, stripped away all the weak bricks and systematically build my own core. I have taken many values and lessons from my childhood, retained the empathetic heart of my youth, strengthened it with inquisitive, loyal, and compassionate friendships, added a unique experience in the sex industry and incorporated the perceived underbelly of humanity and created my own values.

I’m strong. I’m always okay. My ability to cry is back and I’m better for it. I’m whole again. The belief that I can do anything — that’s what I need to get back. It used to be blind faith. It’s not anymore and I want it back.

I'm not ready to announce my "real identity" to the world just yet... it's enough that I'm starting to live it. I don't know if I'll continue this blog. I might have a lot to say... but I don't think it's as Ryann Rain anymore.

Closure.

2008-03-14T17:51:00.000-07:00

I don’t know when it happened. I don’t know why I never noticed, but I didn’t. It hit me this afternoon like spring. I feel like I woke up and all the colours had changed. I don’t know when the Musician became one of my most significant relationships but I know that I’ll forever look back on those years as having changed my life and he was a part of it. We shared something… I may never find the words to do it justice. I still don’t know what it was.

Whatever our relationship was it worked out perfectly. I couldn’t wish for anything to be different. It’s far better than I ever could have hoped for and it’s beautiful. I feel like I was part of something amazing and I forgot to appreciate it. Looking back I can see how special it was but somehow I never realized how influential that relationship would become.

The Musician and I were never meant to be together but in that isolated affair we created a universe of acceptance, forgiveness, and passion united in secret. With him I was able to hide, recreate, heal, release, and be honest. It was real.

I’ve had the time and space to heal and detach from our affair. I’m remembering how much I enjoy his company. It’s no longer sexual. I’m no longer jealous. But it was special and I’m finding myself wanting him in my life again. I want to experience and appreciate the friendship that’s been there all along.

He was there for me when Trevor died. He was there when I collapsed. He was there when I ran away and he was there when I came home. He was there when I started stripping. He never left me when I was on tour. He never replaced me while I was gone. He looked forward to seeing me. He made me feel like a goddess. He was there when I needed to not think. He was there when I needed to be special. He was there when I needed the escape and he was there when it got real.

Musician, thank you for creating a safe environment for me to heal. Thank you for every silly and precious memory. I love you. I’ve loved you for years.

With every corner of my heart I wish him happiness. I want him to be with the woman he needs and the idea of him having found someone to really love him for who he actually is, pulls tears towards the surface. I’m more than happy for him. I’m proud of him.

I’m actually accepting that I’m heading in a new direction. My feelings for the Musician have faded into a cherished memory and I’m open to a future and a real relationship. I’m going to let it happen, see where it goes, and not be defensive. It’s good. I’m good. I’m really taking a new path. I’m really open to it. I’m really living it. I don’t want to take it for granted.

I’m ready now. I’m already walking the path but now I’m ready to stop looking back. I never could have predicted that the Musician would be such a valuable addition to my soul.

Vertigo

2008-03-13T20:57:00.002-07:00

It’s so easy for me to forget that I have to write. It’s not like me to go a month without writing. It’s not good for me to go a month without writing but hopefully I’ll be back on track soon. I get caught up in real life, emails to answer, meetings to attend, piles of lists to sort through… it’s so easy to forget to write. I find myself wrapped in a bubble of stress as the world closes in around me but all I really have to do is write. It doesn’t even matter what. I just have to get all the little thoughts out of my head. So here I am.

I have flowers sitting on my desk from a couple of girlfriends, fiery red tulips and soft little daffodils. I love that it’s almost spring. I want to drop my winter coat off at the dry cleaner knowing that I won’t need it until next winter but it’s not quite warm enough yet… maybe a few more weeks.

I’ve been in an odd mood the past few days, unsettled. I’ve been swimming through mild stress but I think it’s the lack of predictability that’s not sitting well. Without dancing I don’t really know what I’ll be doing next week. I’m always busy and with Exotic Dancers for Cancer only a few weeks away my “To Do” list is never-ending but it’s not a schedule. I think I need something more. I need to feel like I’m doing something concrete.

I tried to work in Victoria a couple weeks ago—what a disaster. I made it through a day and a half before my body collapsed and I had to face the hard reality—I can’t dance. I’m still injured and I don’t know if my body will ever be in the condition to work full-time as a stripper again. It broke my heart all over again. I know I quit when Mugs closed but I told myself I was just taking a break. Part of me needs to believe that.

I’m not sure what this blog is going to turn into now that I’m not dancing. I’m still part of the industry but it’s different. I have Stiletto Storm and various other projects on the go but something doesn't fit. I suppose the direction of this blog will become apparent when my direction is more focused.

At some point in the past few weeks I realized that I like having someone in my life. I’ve always been okay alone and I’m terrified of allowing myself to need anyone. I’m not afraid of love. I’m afraid that I’ll wake up one day and I won’t be independent anymore. That’s what’s so comforting about Alexander. I’d always need to maintain my own life in order to survive him. Alexander has an incredible sixth sense for knowing when I’m leaving and he’s still very much around, emailing and texting, although I’ve been smart enough not to see him.

Things are good with Monkey. Hopefully sometime soon my insecurity about this relationship will fade and I’ll be able to relax not thinking that every time I see Monkey will be the last. It’s a leftover defense from my affair with the Musician. I was able to avoid getting too attached by never expecting there to be a next time. That doesn’t transfer so smoothly into... well anything.

I actually had a chance to catch up with the Musician this afternoon. It was nice to just be around him. He’s happy and we’re perfectly capable of sitting in the same room without ripping each other’s clothes off or even hinting at the idea. I love him and I’m really proud of him and I don’t want anything more. Somewhere along the way we became friends.

I’m in vertigo, a little unsettled, a little off balance but I’ll be okay. I guess I just have a few things to get used to. It’s not as comfy or as easy as I’d like. I’ll try to write more.

Haven't run yet...

2008-02-18T16:47:00.001-08:00

Well my friends all like him. I hosted a fabulous Valentine’s party this weekend and kept Monkey willingly hostage for the weekend. He was happy to dress up and he was a great addition to the party which was a delightful mess of togas, grapes, lingerie, chocolate cocks, and giggles. It was wonderful and my friends enjoyed harassing me about being smitten. My Sister approves of Monkey and she was eager to tell him “you’re lucky I like you ‘cuz I could veto your ass so fast…”

But fuck am I ever scared.
I’m scared I’ll get attached and he won’t like me. I’m scared of being a backup or a rebound or anything but first choice. I’m scared to end up in another relationship based on sex. I’m scared of being defensive and I’m scared of being vulnerable, of being hurt, of everything really. The only thing I’m not scared of is being alone.

I know everything in my head is totally my own shit and really I should just stop thinking and enjoy it but it’s me and I’m petrified. I’ve been single for six years. Six years!! I have no idea how to do this. All I’m concentrating on is not running, not looking for the exits and not deliberately sabotaging it. I’m trying to just let things happen and relax… I’m doing okay.

My defenses and fears are not going to evaporate over night. I’d be concerned if they did. I’m trying my best to take this slowly and just let things happen. I just want to take the time to get to know each other and not over think it. I want to just relax and not worry about anything. I swear it was easier a decade ago.

I wish I didn’t get daily phone calls from friends complaining, bitching, and crying about how horrible their relationships are. I can’t keep listening to that negativity everyday. I need to have faith that people can actually be happy together and be honest with each other. I know it exists. I have tons of friends that are in amazing relationships—I just don’t hear about it because “yeah I’m happy” doesn’t require daily drama updates.

I like him. He’s incredibly sexy and we get along great. I’m comfortable talking to him and I really like his energy. I’m not worried about him getting in my way or holding me back. We’re both very independent and busy – just what I need. Retraining me is going to take some work but it could be fun.

I have to allow myself to be happy and just enjoy it. Hopefully if I ignore the nausea in time it’ll just go away. The sun is shining and it’s a beautiful day in the city. Life is good and I’m looking forward to spending more time with Monkey.

PS: If you’re in a happy wonderful relationship please tell me. I need the reminders.

Beyond the Neon podcast

2008-02-13T21:08:00.005-08:00

In case anyone wants to hear me talk...

Johnny Wadd is an ex strip club DJ in Toronto and we chatted about the biz, Stiletto Storm, and other random stuff. If you want to hear me yabber for a while...

I find listening to myself weird but maybe someone else wants to...

Beyond the Neon Episode 3

Monkey

2008-02-13T00:07:00.002-08:00

Monkey just left. He’s cute. Actually he’s totally hot but I laugh a lot when I’m with him and I think he’s adorable. Make no mistake I’m fucking terrified but it was a lovely third date and we have a fourth planned for Friday at my party. I’ll actually be introducing him to my friends…

My personal plan is to stop freaking out and just enjoy it. I'll see him in a few days and I'll be very busy until then. Now I have even more work to get done this week, having done nothing today. It was worth it. I like him. I like how he kisses me and how he wraps his arms around me. I like the totally corny and cheesy things he says that are not smooth or classy in any way.

But really I like that I can talk to him and say anything. I like that we’re both honest and that we agree on what that means. I like that he was thinking about me while in Mexico and that he called me almost as soon as his plane landed. I like that he spent the day with me before even going home.

I’m excited that he’s coming to my party on Friday and I love the energy between us. We snuggled, talked, and made out all afternoon but I’m taking this one slow… really slow. I like that he’s not pressuring me for sex and that I don’t feel I have to explain myself or argue about it.

I received some very good advice yesterday that I needed to be reminded of… enjoy this time. It’s exhilarating and fun.

So that is exactly what I’m doing. I’m happy. I can still smell him on my skin and taste him on my lips. It was a good day and I’m going to bed smiling.

Strip off the old block

2008-02-07T16:25:00.000-08:00

Penthouse boss Danny Filippone hosts everything from stag parties and gay and lesbian nights to Heritage Vancouver tours at the city's most enduring night spot, which just turned 60.

by: Aaron Chapman
photos: Dan Toulgoet
Special to Vancouver Courier

Wednesday, February 06, 2008

On stage in the Penthouse nightclub, a pretty girl in her 20s dances to music, flashes a flirty smile and removes her last article of clothing. But there's no hooting or whistling. The audience is polite, and the aging and well-to-do gaggle of onlookers bear little resemblance to the club's regular clientele. Two older men smile over their drinks, while an older woman laughs nervously. "Oh, I wasn't prepared for this," she says.

Tonight's audience, largely composed of a Heritage Vancouver tour group, is more familiar with sites like the Orpheum Theatre than the Penthouse. But perhaps they should have known what to expect. The Penthouse is one of the city's heritage treasures. It's also a venue with a long history of surprising Vancouverites.

At 1019 Seymour St., the maroon building, neon lit with two painted tin dancing girls hanging out front, is now stylistically out of place among the modern condo buildings gathering around it. But having celebrated its 60th anniversary last year, the infamous nightclub looks to the future.

The Penthouse is one of the longest running family businesses in Vancouver. Current owner Danny Filippone has been a part of that history since his birth in July 1963, when legendary comedian George Burns--who was performing at the Penthouse that summer night--handed out celebratory cigars to club patrons.

The Filippones have been on Seymour for as long as anyone might remember.

"I remember trick-or-treating as a kid on Seymour, which is hard to picture now," laughs Danny. "There were just houses then. It was a residential neighbourhood."

The story of the Penthouse doesn't start with pasties and a g-string, but with the Filippone family's arrival to Vancouver from the Calabria region of Italy in the late 1920s. Danny's grandfather Guiseppe bought the empty Seymour lot for $1,400 and in 1938 built the building that would later become the Penthouse. Home to a number of family-run businesses, from taxi and courier services to an amateur boxing gym, in 1947 it became a restaurant and nightclub under the management of Danny's father Ross and brothers Dominic "Mickey" Filippone, Jimmy Filippone and eldest brother Joe Philliponi--his name misspelled by a customs agent when the family arrived from Italy.

Victoria Fox, a pretty, dark-haired, young dancer, has just finished her act on the original stage, which is outfitted with a curtain that dates back to the club's inception.

"I've just started working here, but it's hard not to know that there's a long history to the place," she says cheerfully. "The photos everywhere show that." The interior walls of the club are adorned with large black and white photographs of the Filippone brothers in the 1940s and '50s relaxing with Gary Cooper, Harry Belafonte and legendary boxer Max Baer, among many others.

And while Victoria might not be old enough to know who Frankie Lane and Jimmy Durante were, Danny Filippone grew up with celebrities as guests for dinner.

"I remember my father [Ross Filippone] bringing home Duke Ellington, Stan Mikita, Tony Bennett and others," says Danny. "Not only for dinner. They would have these big parties. Dad would host these casino nights for friends where he would rent all these gaming tables. I remember as a kid wanting to go to bed one night, and there was a roulette wheel in my bedroom. It was just part of the scenery growing up."

But a new social climate was already affecting the Penthouse's gin-slinging and swinging glory days. The impact of television and the novelty of free at-home entertainment reduced the popularity of nightclubs. That change, along with a more open moral climate, invited a shift from burlesque dancers to go-go girls with names like "Miss Lovie" and "Dee Dee Special" who evolved into the "exotic" dancers of today.

By the 1970s, with its Vegas glow faded, the Penthouse moved into its next notorious period. Out went the tuxedos, and in went the businessmen in checkerboard slacks and patterned ties. Vancouver nightclub-goers of a certain age will remember the Penthouse of the 1970s. Even my late father, a Vancouver lawyer and contemporary of the Filippones who'd worked for the family on occasions "to get some of the girls they knew who'd been arrested out of trouble," smiled nostalgically at this period. "It was sort of a smoke-filled unofficial city hall," he remembered last year, before he passed away, "where high rollers and hoodlums socialized with a lot of girls around." But not everyone was smiling.

"There were taxis coming and going with girls. It was a zoo," recalls retired constable Leslie McKellar, who at age 21 was plucked from the police academy for her first assignment posing undercover as a prostitute at the Penthouse. "There weren't many slow nights. It was the place to be in town."

The Penthouse had become the epicentre of high-class prostitution in Vancouver, a well known hangout that hookers preferred over the street corner. The club became a flourishing nightspot for up to 100 working women. "For years the police turned a blind eye to the Filippones," says McKellar. "I think there were too many crooked cops in the '50s and '60s that went to the Penthouse to drink, so the investigation was done outside of the normal police department by CLEU," she says, referring to the old Coordinated Law Enforcement Unit.

McKellar spent four to five nights a week at the Penthouse from May to August of 1975. She would leave the club with undercover officers posing as customers looking for sex, report her findings, then return to the club. She recalls observing a number of underworld figures. "The Filippones acted the best of friends with them," she says, maintaining an air of contempt even 30 years after the investigation. "I remember the Filippones always being around. You'd automatically think of old Mafia movies--always with their cigars. I never liked Mickey, but Ross was a classy guy. But I was scared of him because he was so observant and never missed a thing."

It's difficult to reconcile McKellar's description with the Ross Filippone of his later years. He changed his lifestyle and late hours, quit smoking and drinking, and became a racquetball player participating in seniors' matches and tournaments around North America and Europe. A spirited character, he died at the age of 84 in October 2007. During a number of Courier interviews prior to his death, he told stories about the Penthouse's golden years.

"The police were in two or three times a week," said Ross, remembering the club's early years. "Not just a couple of them--more like 20! It was ridiculous."

When the nightclub started operations in the puritan heyday of Vancouver's "bottle clubs," liquor licences were restricted to dreary beer halls, which offered no music or entertainment. Bottle club customers discreetly served themselves from concealed bottles, while cabarets served the accompanying ice and mix. The party continued unabated, interrupted only by police raids.

The Filippone brothers were in the right place at the right time. They formed the B.C. Cabaret Owners Association, with brother Joe as president, and lobbied successfully in support of a June 1952 provincial vote that allowed liquor in licensed establishments. More British Columbians voted in support of relaxed liquor laws than for daylight savings time--the other issue on the plebiscite.

At the same time, the family gained prominence in Vancouver's Italian community. Eldest brother Joe, with his infectious personality, humour and clashing style of dress, emerged as the popular face of the Penthouse. "Joe was a leader and very enterprising," Ross recalled. "One time Joe brought 200 Italians to a political rally. If Joe told 'em to stand up they'd stand up. If he told 'em to sit down they'd sit down. If he told them to clap, they'd clap. I always thought, 'God forbid if he went to the toilet.'"

The club booked a litany of entertainers throughout the 1950s and '60s. If they weren't performing at the Penthouse, celebrities like Frank Sinatra, Lena Horne and Errol Flynn (who dropped in the night before he died) headed there after a night on the town. On New Year's Eve 1975, police raided the club, and the Filippones were charged with living off the avails of prostitution, profiting from cover charges and tips paid by girls entering and re-entering the club after meeting customers. The club owners were accused of accommodating johns by providing cash advances on credit cards and company expense accounts for services of prostitutes.

The sensational trial played to a packed courtroom for months, featuring lurid details of undercover tapes, bribed liquor inspectors and Crown witnesses who were later proved to have lied on the witness stand. While never acting as "pimps," the Filippones were guilty of looking the other way. On one surveillance tape, Joe Philipponi was recorded colourfully commenting on the cash advances: "I don't care what you do with the money. [You] can go into a bank and say 'Look, I've got two prostitutes outside in a cab and I need $200,' and the bank clerk wouldn't care."

Wild stories circulated about the club, like the time the visiting Japanese Navy "invaded" the Penthouse in the summer of 1975.

"There were so many Japanese customers coming in that some of the girls learned quite fluent Japanese," recalls McKellar, who provided key testimony at the trial. "Word on the street was that there was a contract out on me."

The Filippones won the case on appeal. However, the Penthouse closed for three years while the court case dragged on. Vancouver writer Daniel Francis's book Red Light Neon details the history of prostitution in Vancouver and the Penthouse closure of the '70s. "In retrospect, everyone agreed the closure was a major mistake," Francis notes. "The decision caused an increase of the number of women on the street... and led as well indirectly, to the tragedy of the Missing Women." On the prosecution of the Penthouse, Francis writes, "Police drove the sex trade into the shadows, creating the conditions in which predators could flourish." An interesting theory, in light of the recent Willie Pickton trial and conviction.

"I hadn't really thought about what I was going to do," remembers Danny Filippone of his adolescence. "I was working at Kelly's records, and basically just into playing sports and meeting girls. Hey, I had just entered my 20s, just out of school."

All of that changed on Sept. 18, 1983 when Danny's uncle Joe Philliponi was murdered by Scott Forsyth at the Penthouse in an after-hours shooting. Forsyth had been falsely told by an accomplice, Sid Morrisroe, that $1 million sat locked in the Penthouse safe. The robbery garnered the men $1,200 and first-degree murder convictions. Over 800 people, including Supreme Court justices, businessmen and dancers attended the funeral of the "Godfather of Seymour Street."

Rumours involving the Filippone family and the Mafia have circulated for decades. The myth of the family's "mob ties" may have added to the Penthouse legend.

"There were characters like that around the bar in my father's day," says Danny. "I remember a guy named Shoulders and another guy called Big Nick who were tough people. Being Italian, it was hard not to feel that aura and having the last name Filippone. There weren't many other prominent Italian families in Vancouver. There were the Capozzis for wines and stocks, the Lendarduzzis for soccer and the Filippones had the nightclubs."

Danny vividly recalls, in the wake of Joe's death, being called to meet his father in the office. "He said, 'You have to make a decision. We have to know as a family if you're going to do this.' They wanted to know what direction things were going and if I'd take over the reins. I said I'd do it. My heart was in it and I liked it."

Danny, who began as a waiter and later managed the club, knew his uncle's legend loomed large at the Penthouse. "It was weird the first couple of years after he was gone. I could still see him around here and hear his voice. I have lots of great memories of Uncle Joe."

While Leading the Heritage Vancouver tour, Danny demonstrates his family's characteristic ebullience, as well as the unique Filippone-rhythm and tenor in his voice.

He leads an audience of 30 people around the Penthouse, offering anecdotes about each room.

The tour visits some of the upper rooms--usually closed to the public--of the deceptively large building, including the "Green Room," a time capsule of the early 1970s with its green cut-velvet wallpaper. The club's original grand piano still sits in the area of the club once known as "The Steak Loft" restaurant, named for the 1950s novelty of bringing raw steaks to customers' tables so diners could pick which one they wanted.

Even the roots of Vancouver's ubiquitous pizza slice shops can be traced to the Penthouse and Vancouver's first pizza oven.

"It's a unique part of Vancouver's social history," says Heritage Vancouver president Donald Luxton. "It is Western Canada's oldest surviving venue for exotic entertainment and a reminder of the vibrant night life Vancouver once enjoyed."

Danny is proud of the building's past, but he's tried to put his own stamp on the nightclub. The prostitutes are long gone, and the club hosts events like the Jazz Festival, New Music West, local bands, private parties, sports nights and even gay and lesbian parties.

In December, the Penthouse added one more party to its history of revelry--its 60th anniversary. Danny hosted a full house, including screenwriter Chris Haddock and Commodore Ballroom general manager Gord Knights, as well as local musicians like Crystal Pistol bassist Greg Laikin. As in its golden age, the Penthouse stage featured an array of acts, from burlesque girls to a stand-up comedian. Filippone planned the party with his father, who died before the event, but it's easy to imagine Ross and Uncle Joe smiling down on the affair.

"I think it's important to keep things fresh and try new things. Bringing music back is what Uncle Joe was doing--trying not to rely on a single theme. It's not a place where you just see exotic dancers anymore," says Filippone, noting Penthouse video music shoots featuring Avril Lavigne and Snoop Dogg, and the nightclub's frequent appearance as the Chick A Dee Club on the critically acclaimed TV crime-drama Intelligence.

The Filippone family story encompasses Vancouver's downtown real estate boom. Joe Philliponi's far-sighted real estate investments have paid dividends. A family-owned lot across the street from the Penthouse sold for a princely sum to a developer who will use the site for a multi-storey condo tower. Next to the Penthouse sits the oldest surviving house in Downtown South. Dating back to 1896, it's been Filippone property since the 1930s.

Fifteen years ago, Vancouver was home to 35 exotic entertainment venues, including Champagne Charlie's, the Austin Flash One and the Niagara. In the late 1990s, Vancouver boasted 4,000 exotic dancers, but that number has shrunk to about 200. The Cecil Hotel site has been earmarked for condos, and other Vancouver exotic clubs face an uncertain future.

Danny has seen them all come and go. "We might go back to us being the only game in town."

He receives regular offers from prospective buyers, but politely declines, noting the club's history and its connection to his family.

"We can paint it, and refurbish it and hold all sorts of special events, but the Penthouse will always have its past and that's what makes it different," he says, adding that restoration plans are being considered. "We want to make it look classic."

And yet, the building still gives up its secrets. Recently Danny unexpectedly discovered a hollow spot in an office wall that contained photographs of the nightclub in the 1950s and '60s, as well as very early photographs of the surrounding businesses and street life on Seymour. "I have no idea why they were there. My father had no idea about it, and we just think it's something Joe did back in the day, hiding the pictures away in the wall for safekeeping or something." Many of the photos are now framed and hang inside the club.

The Penthouse neon sign on Seymour Street still glows at night. One day the end may come, but the Penthouse has withstood everything from the vice squad to the wrecking ball for 60 years.

"We're staying put. We're happy. Our business has never been better," says Danny. And if the Filippones have any say, last call won't come to Seymour Street any time soon.

Heritage Vancouver returns to the Penthouse on Feb. 20. For more information visit www.heritagevancouver.org.
© Vancouver Courier 2008

boundaries.

2008-02-05T14:19:00.000-08:00

Here’s a great one for you. I met Hitch at the taboo show. He runs a dating coaching service. This is an important point— He TEACHES men how to date. He prides himself of being able to talk to women. Hitch expressed an interest in advertising with Stiletto Storm so I emailed him back to arrange a business meeting to discuss the options. The email conversation turned into a text messages as the day progressed. I tried to set up a business meeting in the afternoon, he was only free evenings. I was only free Tuesday night so I emailed him back to see if that would work…

Hitch: Hey Ryann. In a meeting now but free later. How about 9:40 at Celebrities?

Me: That sounds a lot like a bar

Hitch: It IS a gay club. Davie and Burrard. Tonight is usually good. Straight night.

Me: No. I hate bars. It’s what I do for a living and useless for a conversation

Hitch: Tonight you are not to work. Just relax where no one knows your name

Me: If you want to meet for coffee to have a conversation, great. But I’m not a club kid.

Hitch: Actually I am not either. I just go once in a while to see some buddies. If we don’t like it, we can always go elsewhere ;-)

Me: I’m not going.

Hitch: Hey Taurus and supposed to be the stubborn ones not Sagittarius

Me: Guess you learned something new :-P

Hitch: Ha. No, I’m the evil one here, not you. Ok I meet some friends at Blenz at Davie and Granville we cam meet there at 9:20 and figure it out. Ok.

Me: We can set up a meeting over coffee when you have time. Enjoy yourself tonight.

Hitch: No I will say Hi then ditch my friends for you.

Me: your choice.

Ha. I want to see you

Me: It sounds like you already have plans. Perhaps we should reschedule this meeting.

Hitch: Ok, I’ll skip the gym and see you tonight and don’t you worry about my friends. 9:20 Blenz?

Me: fine. 9:30.

I roll my eyes and look at the clock. Business is one thing but he is starting to push my buttons. Aside from suggesting we meet at a bar most of the emails have still suggested that he’s interested in advertising. I grab a marketing package and reluctantly head downtown.

He grins when he sees me and walks right up to me. “You’re short.”

“Without stilettos, yes I am.” I walk past him and order myself a tea. “So, advertising.” I hop onto the stool and grab my notebook.

“You have really beautiful eyes.”

“Thanks. So what’s your demographic?”

“Oh we have two kinds of clients. The first are young, in an ideal position to meet women, but lack the confidence.’

“Mmhmm”

“The others are older, very career focused and haven’t made time, or divorced and looking to restart.”

“Makes sense. And you offer what services?”

“I believe that everyone is looking for that deeper connection. I teach them how to create that chemistry.” He grabs my hand with both of his and stares at me. “Finding that connection, knowing who you are.”

I pull my hand back and resist the urge to slide my stool further away. I lean back. He leans in. He’s in my space. I hate people in my bubble. “Ok. With your demographic being primarily men I can see there being a market for you through the website, and in the program may reach some audience members but you said you are expanding to coaching women as well?”

“Yes.” He slides in closer.

I hate people in my space. “Ok well our show is primarily targeted to women. There will be men attending of course, but our target audience is women. Is that something you feel you could benefit from?”

He touches my shoulder and leans in close. “You should relax. Just enjoy yourself. Tell me about you.”

It’s going to be a long meeting at this rate. I glance at the clock and try to move my stool back. He won’t get out of my space. If he touches me again I swear I’m going to hit him. “What would you like to know?” I reply reluctantly.

I finally escape after what seems like an eternity of cheesy lines, shallow attempts at romance by ‘creating the chemistry’, and a constant invasion of my personal space. Ick.

It’s eighteen hours later. My phone beeps as a text message flashes on the screen.

Hitch: Hey I just heard of a special movie thing that you would be into. Want to go? 7 or 9pm?

Me: I have plans.

Hitch: Can you break them?

Me: No!

I’m regretting that this guy has my number. I expected issues with being a stripper running a business and having to be accessible but FUCK! My plans are not imaginary. I don't create fictional appointments. Why do these guys insist on thinking I'm just waiting for a man to rescue me from my fake life. ARGH!

A week passes. Saturday afternoon another nauseating text message appears on my phone.

Hitch: Hey, what are you doing?

Me: Relaxing

Hitch: Good. Come see me. Bring some soup.

Me: What! No.

Hitch: Haa

Me. Have you given any thought to advertising or sponsoring?

Hitch: No business talk today please.

Me: Ah so these are just random personal messages

Hitch: Yes shorty, you should check out the wellness show. It’s for women more than guys.

Me: In that case you can contact me during work hours to talk business.

Hitch: Work hours are all over the place aren’t they? How about a casual meet? Today?

Me: You said no business today. I agree. This is my personal time. I appreciate you respecting that. Let me know when you want to do business.

Hitch: I’m trying to ask you out on a date :-P sheesh

Me: I’m not interested.

Hitch: Casual of course. Don’t get any ideas. Have you lost that loving feeling?

Me: do you teach your clients about boundaries?

Remember… this guy… TEACHES men how to date and be attractive.

annoyed.

2008-01-29T17:16:00.000-08:00

I’m annoyed. I’ve been mildly annoyed at The American for a week or so. There have been tentative plans for him to come to Vancouver that keep getting pushed back or left unconfirmed and I really don’t have time for that. It’s not a big deal but it was annoying.

He called me last night to tell me they’re going to be in town—today! Sigh… my life doesn’t function with 24 hours notice. Sometimes flukes happen and I’m able to squeeze in an unexpected lunch with a friend, but with Stiletto Storm I’m swamped.

I rearranged a few things and let him know that I could be free between 2:00— 4:00pm this afternoon. We could do a late lunch or coffee, but I’m really busy and that’s the only time I can make on such short notice.

Reid texted me this morning asking if I was free for lunch. I haven’t seen him in weeks, and I miss him, but I turned down the lunch.

The American called shortly after and I missed the call. I checked my voicemail, “Hey, we’re on our way. We should be in town around noon then we want to go check out Gastown, then hop a seabus to North Vancouver, and then dinner around 5:00 and we’ll be out of town by 6:00.”

WHAT THE FUCK!

By my calculations that would put him in North Van during the window I gave him. I called him back, talked to his voicemail, and explained that I’m only free during the afternoon, and I can’t go to North Van.

Then I wait… and get more work done… and wait… and go to physio… and wait… and pick up my gloves from Justice, make a few phone calls, return a few emails… and wait… then I make myself lunch.

At 2:23 I receive a text. “We’re checking out N. Van. What do you think of the snow?”

WHAT THE FUCK!! Now I’m really annoyed.

I shook my head, ate my lunch, and texted back “I'm a little disappointed that I made time this afternoon and you didn't. It would have been nice to see you.

American: I was hoping we could meet up between 4:30 and 5:30. Does that not work for you?

Obviously this guy doesn’t listen at all. “No. I told you yesterday that I can be free between 2 and 4. I already have dinner plans.”

American: Oh that sucks. I don't remember hearing about your dinner plans. We had to squish a 2 day trip into 5 hours, so there is a lot that I wish we could have done.

At that point I ran out of things to say that wouldn’t include the words “presumptuous, self-absorbed, or inconsiderate” so I haven’t replied.

Why do so many guys expect my life to be free and available whenever it works for them? It feels disrespectful to assume that my plans are either non-existent or able to be rescheduled at the drop of a hat. I don’t live like that. I have a life, and a business, and friends, and stuff to do.

And right now I’m really annoyed. But I do have dinner plans with Carmine in a couple hours and that’s going to be a ton of fun.

Fuck dating.

What I need

2008-01-21T13:46:00.001-08:00

It’s been an ongoing joke for weeks that I’m accepting applications for the position of “boyfriend” and with everything that’s been running through my head in the past couple of days I thought I should sit down and really revisit what I need.

I’m pretty sure when I say boyfriend people picture some cute accessory to my life. It’s probably because most of the time I think of boys as puppies. There are lots of things I want… like blue eyes and a hairy chest. But at the end of the day I’m actually looking for a partner—not a puppy, not a toy or an accessory, but someone who can compliment my life without getting in the way of it.

I actually caught myself saying to Rose in reference to The American, “He doesn’t live here. That’s awesome. He can’t interfere with my life. That might be a good distance.”

I wrote it out years ago. I just re-read it ten minutes ago. Most of it has remained the same, some of it I've updated. I think I’ve known for years what I really need.

So I’m throwing it out into the universe…

1. I want someone who can match me in every way. Who will not back down and who will challenge me. Someone who will help me realize my dreams and expand my mind.

2. I want to be with someone who is true in his opinion, will accept the challenge and communicate, and is stubborn and will argue rather than avoid, but will fight fair.

3. I want someone, whom I can learn from, in an equal partnership, who will ground me and who will create a sense of home.

4. I need a Man who is more powerful than I am. I need someone who I feel comfortable surrendering power and control to.

5. I want a man who adores how feminine and traditional I really am. I know my idea of traditional is different than most and juxtaposed with my ambition and independence it’s unique. I want to be his woman. I want to take care of my Man. I will honour and respect him and do everything I can to encourage and help him.

6. I want a partner with whom conversation will never be stale, who I can talk to about both the important things in life and about nothing

7. I need someone who appreciates my independence and will not feel threatened by it, or resentful of it. I need my space and my alone time. I’m a writer. It’s how I think, recharge, and refocus. I can’t handle clingy demands on my time and space.

8. I want a man who is ambitious, creative and intelligent, who is secure in his sense of self, and has his own life goals and dreams that do not come second to mine.

9. I want a partner who is educated and appreciates the dedication and commitment that it requires. He must love to learn, and love to think.

10. I want someone who I can be comfortable with in total silence

11. I need a man who I can snuggle up to and feel safe and protected

12. I deserve someone who understands unconditional love, and willingly offers to love me unconditionally and accept and return my level of commitment, dedication and loyalty. Someone who is emotionally available, will not take advantage of my love, nor hold back.

13. I deserve a man who respects and loves me enough to not deliberately disappoint or hurt me.

14. Trust. I need a man who I can trust with my life, my heart, and my soul. I will give him everything. I have to trust that he will take that responsibility seriously and protect me.

15. Honesty. It’s the foundation of every relationship I value. Even when it isn’t comfortable, I need a partner who will not lie to me. Lies of omission are still lies.

16. Appreciation of the beauty of life, and the simple pleasures.

17. I want a man who is physically active and takes care of his body and his health.

18. I want a man who is socially and environmentally responsible.

19. I will be with someone who respects my friends and family and my relationship with them, and who has a positive and healthy relationship with his own family.

20. I need a man who shares my values—especially of home, family, friendship, and loyalty. I’m looking for forever. I need a man who can understand and make that commitment.

21. I want a partner who wants children- who sees himself as a father and looks forward to being a part of a family.

22. I need someone who I can feel the energy between us, and the physical attraction cannot be ignored or rationalized, who is sexually compatible with me.

Mother Fucker!

2008-01-20T22:06:00.000-08:00

The problem is that I like him. If I didn’t everything would be just fine. Even if it was a simple attraction or familiarity and comfort—like with the Musician—I’d be okay. But it’s not. I actually like him. It’s not just the sex. It’s how safe I feel with him. It’s how curious he is about my life and my goals. It’s how the conversation flows, and how the power flows. I honestly think he and I would be great together. I suspect we might be exactly what the other one needs.

Mother Fucker!

I have no willpower when it comes to Alexander. He calls and I reluctantly, but obediently, go see him. I can scream at him but it makes no difference. He knows I want him. He knows it with a secure arrogance that both infuriates and attracts me.

I’ve been so good at avoiding him. I made him go away for months. But last night that all changed. He said he’d be good. I had to find out what we are. Unfortunately I don’t think I’m any closer to knowing that than I was yesterday.

I don’t understand why he so easily does this to me. Back in the summer I told both Alexander and the Musician that I was ready for a relationship and I had to end the casual affairs before I did anything stupid like falling in love. I got out just in time.

I know I’m at risk of falling for Alexander. I know it. He should know it. I’ve said it. I’ve sworn at him “you can’t keep fucking me! If I sleep with you any longer I’m going to get attached. I’m going to fall in love with you. It’s been FIVE FUCKING YEARS! Just go away! Let me move on. I want a boyfriend. I want someone who loves me and wants to be with me. I’m available. I’m open. I want more than what you’re offering. Casual isn’t good for me anymore! I’m ending it.”

And what does he respond with… “Hey, I’m coming over.”

Mother Fucker!

But I could see it. I honestly and truly could see us together. After five years of quietly getting to know him, of watching him, I have a pretty good idea of who we are. And God Dammit! It think would work.

Not that I’ve told him that. I’ve kept silent about what I actually want, about what type of relationship I actually need. I think I might have to say it.

I think I might have to say, out loud, "Alexander I think you and I would be really good together. I need to know if you’re ever going to care about me or if I’ll always just be a fuck toy to you. I need to know. I need to know out loud, for real."

That sounds like a fun conversation.

lazy and good

2008-01-19T14:50:00.000-08:00

It’s 2:30 in the afternoon and I’m still in my care bear pajamas. Hmmm I just realized after hitting spell check that I have NO IDEA how to actually spell pajamas. That must be why I’ve been insisting on writing and texting PJs for my entire life. Pa-jam-as. Huh. Got it!

Here’s a secret confession for you: I’m a horrible speller. I failed every single spelling test in school. It wasn’t until I started writing everything on my computer that I began to notice when that squiggly red line appeared — glaring at me — daring me to smarten up and learn to spell. And I did! I’m pretty good now. Of course there’s always words like pajamas that have eluded me for over twenty years but now I can check that one off the list too.

Anyhow I’ve gotten totally off track. It’s Saturday afternoon and I feel like I’m being unbelievable lazy. It’s odd really because it's so far from reality. I’ve been in front of my computer working on Stiletto Storm for close to ten hours a day but because I haven’t had a shower or left the house today I feel unproductive. No worries though. I’m going to buy groceries later.

I’m fabulously happy and content. I’ve done my exercises this morning—so I don’t get fat. I ate leftover casserole I made last night and as soon as I post this and have a shower I’m going to meet a friend for coffee. Life is good.

OOoh and The American from New Years… yeah he called last night and he’s coming to visit me next week. (I might be a little giddy about it—shhhhhhh) I suppose we’ll have to go dancing. I think I can live with that. I also went on a lovely first date with a friend of Carmine’s from New Years-- Monkey. And if he calls me again then I can go on a delightful second date. That sounds like fun. See life is good and smart, creative, eligible men just keep appearing in my life. Selection is good ;-) but really I only need one.

It’s strange. I’m basically unemployed right now throwing all of my time and energy into Stiletto Storm. I’m doing occasional stags and birthday parties but no regular pay. And I’m okay with it. I have complete faith in everything to work out.

Now I’m going to go have a shower and get the hell out of the house for a bit.

Applications online!!!

2008-01-15T21:37:00.000-08:00

Stiletto Storm Productions Ltd. is a brand new event production company created by women for women – focusing on highlighting the exotic and acrobatic aspects of dance, while empowering women in a positive atmosphere.

Over the week of July 14-20, 2008, at the Vancouver Playhouse, Stiletto Storm will be hosting a Showcase of Alternative Entertainment—the highlight of which will be the National Exotic Dance Championship.

The company was founded in 2007 by Canadian exotic dancer Ryann Rain. Her vision is to create a celebration and showcase of some of Canada s best exotic and alternative entertainers and bring their power and seduction to mainstream attention and markets. The growing interest in pole dance combined with the increasing demand for women-positive adult entertainment has created a unique opportunity. Stiletto Storm Productions was created to fill that void, by creating a world-class annual theatrical event.

Stiletto Storm’s premiere nationwide event, the 2008 National Exotic Dance Championship, will bring the sensuality, intrigue and art of exotic dance to the masses! The company was designed to showcase female talent, and empower women in an inclusive and positive atmosphere. It will be a week of intense competition and stunning live performances. The competitors of Stiletto Storm possess the appeal of Hollywood starlets. They are also gymnasts, acrobats, and contortionists - but above all, dancers.

The event falls in the midst of the 30th annual Pride celebration, and will incorporate Pride themes to draw from the 400,000 participants attending the festivities. Over the week the Showcase of Alternative Entertainment will bring various forms of erotic and exotic together under one roof for different shows. It will feature burlesque, drag shows, and boylesque just to name a few.

“Our mission is to protect the future of the art and heart of exotic dance,” affirms Rain. “We believe in the power of women and the strength of diversity.”

The event will be a fabulous extravaganza. Competitors will have the opportunity to perform in a full-size theatre, on a professional stage with rigging and a trained crew. Every effort will be made to accommodate special props, creative ideas, and unique skills.

Not only is Stiletto Storm accepting applications for the Canadian National Exotic Dance Championship, but they’re also looking for shows and performers for the Showcase of Alternative Entertainment. Applications are now available online at www.stilettostorm.com

waiting...

2008-01-15T02:18:00.000-08:00

My mind is full of random memories. In this rare occasion I’m wishing I had someone to curl up next to. It’s been too long since I had any physical companionship and I’m missing it right now. I’m churning with energy, vitality and purpose. Everything is snowballing in front of me and I believe I really truly believe that everything I’m working on will come together. I have faith.

I want to share it. I want someone to wrap their arms around me and know that I’m amazing. I want the release of passion and the strength of masculinity. I’m not lonely. It’s a different feeling. I’m feeling an urge to let myself be vulnerable. I want to fall in love. I want to feel safe in the arms of a man who will protect and adore me. It will come. I know it will… in time.

Yet I still miss both the Musician and Alexander. I miss the fragile intimacy of what The Musician was and I miss the unfinished idea of what Alexander could be.

I want to text one of them. It doesn’t matter which. In my mind they’ve become a united memory—something I desire only in secret. I won’t actually do it. I’ll go to bed with my care bear and snuggle warm under my covers, safe and determined to not be that foolish.
It’s the opposite of a void. I feel confined within myself. I want to break out of this protective shell and fall into something more powerful. It’s as though I’m splitting at the seams, restrained by time, waiting for the shell to crack open.

Club was a safe haven

2008-01-14T01:05:00.000-08:00

The Burnaby News Leader interviewed me for this story the other day...

Show lounge closure saddens women who worked there

It was her favourite club and she would dance at few others.

The staff was friendly, the customers supportive and most importantly, she felt safe when performing there.

Now that it’s closed, Ryann Rain (her stage name) says she may have performed her last exotic dance routine.

“I was in tears the final night, bawling my eyes out on stage—really, really sexy—because for me it was the end of my home and I can’t dance anymore,” she said. “Mugs and Jugs was my bread and butter and paid my rent.”

As reported in the NewsLeader on Thursday, the College Place Hotel—home to both Mugs and Jugs and the Chicago Tonight nightclub—has been sold to BC Housing, which plans to convert the building to provide an emergency shelter and transitional housing. The closure of the Mugs and Jugs is part of a trend in the region, and Rain wasn’t alone in her admiration for the exotic show lounge.

According to The Naked Truth (www.nakedtruth.ca), a website devoted to Lower Mainland exotic dancers, New Westminster’s Mugs and Jugs was voted the best place to work in an online poll.

“They were a great staff to work with. It was like a family,” said Rain, 27.

Mugs and Jugs isn’t the only exotic show lounge to recently close its doors. On Thursday it was announced the Cecil Hotel was sold to a developer who plans to tear down the building and put up condominiums.

The North Burnaby Inn, the Marble Arch, the Drake and the Fraser Arms are some other clubs closed over the last decade.

But the trend of strip clubs closing is about more than these establishments closing their doors, say dancers.

Trina Ricketts, a former exotic dancer who founded The Naked Truth, sees it as the loss of safe work options for many women—many who are mothers or support loved ones.

“In the sex industry, a strip club is considered a safe-sex work option. It’s safe because you have bouncers, staff and no contact options,” said Ricketts, a South Surrey resident and mother of two.

The feminist and advocate for women worked in the sex industry as a stripper for nine years before leaving. She became an exotic dancer for reasons similar to many women—to pay the bills.

Ricketts said she worked numerous minimum-wage jobs, often more than one at a time, and still couldn’t pay the rent and put food on her table. With exotic dancing she could finally make a livable wage.

But she always had her boundaries—she was comfortable performing naked but that’s where it ended.

“For me, exotic dancing saved me. It was about performing, it was about art, it was about power and money,” she said. “But it wasn’t about having strangers touch my body. In that way, I find it really scary that exotic dance clubs are closing.”

Both Ricketts and Rain sees changes ahead with clubs closing down. And neither like where things are going.

Many of the remaining clubs are pushing things like lap dances or private dances.

“With Mugs and Jugs closing, we’re near the end of no-contact options for women making a living in the sex industry,” said Rain.

“For women that have to support a family, it means a lot tougher decisions for them.”

mmcquillan@burnabynewsleader.com

Happy New Year!!!

2008-01-03T11:50:00.000-08:00

I’m impatient. “Let’s dance.” I shout as Rose shimmies over to Sierra and I. Clad all in scarlet red we’re the three Sirens out on the town tonight. I need tonight to embrace change. I can feel the excitement building and I know Sierra was right in dragging me here. She can’t resist the urge to say so “I told you it would be fun.”

“Uh huh. Now teach us.” I demand. Sierra has been doing ballroom and latin dancing for over a year but Rose and I are used to dancing solo on stage. We find an open corner and pay close attention to her instructions. “…right foot back, left, right foot up, pause. Now the other one. Left foot back…”

Rose and I high-five.

The lessons have barely ended when a stranger appears in front of me “care to dance?” He asks, holding out his hand. Of course I say yes and we dance, and dance… and dance.

I glimpse Rose being spun around the dance floor in one corner and Sierra in the middle of the room. “Break time.” I grin at my dance partner and beeline it to where I suspect Rose has dropped our purses. I’m correct. I grab the purses and their bottled water and hover near the edge of the dance floor talking to my dance partner. He’s American, just came up for New Years to dance and has blue eyes. (okay I noticed that last part)

Sierra joins us on the next song and reaches for her bottled water. ‘I may have drank it.” I smirk as she scolds me and proceeds to finish Rose’s. I spy Rose hurrying over to us looking panicked and I wave her purse in the air. “I have them.”

“Omigod! I was so worried. I put them down and then… hey who’s the hottie?” She interrupts herself having noticed the tall dark and handsome standing next to me.

I laugh and do the introductions, ignoring the look Rose is giving me. It’s shaping up to be an amazing evening. We giggle and wiggle as only Sirens can do, lost in girly fun.

A wave of relief washes through me as the countdown ensues (and not due to the new hottie beside me). With every number being shouted I feel my fear and anger melt away. Surrounded by new and old friends we cheer and giggle and yell “Happy New Year!” I grin as Rose and Sierra attempt to sip from each other’s champagne but instead spill the sticky liquid on their chests.

I blush as both girls coo while watching the American kiss me. And then we dance the night away. I dance and giggle and dance until I can feel my feet swollen against the leather of my shoes.

Still grinning I collapse on a bench in the hallway with my unexpected date. Rose joins us shortly, flinging herself onto the bench and kicking her heels off. “I’m done.”

“Me too.” I don’t move.

Sierra finds us slumped against the wall and shakes her head. “You lazy bums. Is that it?”

I raise my eye brows. “You wanna keep dancing?”

She shoves Rose over and plops down next to us. “Ha. I’m done too.”

It’s been a good night but it’s barely begun. I promised Carmine I’d show up at the house party she’s spinning at and meet her fabulous friends. Rose takes off first. She also has another engagement. Sierra collects our coats while I say goodnight.

It’s 2:30am by the time I arrive at the house party. Hank is sitting in the kitchen mixing something that looks like purple syrup. I grin and jump into his arms demanding a New Years hug. Carmine’s pretty boyfriend is the next to spot me. He grabs me in his arms, spins me off my feet and plants a sloppy kiss on me before I have a chance to escape.

Carmine shrieks when she sees me “You made it! Damn you look hot! Oh I have people you need to meet.” She grabs my wrist and drags me into the living room. “This is my amazing friend I’ve been telling you about.” She announces to random people.

I collapse on the couch and bury myself in conversation with Monkey while watching scantly clad bodies float in time to the music. There’s no way I’m dancing again tonight but Carmine was right there are interesting people here.

By the time I fall into my bed dawn is hovering on the horizon. It was good night- a really good way to start the New Year.

Ginger called me New Years day and we shared the exact same sentiment—Thank God 2007 is over! Bring it on! It’s going to be an amazing year. Change is good.

I’m ready now.

bye bye 2007

2007-12-31T11:41:00.000-08:00

Wow. I can’t believe this year is already over. I have to say I’m relieved. It’s been exhausting but I’m sure 2008 will be a good year. I just didn’t expect it to be starting with such major change. I’ll be starting new jobs soon. I don’t know what they are, or how I’m going to pay my bills without stilettos but I will.

I’m heartbroken. I really am. I love dancing with all my heart and soul and the women in this industry. I’m not ready to walk away. I’m really not. I have to tell myself I’ll come back to it and I’m sure I will. I’ll take the occasional gig here and there. I’ll cover a shift for a friend but as a fulltime job I’m done.

I’ll be in Squamish this week for a couple of days but I don’t have any bookings after that.

I’m mad at the world that I’m being forced to stop dancing. I’m mad at the city for targeting strippers and making running a strip club impossible. I’m mad at them for shutting us down, for being so self-righteous about it, and for being so blind to the lives their agenda is hurting.

I’m pissed at the driver that failed to yield and caused the car accident that has left me still injured more than eight months later. If I was healthy I could have gone back out on the road. I could have kept dancing.

But mostly I’m mad at the world for forcing me to start over, pick up the pieces, and rebuild—again. I’ll always be okay. I’ll always land on my feet and survive. I don’t actually need the help and support I want. I’ll be even stronger. I’ll be okay. I’m just so tired of having to be.

I’m heading out dancing in a couple of hours. A couple girlfriends and I are going Salsa dancing to ring in the New Year. Thank God 2007 is over. I need a change.

I don’t do “resolutions” but I do take personal inventory, reflect, and make goals and priorities for the coming year. This year my goals are to…

Be awesome-er
Financially stable
Pelvic-ly stable
Datable

Ha! I know in my heart that 2008 is going to be a good year. I shouldn't be so hard on 2007. I grew a lot but it's time to bring on the happy times!

it's the end

2007-12-23T02:35:00.000-08:00

I have so much to say and it’s been building up for weeks but the reality is I’ve been too devastated and angry to say anything more than “Fuck you all!”

Mugs and Jugs is closing in a week. Unfortunately without that bar I can’t pay my bills dancing in Vancouver and I’m not physically able to travel anymore. So I’m forced to quit dancing because of finances.

I don’t know what I’m going to do. I know I’m qualified I have the experience to do anything I want but all I want to do is dance. Every other job I’ve had has bored me to tears. I want to learn something everyday and feel passion and purpose in what I do. That’s what Stiletto Storm is going to be. But I have to survive and pay rent in the meantime. So I’m looking for a job. Anyone want to hire me?

Ironic isn’t it? The perception that strippers make a ton of money is so far from the truth in Vancouver it makes me sick. We’ve been circling the drain for a while now and I guess it’s finally happening. Politics is winning. The cities get to shut down strip clubs, take away safe work options for women, and congratulate themselves on doing so.

I should go paint the whole picture here but I’m just too exhausted. I look around Vancouver and what I see is a community at risk. Pickton is guilty. Big fucking deal! Women are still dying. They’re still disappearing. They’re still treated as disposable inconveniences.

And instead of protecting the most vulnerable women in our community the municipality prides itself on shutting down strip clubs and forcing women to make harder decisions. I’m already depressed and feeling desperate. All I have to take care of is my self and my dreams. I’m not a single mother—but a lot of my friends are.

The demise of strip clubs in Vancouver means the end of non-contact income for a lot of women. Think about that for a second. Think about it when you drive past one of the old ghost clubs. We used to be able to entertain for living. We used to dance to support our families, and our future. We used to strip on stage—safe. Those days are gone.

I have so much more to say… but I’m still too livid.

I’ll be at Mugs and Jugs Dec 27-29. I’ll be there to close the club and cry my heart out. We’ve lost so much more than a bar.

Silence of the Pigs

2007-12-11T01:07:00.000-08:00

I haven’t said much about the Pickton trial. Instead I’ve been quietly and passively watching. I could rage. I could scream, rant, and cry but I don’t have the energy. I found this piece, Silence of the Pigs, by Bonnie Bowman to be sensitive and important.

Silence of the Pigs
Bonnie Bowman probes a muderous milieu

As I sit in the courtroom staring at the back of Pickton's head, I want to beat on the bulletproof glass that separates us and scream.
—Trisha Baptie, reporting for www.oratorio.com

Well, Clarice—have the lambs stopped screaming? You still wake up sometimes, don't you? You wake up in the dark and hear the screaming of the lambs.
—Hannibal Lecter in The Silence of the Lambs

If the Chinese calendar is anything to live by, we are now in the Year of the Pig. A sign of apparent good fortune, a year so fortuitous there promises to be a big jump in birth rates of “lucky” Chinese children. Coincidentally, it also happens to be the year that one Robert “Willie” Pickton, a sullen-faced pig farmer from Port Coquitlam, is on trial for murdering six women from Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside. Unless you’ve been living under a rock, you know he is charged with 26 such murders and suspected of nearly 50 all told. He is accused, and soundly convicted by most, of horrendous misdeeds perpetrated on his now-infamous pig farm. Fargo-like horror stories abound in the media as the trial unfolds: lurid tales of rendering plants, of human remains being ground up into pig food, of a meticulous and painstaking search for DNA in what is being called the largest forensic investigation in Canadian history. Yes, for better or worse, pigs are big this year.

I was living in Vancouver when the women began disappearing from the Downtown Eastside streets. What began as a worried murmur by those closest to the victims finally grew to an outraged roar as women kept vanishing and nothing was being done about it. Why? Because the women lived on the fringes of society. They were prostitutes, drug addicts, plying their rough trade in the poorest postal code in Canada, the scabrous blight on Vancouver’s shiny visage. If it weren’t for the relentless efforts of friends and family, street workers, and some intrepid reporters—notably The Vancouver Sun’s Lindsay Kines, who doggedly wrote about the disappearances and urged a police probe long before it became tabloid fodder to the rest of the oblivious fleece-wearing, cappuccino-sipping masses—one wonders if Willie would still be wearing shit-caked gumboots instead of an orange jumpsuit.

But now it’s big news, isn’t it. There’s a lot to talk about over the water cooler, it’s gripping stuff. A friend of mine says that whenever he accesses his Yahoo UK address, the Pickton trial is one of the top stories in Britain. “They like their gore over there,” he says to me, shrugging. Yes, the spotlight is on. Port Coquitlam, a previously unknown ’burb to the majority of Canadians, is now on the map. I have even heard people in Toronto, where I currently live, referring to the scene of the crime by its West Coast moniker, PoCo. People who have never been to Vancouver, let alone Port Coquitlam, can be heard referring to “the pig farmer from PoCo.” It’s fun to say PoCo. Let’s all say it together.

Having lived in Vancouver for 24 years, I have some idea of how this dubious notoriety must be plaguing the suits in power. They don’t like the Downtown Eastside at the best of times. They clearly don’t need international attention being brought to bear on their dirty little secret, especially now, with the Olympics looming large. From their point of view, it’s the worst of times for this to happen. You can bet they want this cleared up quickly, before the world descends on their doorstep. From my far-removed vantage point, here in the Centre of the Universe, I can almost smell their desperation. It makes me cackle and rub my hands together with wicked glee. And then I feel guilty, not because I am taking great joy from their anxiety (I most assuredly am), but because I stop and remember what is at the root of it all. Or more accurately, who. The women. Yes, the women who are getting buried all over again, buried in the salacious details of the trial by the water-cooler gossips, buried by the power suits who are on a zealous mission to clean up the Downtown Eastside (shades of Expo 86), and buried again by Pickton himself, whose weird habits and habitat are creating far more interest with the bloodthirsty than the lives of the victims.

It’s to be expected. Everyone knows the names of renowned serial killers. Who hasn’t heard of Ted Bundy, Jeffrey Dahmer, John Wayne Gacy, or, to put a local spin on it, Clifford Olson? Can you name even one of their victims? Here in Toronto, and elsewhere in Canada, many can name the victims of our very own golden-haired murderous duo, Paul and Karla. Maybe it’s easier in that particular case, there being fewer names to remember, or maybe, as many would suggest, the victims got way more play because they weren’t drug-addicted prostitutes. At any rate, unless you’re a reporter covering the trial, or in some way connected on a personal level, I challenge you to name the six women Pickton is currently charged with murdering. But you sure as hell know his name by now. It sucks, but that’s the way it is. The guilty are always far more interesting than the innocent. And in that respect, we’re all guilty.

A friend of mine, Jeremy Hainsworth, is covering the Pickton trial for Associated Press. He is there in the courtroom, every day, trying to remain objective to properly do his job. Long ago, he says, he stopped looking at the accused. For one thing, Willie is, by all accounts, impassive and seemingly uninterested in the proceedings. He doodles. He shows no apparent remorse. It doesn’t look like he’ll do anything bizarre, like start screaming and throwing himself against his bulletproof shield, or making lascivious, leering faces to the jury. He doesn’t do anything worth looking at, from a reporter’s perspective. Or maybe Pickton’s blank façade is far more chilling than any dramatic outburst could ever be. Whatever the reason, Jeremy says he simply can’t stomach looking at him anymore. He shared a personal story with me that illustrates how even reporters struggle to keep the women from getting lost in the translation, being reduced to mere DNA.

On his way home from a particularly grueling day in the courtroom, Jeremy picked up a copy of 24 Hours, a little freebie news rag. The cover featured photos, mugshots, of the missing women. On the top banner was a photo of Pickton. When he got home, Jeremy cut off Pickton’s face with distaste and wrote the names of the women underneath their photos. He then tacked it up on the back of his apartment door. To remind himself, he says, why he’s putting himself through this. “Every day, before I go to work, I look at their faces and their names, and I say out loud: ’I’m doing this for you.’ Their faces are the last thing I see before I leave each day.” Jeremy is not a saint, trust me. He simply understands that everyone needs reminding. As for doing his job, despite being affected and disturbed by the horror (Jeremy’s seeing a shrink), he concedes it’s a relief to finally be able to write about it. After years of being “in the know,” of being privy to the scuttlebutt on the streets and in the newsrooms, the agonizing lack of legal will, the frustration experienced by many at the interminably slow wheels of justice, he is glad it’s finally all coming out. He calls writing about it “cathartic vomit.” .

Settled in amongst the various media covering the trial are two very brave women committed to seeing it through—Pauline VanKoll and Trisha Baptie, both former sex trade workers who were friends with many of the victims. They, too, are covering the trial in a professional capacity as citizen journalists for www.orato.com in an effort to lend a been-there-done-that voice to the mainstream Pickton reportage. VanKoll and Baptie clearly do not need to be reminded about the women; they were those women. For them, this gig is both professional and personal.

From my knowledge, I am closer to the truth of how these girls lived and died. I was blessed not to have gone to the farm. If I had been, I could have easily been on the list of missing women.
—Pauline VanKoll

Before the women began disappearing, back in the heady days when people didn’t think twice about eating pork, I too spent a lot of time in the Downtown Eastside. No, I wasn’t a hooker and I wasn’t peddling crack ... sorry, that would’ve added more authenticity, but it wasn’t the case. I was down there getting but a taste of the scene, not the full-on feast as experienced by the orato-gals or anyone else who lived the life. I was venturing into the abyss on a regular basis for something far more civilized—music. More specifically, the blues. And what better setting than the desperate Downtown Eastside. Most of my friends are blues musicians, and in those earlier halcyon days, there were gigs aplenty at the various rundown hotels located on, or just off, the notorious Hastings Street strip. I spent countless evenings in seedy hotel bars like the Balmoral, the Grand Union, the Travellers, the Brandiz, the Columbia, you name it. For years in the mid- to late ’80s, you could find me down there, diggin’ the blues, dodging flying beer bottles, stepping over puke, and watching porn on the television sets while the band played on. “Sit with your back to a wall,” I was cautioned. It was good advice, the only drawback being your proximity to the brick walls—a perfect jumping-off point for the cockroaches.

There was indeed a lot of nastiness going down in the ’hood, nobody could argue otherwise. On any given night, blood was spilled. Take-downs were frequent, and cops wearing black leather gloves could be witnessed wielding their efficient chokeholds in the middle of the bars while patrons either glared at them or sprinted out the back door. Paramedics were everywhere, kneeling on the streets, shooting Narcan into wasted limbs, bandaging up wounds, or trundling people around on stretchers. The revolving lights from cop cars and ambulances, combined with the gaudy neon hotel signs, lit up Hastings Street like a carnival from hell. Naturally, drugs were omnipresent, mostly heroin in those days, either being sold or bought or openly injected, in the bars, in the alleys, and especially in the bathrooms. You don’t want to know about the bathrooms, you really don’t.

But that aside, there’s no denying it was a community. Clearly a lot more colourful than your standard middle - class suburb, most definitely not Pleasantville, but a community nonetheless. It was, and still is, home for many. As I sat in the bars, night after night, I got to know many of the habitués who haunted the hotels. Whether I loved them or loathed them, I can’t help but wonder what their fate will be with the looming and inevitable gentrification plans of Olympian proportions.

It’s difficult to imagine the Downtown Eastside without its familiar denizens—the three-fingered war vets, the embattled bartenders turning the clocks ahead on Welfare Wednesdays, the dealers, the strippers, the junkies and the prostitutes. You couldn’t ask for a better cast of characters than those who populate the Downtown Eastside. Hearing accounts of the Pickton trial, and especially reading the passionate posts by Baptie and VanKoll, brings back vivid memories and some snapshot moments from that Kafkaesque tableau.

Whereas the old - timers barely moved from their terrycloth-topped bar tables, the junkies were in constant motion, sliding in and out of the hotels, weaving through tables, conducting business. Out onto the streets to buy, sell or steal, and back into the bars to unload their merchandise. They hovered by your table, they twitched, they had the snake-oil salesman patter down. You couldn’t get through a night without being hit on repeatedly to buy, buy, BUY! To shell out some dough for the cause, feed the underground economy, purchase something so freshly hot, it would burn your fingerprints off to touch it. You name it, you could buy it—watches, clothes, shoes, books, records, radios, pens, hairspray—everything from the sublime (leather jackets) to the ridiculous (a roll of gauze, obviously pre-loved).

There you sit, back to the wall, sipping your pissy draft beer, enjoying the music, and suddenly you feel the familiar hovering presence that precedes a sales pitch. You turn your head and there, hunkered down by the side of your chair, your salesman. He is clutching something wrapped in blood-stained newspaper. “Wanna buy some meat?” he whispers, shakily unwrapping the newspaper to display a raw dripping hunk of animal flesh, freshly liberated from Save-On-Meats. “It’s a T-bone,” he urges. “Primo.” Naturally you demur. No really, that’s what you do. But it does make me wonder if, considering the current climate, pork roasts are a much tougher sell nowadays.

And lest we forget, no trip down memory lane—or memory skid road in this case—would be complete without the local working girls who daily braved the bad streets and bad dates. There was a bit of a symbiotic relationship between the musicians and the hookers, a camaraderie of sorts. We all got to know a few of the regular girls quite well, those who weren’t so ravaged by their lifestyle that they could still maintain a decent conversation, still be coy and charming, and would sometimes dance or shoot some stick with the boys in the band until duty called them back to the street. They were tough, sure, they had to be. But there was also a refreshing lack of pretence once they decided they liked and trusted you, and in many, a poignant fragility beneath the bravado and the track marks. I remember when we heard that one of our favourite streetwalkers had died, the rumour being she had thrown herself off the Patullo bridge. Her name was Casey and I’ll never forget her. She was a wise-cracking, intelligent and generous young woman. Your textbook hooker with a heart of gold. It was a sad day when we learned of Casey’s demise, even though sudden deaths were not uncommon in that milieu, albeit mostly associated with accidental or purposeful overdoses.

But serial murders? Well, that’s a whole other kettle of pigs. I can only imagine the turmoil and fear that must have been going on down there as, one by one, familiar faces were vanishing. Not being found in a hotel room, slumped in an alley, or washed up on shore, but vanishing completely, poof! A creepy pattern, no answers, and nobody listening. I was sad about Casey, but there was a body and a funeral, what psycho-babble refers to as “closure.” Closure has been a long time coming, if at all, for the families and friends of the missing/murdered Downtown Eastside women. Too long. And now, does a scrap of identifying DNA bring closure? Too CSI for comfort, maybe. How about a severed head in a rusty bucket? Too much disclosure? I don’t know. All I do know is that along with plenty of grief, there was equal anger. And there are plenty of places to direct it. At the cops for dropping the ball early on, at the pig farmer from PoCo, at basically anyone who put their hands over their ears, closed their eyes and hummed when confronted with early suspicions, fears, and possible suspects.

And our good ole boy, Willie, was indeed a suspect with the Downtown Eastside locals. If not Willie himself, then his pig farm was suspect as a possible crime scene, because this was no anonymous far-flung farm going about its business under the radar. This particular farm was Party Central , and everyone knew it. The partying took place in a low-ceilinged long building dubbed Piggy’s Palace. There was live music, there was dancing, there was always a pig roast (in retrospect, ew). Yep, Willie liked his parties. And who attended these soirees? Everyone. Not just bikers and hookers as some would like to think, but community leaders, business people, local politicians. An all-access pass to Piggy’s Palace. And being such a good community-minded citizen, Willie organized several of these shindigs as benefits for worthy causes.

Before the pig shit hit the fan, even I knew about the existence of Piggy’s Palace. Although no longer a regular visitor to the Downtown Eastside, I would hear about the pig farm from my musician buddies who had played out there. At the time, it was considered just another gig, since playing biker-type bashes and benefits was nothing out of the ordinary for the blues cats. Only later did the horror kick in for musicians who had played the Palace.

Two such musicians, Darren and Steve, had played Piggy’s roughly eight months before the story broke wide open. Their band had been enlisted as the entertainment for one of Willie’s infamous benefits. Now, brace yourself. Here comes the irony, and it ain’t subtle. They were playing a benefit for battered women. I’ll repeat that—for battered women. How’s that for a kick in the arse with a frozen gumboot? The mind reels. They could have been playing overtop of human remains. Worse, all those present who partook of the roast pig could have been eating human remains. In fact, after the nefarious goings-on were literally unearthed, a tainted meat advisory did circulate within the community. Darren, horrified when he learned what had lurked beneath the stage, says he managed to “redeem” himself later on by playing a fundraising benefit for the Missing Women’s Foundation. “It found me,” he said simply, gratefully.

And then the stories, the speculation , began in earnest. It was a runaway train and I recall rumours circulating that snuff films were being made out at the farm. Musicians who were still playing the Downtown Eastside bars were getting the goods straight off the street, and the big question was: How come we all seem to know where these women are going, and nobody else does? For his part, Steve met a woman who claimed to have escaped the farm with her life and her lingerie. “She told me he had picked her up—my impression was that it was Pickton—and he took her out to the farm and then he started getting rough with her. She split, wearing nothing but a bra and panties.” The lid on this particular Pandora’s box had only to be lifted a crack, and gruesome creatures began flying out all over the place.

It was hard to stand there with my fingers grabbing onto the chain link fence, my forehead resting on the cold wire, thinking, “How can a segment of the population be so invisible that they can suffer these atrocities, and no one except the dirt I am looking at heard them scream?”
—Trisha Baptie

So I sit here in Toronto now, reading accounts of the trial like everyone else. I am not as close to it anymore, but my thoughts are with those who are. There is no place in Toronto like the Downtown Eastside, at least no place so concentrated. There are pockets, naturally, and as I walk amongst the junkies and dealers, the prostitutes, the mentally ill, I remember all their Western counterparts I had become familiar with for a brief period of time. Of the two cities, Toronto is supposed to be the scary degenerate, Vancouver the pretty-boy health freak. But Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside rivals any of Toronto’s mean streets and, by all accounts, it’s only gotten worse since the days I frequented the low track. More organized crime, more crack, a tougher, meaner, more unforgiving place.

But not for long, if the powers-that-be have their way. There’s no doubt the area can use some cleaning up, the old hotels could and should be brought up to code for safety’s sake if nothing else. And that’s all fine and good, except that most long-time residents won’t get the benefit of it. Many will be displaced, despite assurances of alternate low-income housing. If you actually believe that enough affordable housing will be in place by the time the Olympics thunders into town like the running of the bulls (or the running of the bullshit), then you should seriously consider a career in politics.

Yes, the Downtown Eastside residents are apparently expendable. If this were an episode of the original Star Trek series, they’d all be wearing red shirts. And if I wanted to be really cynical and outrageous, I would suggest that some water-cooler gossips might go so far as to say Pickton did them a favour by getting a head start on the ghetto cleansing.

To borrow from Dickens, it appears to be “the best of times and the worst of times” in Vancouver right now. Indeed, it is a tale of two cities—the sparkling postcard image displayed on Olympics tourist brochures, and the pestilent, roach-ridden Downtown Eastside—both of which have gained international attention. Unfortunately for the women working the latter streets, it’s been only the worst of times. If they were lucky enough to have escaped the clutches of a serial killer, many of them now face eviction from their home turf. Insult to injury, ladies.

I’m glad I’m not around for all the drama. I don’t need to be bombarded by the West Coast media with the grisly details of Willie’s trial and I really don’t need daily Olympics hype in my face. But I do not want to forget the lost women, whom, granted, I didn’t know personally, but who led lives that mirrored those of many I had befriended. So this is what I’ll do—I’ll head down to Parkdale, find one of the sketchier bars, have a beer with some of Toronto’s lowlife, and remember the good old days in the Downtown Eastside. As a nod to Jeremy, Baptie and VanKoll, I will raise my glass, and say aloud the names: Sereena Abotsway, Mona Wilson, Andrea Joesbury, Brenda Wolfe, Georgina Papin and Marnie Frey. And maybe, by the Year of the Rat, they’ll get some justice. Maybe we’ll stop hearing their screams.

Copyright © Bonnie Bowman, 2007

The best gig ever!

2007-12-01T11:46:00.000-08:00

“We’ve built you a stage.” The masculine voice explains to me over the phone.
It catches me off guard. That’s odd. It’s a private party. But whatever. I take down the address and shrug it off. People are strange.

It’s 3:00 in the afternoon when I pull my car into the muddy path. “Are you sure this is a road?” I ask unconvinced into the phone.

He laughs at me. “Yes. I can see you. Just drive straight ahead. I'm waving at you.”

“AAAAAAAAAAHHHH that’s a huge puddle” I squeal, cringing as I drive my poor Jetta through the swamp. I can see my girlfriends laughing at me as they follow me in their Jeep into the construction site.

We’ve arrived—at a muddy unfinished construction site for an afternoon party… of some sort. The money is handed over and I count it quickly before stuffing it in my pocket and grabbing my bag from the trunk. Brit and Sam do the same. We exchange looks and laugh as we’re led into the concrete building.

“This feels like a sarcophagus” I comment as we make our way into basement of the structure. As we descend I can hear music growing louder.

“Okay so we have a dressing room for you set up and everything is ready to go. I know it’s cold in here but the dressing room is heated.”

I exchange looks with Sam and Brit. Sure enough we arrive in a heated room where they’ve thrown carpet down to make it cozy for us and supplied a couple benches.

“The stage is through this door here.” He explains, motioning to a nearby metal door.

We peek.

Two hundred guys cheer and shout in the warehouse sized room as a DJ spins in the corner. The music is already pounding. A disco ball has been installed filling the stage with actual lighting. Our jaws drop when we see the stage. There’s a pole, a tub, a shower, and a swing.

“What the fuck?” I laugh, shaking my head. “This is insane! It’s 3:00 in the afternoon.”

Sam bursts out laughing. We’re happy. We quickly plan our shows. Brit is going first, then Sam, and finally me. Once we’re done our individual shows we’ll do a group show.

The crowd erupts as Brit hoists herself onto the stage. In our dressing room Sam and I fix our makeup and get dressed. “This is great!” She grins.

“Yup!” I’m thrilled. “When was the last time any of us performed for a crowd like this? There’s two hundred guys and it’s as good a stage as any in a bar.”

“I wish the bars were like this.”

“Yeah! This is how it should be.”

Once Sam is done I jump up and pull myself onto the stage. The music is loud. The crowd is amazing and I don’t think I’ve ever had a gig this fun. Hell yah! I jump on the swing and fly through the air, grinning. The boys scream and wave money at me. I dance and dance and collect tips. I’m fucking happy.

Sweaty and loaded with a pile of money I finish my set and skitter back into the dressing room. “This is so fucking cool!”

Brit is grinning. “We have to do this again!”

“I know!”

We’re now dressed in beaters, denim skirts, and safety vests as the three of us climb back onto the stage. They’ve supplied us with strawberries, whipped cream, chocolate sauce, honey, and body wash. These guys have thought of everything.

We turn the shower on and allow the steam to billow as the water warms up. Wet T-shirt time! Soaked and giddy we play with the crowd and sell Polaroid pictures. I rip my shirt in half and sell it to an enthusiastic worker. We’re all collecting money, tossing it to the back of the stage.

We frolic in the tub. Sam squirts chocolate syrup on my chest as I feed Brit strawberries. This is so much fun!

Finally the money begins to slow down and we’ve had enough. We’re wet, dirty, and ecstatic as we plop down on the dressing room floor to divide up the group tips. What an amazing gig. I check the clock. It’s only 4:20. Sweet! We all need to go home and clean up before we go to work.

Grinning and giggling we climb back in our vehicles and they laugh as I scream driving through the massive puddle again. Sam follows me in her Jeep and I lead the way back towards downtown.

What a great way to start the workday. Fucking Sweet! I so want to do that again!

Agnes

2007-11-28T17:24:00.000-08:00

Laughter echoes in the room. Giggles shatter the silence and break the calm isolation as Agnes skips into the serene tea room. We’re attracting attention. Her dark hair is ruffled in every direction creating a pixie like bed-head. I comment on her creative hairdo and she exclaims “I know! Isn’t it exciting! I woke up and it was so interesting I just had to dress to match!” She pulls off her jacket revealing pink stripped knee socks under cutoff jeans and a lime green hoodie speckled with stars. She’s fabulous.

Moments ago this room was filled with strangers but the walls have been broken as Agnes giggles into her tea. She seems carefree but there’s an edge of uncertainly hidden within her laugh.

I have faith in her. There is strength masked by excitement. She’s not as carefree as she seems. She’s not as young at heart as she portrays. Quiet experience layers into the image of the joyful girl that sits across from me.

Few people bother to look deeper than the surface. They see a happy-go-lucky child. I see an amazing young woman who has chosen to hold onto the hope. I have a lot faith in Agnes. I feel how deep that strength runs. She’s a smart girl. She just doesn’t talk about it. I know the girl that soaks up the world around her, watching everything, devouring books and laughing through it all.

I’m reminded of Trevor when I’m with Agnes. There is a deep power that comes from facing mortality and making the choice to live each day. There is an appreciation of sunrises and rainbows that not many people see. I miss Trevor. I cried yesterday thinking about him. I miss his exuberance and conviction.

An older woman watched our conversation and listened from a nearby table. Our seemly frivolous girl talk revealed questions of choices, maturity, fear, and capability amidst the chuckles. As the woman buttoned her coat she smiled at us “You have a beautiful friendship.”
I knew she’d been listening. “Thank you.” I replied. Agnes giggled and slurped her tea.

Music

2007-11-25T00:54:00.000-08:00

I can feel the music. It flows through my body, penetrates my mind and rests, vibrating against my soul. It’s always there. I close my eyes and feel the passion. Slowly it ripples to the surface fueling my drive and encircling my dreams.

The music of this life touches a deep secret and tickles a quiet longing. I want to feel that passion in my arms. I miss the voice of the Musician caressing me as I watch him create magic. I loved those moments. I’ll cherish them. But I yearn for something more.

I close my eyes and dare to dream of more. Not of more for me, or more from life—because I already believe in that. I dare to dream the fairy tale of Love.
I need to believe that there is truth to be found, and real passion to share. I need to be more than a pastime, or diversion. I need to be the muse, the reason, and the passion. I need to hear the music and feel the creative spirit inspire me.

I believe in music and art and inspiration. I hear the laughter of innocence and the symphony of experience. I need to believe in Love. I listen…

I can feel it. I’m crying. The melody rises up in my heart, expanding, hoping, and praying. It explodes in my mind causing tears to well again beneath the surface. The rhythm pulses through my limbs. I hear the music and I’m reminded of purpose. I feel alive. The colours are more vibrant. I’m flying. There is energy building, waiting to channel. I feel the beat. My passion is simmering, waiting…

calm

2007-11-19T13:45:00.000-08:00

I’m in a strange place right now. Everything feels calm but on edge. There’s no romantic drama in my life these days. The boys are all gone. I can’t remember the last time I actually had no interests or affairs in the shadows. I don’t even have any crushes left. Even Alexander has faded into an amusing dream. It’s a strange freedom.

I made Sunday dinner at Reid's new place and it was delightful as always. Agnes giggled a lot as usual and we ate and ate more. I think I’m still full and I’m stocked up on hugs for a few days. Life is really good.

right now everything in my life is centered on creating stability while moving through major change. There are days when I burst into tears of frustration and collapse feeling totally overwhelmed and exhausted. But I know Stiletto Storm is going to be amazing. I know it’s going to work and that I’m the one that has to do it. So I refocus and get back to work. There’s going to be a lot of tears along this road.

But I’m going to do it. I know it.

Christmas Future

2007-11-15T22:01:00.000-08:00

The holiday drinks have been released at Starbucks and I’m beginning to see the first signs of the Christmas shopping season. Ugh. The idea of wandering through malls searching for meaningful, yet affordable gifts for my family makes me slightly nauseous.

I love the idea of Christmas, but in practice it just seems to be stress, pressure and expectations… for what? For another pile of stuff. I’m dreading it already.

Then I discovered Christmas Future. What a brilliant idea!

The idea is that instead of spending hundreds of dollars on presents this year we can take some of that money and refocus it. We have the power to change the world and end poverty. That sounds like a damn good Christmas present to me.

“ChristmasFuture is about change. Fundamental, meaningful, planet-shifting change. We are a passionate movement of people empowering a non-profit organization that advances us – all of us – everyday closer to eradicating extreme poverty.”

Spectacular

2007-11-13T01:17:00.000-08:00

The music ripples through the room as laughter rumbles in the corners. The hilariously inappropriate Atomic Vaudeville show has left us breathless from giggling. I try to explain the skits to our tardy friends but it’s futile. I just end up giggling about God and puppets and global warming mixed with barbeque sauce and boobs.

Ah well who cares! It’s time to dance. The Dollhouse slowly fills with happy people as I swivel and move to the music, chugging water and feeling the sweat glisten on my skin. I’m not working tonight and I’m not used to keeping my clothes on while dancing. My shirt sticks to my skin as I continue to dance and socialize.

My eyes light up as I discover the new prop. I grin and close my eyes, pumping my legs harder against the air. I gain height. The tips of my toes brush against the ceiling a split second before I arch back and swoosh towards the opposite wall. Every party should have a swing!

Below me I can see Carmine and our giddy and magical friends watching me. I hear the familiar giggle of Agnes from the couch and I smile at the sexy and precious girl clad in fishnets. I’m happy. I’m surrounded by friends and laughter and it’s been a great day.

It started at breakfast with Reid and Hank and the girls. The lovely and talented Carmine joined us and I was thrilled, as I always am when I get to hang out with her. From there I managed to squeeze in a couple hours of work on the business before I met Ginger downtown at a book launch. I got lots of hugs in the morning, even more hugs in the afternoon and the day was fabulous. I joined Ginger and her group for dinner before speeding to pickup Carmine and her boyfriend in order to make it to the show on time. We made it!

And we rock! We’re simply spectacularly wonderful and creative women and I LOVE it!

Appreciate

2007-11-11T23:36:00.000-08:00

It’s hard to appreciate what’s in front of us. There are days when I barely glance at the ocean, or I grumble at the stupid rain and this stupid city. There are times when I forget to be in awe. But then the sun breaks through and I find myself driving over the Burrard st. bridge amazed at the sparkle of my surroundings. The beauty was there all along.

It’s so easy to forget. Unfortunately it’s all too easy to forget to appreciate those closest to us as well.

I’ve been single for a long time and inevitably I watch other couples interact. I watch how easy it is to take someone for granted. It’s easy to see the mistakes and pick at the less than ideal pieces. It’s tempting to make jokes and poke fun at quirks and imperfections.

But maybe take a step back and look at your partner.

All I ask… next time you’re going to criticize your partner, ask yourself “Is this necessary?” Sometimes it is. But I highly doubt it’s necessary in front of friends, coworkers, or strangers. Sometimes it’s not necessary at all.

We all need relationships that comfort and strengthen us. We need love and respect. We need to feel desired, appreciated, and adored. We need to feel safe and accepted. As flawed as we are the beauty was there all along.

I’ve been blessed with incredible friendships. I hope I never forget to appreciate them. I hope I never forget to celebrate how wonderful each and every friend is.

Hey friends! You’re awesome and I love you. Thank you for being in my life.

Call for investors

2007-11-07T10:34:00.000-08:00

Stiletto Storm is well under way and chugging right along. A lot of the planning has been done and I’ve started to build a great team.

I’m putting it out there. I've had a lot interest from potential investors, but I want to find the right partner. I'm looking for investors that share my vision and are interested in helping create something that is financially profitable, as well as empowering and respectful of the women in the audience and in the exotic dance industry.

Our mission is to protect the future of the art and heart of exotic dance in Canada by creating a lasting world-class theatrical event.

If you know of anyone who might be interested in getting involved please email me at stilettostorm@gmail.com

The WOW Event

2007-11-05T13:03:00.001-08:00

It’s entirely too sunny out for me to be inside for much longer. I’ve been pretty productive this morning and I think it’s almost time for tea. I have a million things to do and I’m loving every moment.

I attended the WOW event yesterday. Founded by Christine Awram, WOW is now in its fourth year. Wow! It’s one of those experiences that’s hard to translate into conversation or print. “You just have to be there” seems to be the most common response. As I was leaving someone asked me “well what is WOW?” and all I could come up with was “it’s a celebration of how amazing and fabulous we are.”

But it’s much more than that. It’s more than a feel-good day. I left last night feeling inspired, energized, and even more confident than I normally am. My heart was open, my spirit was positive, and my mind was racing. The energy of having almost a thousand women in one room sharing in their power was electrifying. It was a gathering of women owning up to how fabulous each and every one is. There were no apologies or minimizing of effort or experience. It was a day of support, strength, and positive learning, especially with Michael Losier teaching about the Law of Attraction.

I learned about leadership from Elaine Allison, a woman who is both powerful and full of grace. I learned about finance from a bubbly blonde from Edmonton, Kelly Keehn, and I laughed and laughed and laughed with both hypnotist Wayne Lee and award winning humorist Linda Edgecombe.

I’ll be back next year. I hope you’ll join me.

The WOW credo. By Christine Awram

I am a Woman of Worth!
My worthiness is inherent, infinite and persevering –
it is my natural state.
My value is a reflection of who I AM -
and I am magnificent.
And ... who I AM –
always makes a difference.
I MATTER
I am successful –
because I come from my true power, which lies within.
I lead through inspiration –
from quiet acts of kindness, to leading a nation.
I am empowered -
I make choices from the clarity of my heart, mind and spirit.
I am abundant –
as the core of my true essence ALWAYS supports manifestation.
I cherish my relationships –
they are part of what makes me strong.
I am a Human BEing -
as my BEing is of far more significance than my DOing.
I play and I laugh and I bring beauty and light into the world –
I am RADIANT.
At times I despair and I weep, when I feel the pain of a world that has momentarily gone mad.
Yet even when I tremble through a dark night of the soul, I renew my faith and my courage in a single heartbeat because my spirit is indomitable.
I FEEL and I CARE and I am PASSIONATE -
with a heart as open as the universe.
I AM A WOMAN OF WORTH, AND I AM GLORIOUS!

WOW
Because every woman … is a Woman Of Worth

Lazy Monday

2007-10-22T15:44:00.001-07:00

I’m trying to keep up with this blog but my life seems delightfully dull these days and I’m not sure I have anything to say. Hank and Reid are on tour in California for another week. I wish they’d hurry up and come home. The text messages are entertaining but I’m lacking in hugs.

I had a great weekend. Thursday night was Sexpo. It was a very long and exhausting day but I think everyone had a good time. Friday I went out with a couple girlfriends and had a perfect evening of food, yummy gelato, and wine. As we relaxed and enjoyed a bottle of wine on the couch a party spontaneously appeared and before we knew it the house was filled with guitars and laughing people.

Saturday I went out with Hank’s fabulous cousin after work and we giggled about boys and music and work and everything else silly girls like us chatter about over nachos and chocolate fondue. It was yummy.

And now I’m back at good ol’ Mugs and Jugs this week. I've been relaxing for most of the afternoon but I should probably load up my car and hit the road. Rush hour traffic is always a joy in Vancouver.

Robbie

2007-10-16T21:34:00.000-07:00

He calls himself Robbie the Newfie, but his east coast accent is fading. I don’t know how long he’s been in Vancouver. Beyond his name, I don’t really know anything about his past. But he always smiles when he sees me in the parking lot at the No5.

It’s raining. I’m just leaving PACE, pulling through a shallow alley in the downtown eastside, when I spot Robbie. He’s shivering, wearing a thin woman’s blouse and boxer shorts. Rain drips off the ends of his sandy brown hair and runs down his forehead. I watch him wipe it away with his thin arm and catch his eye and wave. My smile holds his attention long enough for him to recognize me. As I pull through the alley he takes long strides towards my car. “Hey! Princess. Hang on. Just a second.”

I stop and unroll my window, looking up at his too thin six-foot frame, “How you doing Robbie?”

“Not good. It’s not good.”

For the first time I realize the rain is mixed with his tears. “What’s going on? You’re freezing. You okay?”

He shakes his head, still shivering, and begins to cry. “It’s not a good day princess. Look at me. I’m fucked up.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Huh?”

“Robbie. Seriously. Are you okay?” My concern must have struck a chord.

“No. I’m trying to find a reason to get up in the morning and there just isn’t one. Look at me. There’s nothing left. There’s no point. I just want to die. She’s gone and there’s nothing left.”

“Who?”

“My wife.” He sobs “She died in the spring. A complication with her heart. From smoking crack. It does stuff to your heart. And she needed medicine. And I tried. I brought her to the hospital and I sat with her. But crack, it does stuff---

“Yes it does.”

“Like with me. But she died. And I tried but she’s gone. There’s nothing left… and now. Now there’s really no point. I just want to die.”

“Oh Robbie. I’m so sorry. I’m sure you miss her very much.”

“And now… I talked to the clinic and it’s all over.” Tears stream down his face. “I got it. HIV. Now the love is gone. No one will ever love me again. She worked y’know. On the streets. But I loved her. And she loved me. Just to have a woman all warm and good. I tried to take care of her. I tried.” He chokes on tears, “But she died and now no one will ever love me again.”

I force a soft smile and keep listening.

“And I have so much love to give. So much love to give. So much love… that’s all that matters. I don’t belong here. I fucked up. I don’t belong here. I gotta get out. Get cleaned up… I’m a painter by trade. But no one will ever love me again. There’s no point.”

“Are you going to the clinic? Are you getting treatment?”

“Huh?”

“You’re a painter. That’s a good trade.”

“Yeah. If I could just get a job and get out of here. I gotta get out of here. Get cleaned up. I gotta get out.”

“That’s a good idea.”

He whispers, “Aren’t you afraid of me?”

“No.”

“Why’d you stop and talk to me?”

“Because you’re Robbie the Newfie. You’re a person.”

“You’re really not afraid of me? The HIV doesn’t scare you.”

“No Robbie. It doesn’t. You’re a human being with hope and love and fear. Just like everybody else.”

“Hey if I get cleaned up and get a job and all that would you go to movie with me?”

“I don’t know. You get cleaned up first.” I smile.

He nods.

“Can you get out of the rain this afternoon? Is there somewhere you can go?”

He nods again and reaches his bony hand out to collect the two dollars I offer. Grasping my hand tightly he holds on for a moment. “Thank you for listening. Thank you.”

“Of course. You take care okay.”

He nods again and waves as I slowly pull out of the alley. Tears well in my eyes as I drive away, warm and safe in my car.

I want more

2007-10-13T01:59:00.000-07:00

I haven’t been writing much lately. My energy has been zapped and I feel like I’ve been pulled in too many directions at the same time. I had to take a break in order to figure out where I am and how to get things done.

I haven’t been able to talk about my life lately because even though it’s been both comfortable and lovely I want more.

I want Love.

I haven’t spoken to The Musician in a couple months. It’s better that way but I do miss him. I ended things with Alexander as well. That one is harder. I actually like him. But he knows where I am and what I want. I’m not willing to settle.

I want a boyfriend. I want something real. I want to actually let myself fall in love and risk being vulnerable. I want to be with a man that adores me for who I am. I’m done with expiry dates. I’m totally emotionally available and I want to be a part of something amazing.

So I’ve walked away from my comfortable and safe affairs. It’s taking far more will power than I care to admit. Alexander seems determined to stick around. But unless he wants to love me it doesn’t matter. I want more than a night.

I’m not disappearing for weeks or months on the road anymore. I get to sleep in my own bed every night and the constant good-byes have stopped. I have a life now. I have a home and a city with friends. I hosted (and cooked) a wonderful turkey feast for my friends. Fourteen of us sat around a plastic table cloth and had a fabulous Thanksgiving picnic on my living room floor. It was perfect. It was friendship, laughter, and great food and wine. I couldn’t ask for a better night.

Ladies Night

2007-10-04T11:01:00.001-07:00

It's a pathetic attempt at getting another blog out but I'm busy dammit!! I hope all the ladies in the area come check it out. It'll be a blast!!! And I swear I'll get back to writing the details of work and life soon. It's all been very wonderful but I'm going to be late for another meeting and I'm still in my PJs. Aaaaaaaaaah!!

Hello everyone,

The Fourth Annual Exotic Goddess Night Sexpo for Women fast approaches – Thursday, October 18 from 6 to 10 pm. I wanted to give you all an update so you can pass it on to your friends. Let’s make this a packed event!

We will have free hair and makeup makeovers – so come undone if you want to be pampered!

The theme is fashion – so wear your sexiest outfit ever. You know that little lingerie thing that you can never wear out? Well this is the night to show it off!

Our sex toy booth will be hosted by Ninepartsdesire.com and they are donating a top-of-the-line, g-spot stimulating, clit-massaging, pleasure-inducing vibrator to the silent auction! Some of the other auction items include hand-painted martini glasses from GlamaRama, pole dance lessons from Tantra Fitness, and a custom corset made by Susan Davis – a vocal and compassionate local sex worker.

Ever tried airbrush tanning? Well a local exotic dancer who offers FLAWLESS airbrush tanning – dancers love her work – is donating some gift certificates for door prizes.

There will be pole dance lessons on a strip club stage, lap dance lessons in real VIP booths that are curtained off, airbrush tattoos, and a part of the History of Sex Work installation created by several Vancouver sex workers over the past three years.

For entertainment, we have a fashion show by Fantasy Dancewear displaying some of her spectacular work, an exotic dance show down to bra and panties by Ryann Rain (our lap dance instructor), a pole dance demonstration by one of the best pole dancers in the world – Tammy Morris of Tantra Fitness, and a blow job lesson with props – all performed on the stage of the club.

This year’s event is being held at the Penthouse Nightclub. The Penthouse has historically been a safe place for both exotic dancers and sex workers to earn a living. In 1975, police began to push sex workers out of the clubs and onto the streets and by 1976 owners of the Penthouse were on trial for “keeping a common bawdy house.” But now we’re bringing the sex workers back to the club for a common and worthy cause – to raise funds for programs and services that will directly benefit the women who were most impacted by police raids on the club in 1976 – survival sex workers.

The event costs $30 at the door and includes one drink and a gift bag with sexy surprises inside.

Come out and show your support! It’s going to be a blast! It may be the first time the Penthouse has ever been full of women rather than men. At 10 pm the doors will open to the general public and the exotic entertainment will begin. Guests are welcome to stay and enjoy the shows – they’ll meet some of the dancers at the event anyway!

Hope you can come! ;)

Trina aka Annie Temple

Event Coordinator

PS. We still need more items for the silent auction and for door prizes. If your target audience is women and you want to promote your business at our event, please contact me for more information.

Full Moon.

2007-09-27T11:33:00.000-07:00

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.

done with AB

2007-09-15T13:33:00.000-07:00

I can’t believe it’s already the middle of September. I have no idea where 2007 has gone. But if the year has gone by this fast already I can only imagine how quickly the next six months are going to fly by. I have so much work to do.

It’s a huge relief to be able to finally talk about Stiletto Storm and our National Exotic Dance Championship. Fiona and I have been hard at work since February creating this project. It’s been a lot of behind the scenes work creating the contest format, rules, vision, and the foundation. But now the momentum has increased significantly. I’m on the hunt for sponsors and everything is coming together.

I’m so excited!

But for now I’m in Edson, AB for one more day. It’s been a good week, good company, and decent tips. This was my only week out of town this season. I have a production to run in Vancouver. I can’t be gallivanting around the country anymore. Really, I don’t want to be. I want to be at home, sleeping in my own bed and enjoying a limited social life. I’m happy working in Vancouver. I think I might just move into Mugs and Jugs (they wouldn’t mind right?)

The strip bars in Vancouver are great. There aren’t many left but they’re great clubs. I enjoy going to work at home. The No5 Orange is like a family. It’s always the same people and it’s nice to actually have the same coworkers week after week. The staff is awesome at all of the clubs. The Penthouse feels like an old theatre. It’s a totally stress-free week.

And it’s been really nice to go to work for the past year and NOT have anything thrown at me. Loonies do add up quickly. It’s not hard to make a couple hundred dollars in loonies. But it’s just annoying. Inevitably someone gets too enthusiastic and throws them too hard and it can sting. Most of the time it’s all with the best intentions but a coin impacting my ankle hurts. I have to constantly be wary of coins on the stage which can be dangerous.

I’m just done with Alberta. I’m going to go home tomorrow, visit my friends, and get cracking on find marketing partners for Stiletto Storm.

Stiletto Storm!!

2007-09-07T13:14:00.001-07:00

I have a new project. I’m teamed up with another dancer, Fiona Phoenix, and we’re in the process of creating something incredible. It’s been taking a lot of my energy, and it’s going to take even more.

So… this is what I’ve been up to. We’re out of the closet now and hitting the ground running. I’m super excited!!!

The first story about our project appeared in the Vancouver Courier today.

Daring young women on flying trapeze
Exotic dancers plan Vegas-style circus show in July 2008

Sandra Thomas
Vancouver Courier

Friday, September 07, 2007

Imagine a performance similar to Cirque du Soleil, only sexier.

That's how dancer Ryann Rain describes the first annual National Exotic Dance Championship she's helping organize.

"Most people never see the types of performance these girls can do and they want to show off their skills," said Rain, who doesn't use her real name. "It's so empowering for everyone."

Rain says many exotic dancers have formal training. While she studied ballet as a child and Ukrainian dance for nine years, her business partner Fiona Phoenix, who's helping organize the national championship, participated in gymnastics for 20 years. The two recently founded Stiletto Storm Productions, and the show will be their first large project. Rain explains Stiletto Storm was formed to honour and protect the future of the "art and heart of exotic dance in Canada."

Rain promises the three-day, non-nude competition will be a burlesque-style show at the Vancouver Playhouse worthy of Las Vegas. It will include gymnastics, contortionists, tub shows and aerial circus acts.

"We'll be having a trapeze installed in the rafters," said Rain, who also took part in the third annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer fundraiser last March at the now defunct Drake Showlounge. "Some of the aerial acts are unbelievable."

Rain said she and Phoenix decided to organize a national championship after becoming disillusioned with smaller competitions they'd attended.

"They weren't very positive and not very empowering for dancers," said Rain.

She believes power must be returned to female dancers in an industry dominated by men. She noted the crowds visiting strip clubs are no longer mostly male, and the show is a result of that change in demographic.

"Since pole dancing has become so popular we've seen a huge influx of women at strip clubs," said Rain. "In Vancouver the number of females at a club is easily 15 to 30 per cent, and on a Friday night in Victoria it can be 70 per cent."

Rain feels despite the shift, most strip clubs don't cater to their ever-increasing female clientele. She believes the gap creates an opportunity for Stiletto Storm to step in. She added that while the championship show will focus on the women, men are more than welcome.

"I'm sure there'll be a lot of boyfriends and husbands tagging along," she said.

The show isn't scheduled until next July, but Rain is seeking sponsors now. She's concerned some corporate sponsors will be scared off by the stigma attached to exotic dancing. Money raised at the March fundraiser was initially going to be donated to the Breast Cancer Society of Canada, but the society refused the gift. The society told event organizers some major donors deemed the source of the donation too controversial.

Rain hopes that isn't the case in finding sponsors for next year's national championship and looks for support from women's organizations, activists and business.

"This is a great opportunity for any corporate sponsors who would benefit from a large target audience of women between the age of 21 and 45," said Rain. "It's all about women."

For more information contact stilettostorm@gmail.com.

© Vancouver Courier 2007

Not-camping

2007-09-01T00:02:00.000-07:00

What an amazing week!

I just spent the bestest week ever hiding out in Bamfield with a couple of friends, Reid and Hank. It was the best week of not-camping ever!! I laughed and I giggled. I wrote and I cooked. I snuggled up in bed listening to the waves and actually slept every night… all night!

We sat around the campfire and roasted marshmallows. We collapsed on the beach and wandered along the boardwalk. I kicked Hank's ass at scrabble and got slaughtered playing cribbage. I listened to the boys create music. I picked blackberries and drank wine. The food was awesome and the company was even better. I got tons of hugs and snuggles and was able to just enjoy being a girl. I had no idea what time it was for days. It was fucking amazing and totally perfect.

Pretty much I’m happy, energized and fantabulous!
I love those boys. They rock!!
Happy Happy Happy!!! :-)

Bourbon 50 bullshit!!

2007-08-27T01:48:00.000-07:00

So Friday night I was at the Bourbon 50 on West Cordova for Reid's CD release party. Near the end of the show I got a phone call so I went outside so I could hear, stepped over the rope and finished my phone call. I hung up and went to walk back in the bar and the doorman (who looks familiar) stops me. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry? What? I was just in there. I’m with the band. I’ve been here all night. I was just on the phone.”

He snorts at me “Oh you are easily the most annoying person I’ve dealt with all week.”

I’m shocked. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m not fucking kidding you. You can’t just step over the rope. You’re not coming back in.”

“What the FUCK!?!? You’re not letting me back in the bar because I STEPPED OVER YOUR ROPE?!?”

He shouts at me in front of 20 people standing in line. “LISTEN BITCH!! I DON’T GET IN YOUR FACE WHEN YOU’RE TAKING YOUR CLOTHES OFF AT THE NO5!”

Suddenly I remember where I’ve seen him-- he used to be a bouncer. This guy used to work protecting me. “Look. It’s probably the only Friday night off I’m going to get this year. I just want to go hang out with my friends.”

"So." He shrugs.

"WTF! come on. It's almost the end of the show. I never get to hear them play can you please just let me enjoy the show!"

"Get out of my face bitch."

"What the FUCK is your problem? Because I stepped over your fucking rope? Seriously just let me go hang out with my friends."

He ignores me and walks away, refusing to let me back in the bar and leaving me alone on the street in Gastown. After ten minutes of walking in and out of the bar, ignoring me, he returns. He shrugs, rolls his eyes, and nods for the other doorman to open the rope for me. I glare at him and storm into the bar, heading straight for the stage.

Another bouncer follows me to the dance floor and starts yelling “Hey! You can’t come in here. You didn’t show your stamp!”

“Are you fucking kidding me! Just leave me alone. I’m with the band. I’m on the fucking list and my stamp is right here on my arm!”

“Oh you need you go. Get out!” he yells at me

I’m practically in tears as my friends try to explain it to him. Before I even know it the fucking bouncer has called the fucking Vancouver Police on me!! Of course it has to be some angry chick cop who stands with her hands on her hips glaring at me “You need to leave. Right now. They’ve asked us to remove you. Let’s go.”

I’m on the verge of tears. All I want to do is enjoy my night.

Outside the bitch starts giving me shit about causing trouble and threatens to throw me in the drunk tank. “They have the right to refuse service to troublemakers.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! At all!” The tears have started.

She refuses to listen to anything “You need to keep your mouth shut. We get a lot of problems in this neighbourhood.”

“What’s the problem?” Reid, the guitar player, asks as he walks out the door.

“You need to stay out of this. Go back inside.” She orders him.

“I’m not about to leave her out here alone.” He replies calmly. “She's a good friend of mine. I just want to get this sorted out.”

“You want to go to the drunk tank too?” She threatens.

“Look. She hasn’t done anything. This is just a misunderstanding.”

Suddenly he’s slammed up against the side of the building and cuffed. I’m bawling. The doorman is smirking at me, laughing.

Obviously the show is really over now that the guitar player is in cuffs. I shout at the lead singer as he walks out the smoking room door.

“They all need to stay out of this.” The cop orders me.

I glare at her.
She glares back.
I’m in a fucking staring contest as I type their badge numbers into my phone.

It takes us another half hour to get Reid released. The promoter is raging. I’m still in tears. What a load of crap. Fucking asshole. The doorman is gloating now. He tips his stupid beret at me as we walk away to wait for the rest of the band to load up the gear.

Maybe that asshole doorman hit on me one day at work and I blew him off. Maybe he just hates me. Maybe he’s a fucking steroid monkey that needs to feel powerful over something. I'm still upset about it. I don't treat people like that. I just couldn't.

lonely

2007-08-22T10:58:00.000-07:00

This fucking sucks!

I’m lonely. I’ve thrown it all up in the air in the hopes that changing everything will change patterns. I ended things with Alexander. I was honest with The Musician.

I want more. I want to be more than the affair or the mistress or the fuck-buddy. I want to be with a man that actually cares about me, that believes in me, and that can accept me-- stripper and all.

But I doubt it’ll happen. I’m isolated in a bar and I’m not available for most social events. The logistics of my job make everything difficult. The perceptions of my job make it impossible. My friend Reid told me last night “You’re awesome. If someone would just take the time to get to know you, you’d never have a problem.”

But they don’t.

I don’t want to be treated like I’m disposable the entire time I’m dancing. I don’t want to have to quit the job I adore just to have hope that someone could actually love me.

Maybe that’s how it works. Maybe it’s just a matter of waiting for that scale to tip. My job is still more important to me than a relationship. I love my job. But maybe that’s why dancers retire… when being lonely finally outweighs the love of dancing.

Anonymous said...

2007-08-16T12:56:00.001-07:00

"Why don't you get a real job and develop some selfesteem while you're at it. Stupid people are people that keep doing things they hate for all the wrong reasons. You're only a small step above being a hooker, don't kid yourself."

I'm not going to bother deleting this one... or replying right now. So let's put it out there for everyone to read because this person obviously really needs to be heard and I already deleted one comment.

Would anyone else care to respond?

personal connection

2007-08-14T17:42:00.000-07:00

“Hey! That’s my wedding song.” He slurs, grinning at me from the padded bench seat.

I smile at him and shout over the lyrics of Bono singing With or Without you. “Aww Honey that’s sweet. You don’t look old enough to be married.”

“You’re hot!” He answers.

I shake my head mildly amused and crawl over to the other side of the stage where men are actually tipping me. The show is uneventful and it feels good to be back on stage after a week off. My body needs the stretch and my wallet needs the money.

I’m on the floor casually selling dances before my next show. As I wander through the dim room I catch the eye of the enthusiastic drunk kid. It’s 3:30 on a Monday afternoon and he’s hammered. I smirk as I notice he’s holding himself up by clutching to the nearby railing.

“So Honey… you want a dance?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“Yah!” He shouts. “But only if you suck my dick.”
I sigh and shake my head. He’s too young and stupid to really get mad at. “Sorry Honey. I’m not a prostitute.”

“Huh?” No.” He explains. “I don’t want you to do it for money. I want you to suck my dick because we have a personal connection.”

He looks dejected and confused by my immediate outburst laughter. Grinning I continue to laugh as I turn and walk away.

My tummy hurts within minutes from laughing so hard. Tears stream down my face as I share the story with every other girl in the bar. I jump up and down giggling hysterically and clapping my hands, my boobs bouncing as I jump. “Oh my god!” I stammer between giggles “You have to hear what this stupid kid just said to me. I just heard the line of the week! Dude this made my day!” I say to the DJ relating the conversation.

“Hey you gotta give him credit for originality.” The DJ chuckles.

“Oh absolutely!”

...

2007-08-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

Okay I’m going to try and make it back to the blogging world. I’ve been lying on the beach and visiting friends. I’ve been organizing my home and trying to create a sense of home and belonging in Vancouver. I think it’s working. I’ve been swirling in a very real place of self-reflection for the past few weeks. I’ve been writing and writing and writing… but I think it’s better if I keep those rambles and revelations to myself for a while.

So here I am…

Just me.

Cheetah’s, Kelowna (I hate it)

2007-07-27T03:25:00.000-07:00

The room is toxic with negative energy as I reluctantly shuffle through Cheetah's in my little skirt and bikini top. I’d like to sell a few dances but I can’t. Scattered co-ed groups giggle to themselves, ignoring the stage, as my friend dances. They don’t even clap. I pause to watch young girls grind each other in the corner and wonder why they don’t put more clothes on. This is a party bar. The kids come here to drink and be amused. It feels like a frat house as they judge, watch, and compete with the strippers.

I pretend to not know how much the manager hates dancers as I ignore the catty comments that fly behind our backs between the staff. They think I’m a bitch. They’re right. My patience is nil.

One of the bouncers is pushing private dances for another girl. He picks his favourite—I’m not it. I’m glad for her but my purse is empty and I’m stressed. My lack of income combined with the negative atmosphere is crushing my confidence. I just want to cry.

Ignoring the drunken brats I return to the dressing room. I hate this bar but I have one more show to survive before I can crawl into bed and hide. I need to dance for me. I need to just enjoy myself and purge this critical bullshit. Maybe Top Gun will help.

I create a shallow fake smile as my music fills the bar and for a moment I feel okay. I close my eyes and spin myself around the comforting brass pole. My hair flips around as my back arches and I slide to the ground. I wish I could do my entire set with my eyes closed. I dance, trying to force the judgment to slide off me. A drunken teenage girl is making out with her boyfriend in front row. Another group is chattering about the weekend, their backs to the stage.

I close my eyes again and shake my ass to encourage my shimmering white pants to fall to the floor. Pulling the legs over my stilettos I toss the garment into the corner and strut across the stage again, staring at the ceiling.

Another drunk is leaning on the edge of the stage taking pictures of me with his cell phone. I don’t have patience for this. Seductively I crawl over to him and snatch the phone out of his hands, tossing it into my stage bag. I don’t have time for this shit.

Instead I ignore his insults and yells and climb the pole. From fifteen feet in the air I can take a quiet breath before I toss my bra to the floor. I wish I could just stay up here but somehow I find the strength to slide down the brass and finish my show. I didn’t make a cent in tips this show. They’re just too drunk, too spoiled, and too cheap. I grab my cozy blanket from the stage floor and wrap it tight around my body. I love this blanket. It comes with me everywhere, keeps me warm, and keeps me hidden when I need it.

The bouncer has disappeared again as I make my way down the stairs and through the crowd. Before I get ten steps the guy whose cell phone I’ve confiscated corners me with his buddy. He grabs my wrist and yanks it back, almost knocking me off balance as his buddy reaches for my bag, attempting to find the phone. Instinctively I shove them both back but my arm already hurts and I’m feeling very angry and mistreated. The bouncers reappear and violently throw both assholes out but the damage is already done.

Tears well in my eyes by the time I close the dressing room door. I feel sick. I hate this bar. I just want to go home. At least the night is finally over and I can go cry in peace in my car.

Cheetah’s, Kelowna (the first rant)

2007-07-24T14:38:00.000-07:00

I’m bitchy, whiney, and just generally pissed off at the world (or Kelowna).
It’s been a while since I bitched about a club… come to think of it I believe it was Liquid Zoo (also in Kelowna) that last had me raging.

And it’s only Tuesday!

It’s not often I work in clubs that treat their dancers like disposable inconveniences only good for what money they can squeeze out of us—yet here I am at Cheetah’s in Kelowna.

It’s such a shame because the club itself has so much potential. It’s a beautiful bar, I like the stage, and the hours are good. So much money walks through that room, and yet they insist on scraping every last penny out of their entertainers.

We’re charged $125/wk for the house regardless of whether we stay there or not (I’m not). So the bar is collecting $1500 per month from the dancers to pay for a house that has no cable, no internet, no laundry, no towels, and it’s dirty. We found clumps of hair on the floor and just about puked when we opened the fridge.

They even insist on taking such a high cut per song for every private dance that it drives the prices up to unrealistic. I do have to give kudos to my agency for at least making this week as tolerable as possible.

So maybe I should just be thankful for the writing material because when the strippers are the least fake people in town, and the whole thing is one big Stepford Wives frat house I suspect I’ll have a few good stories this week.

The secret...

2007-07-22T04:13:00.000-07:00

Is it my fault? Am I so used to being in the shadows that I can’t even admit where I am? Am I still so afraid of being vulnerable that I’m willing to hide forever?

Am I so incapable of falling in love that I clutch to stupid moments, negating the powerful perfection of lying naked beside him listening to his voice in the dark, savoring his taste on my lips, soothing his humanity in my arms.

What if he’s not as dangerous as I tell myself he is… I’m so scared of being hurt that I’m willing to ignore the beauty. I adore him.

Where am I?
Can I run away?
Where do I go from here?
Do I hide?
Do I not…

It’s my own horrible pattern. It’s too easy to lie and manipulate. I used to befriend girls in order to gain confidence and access to their boyfriends. Really I am that evil. It’s so easy to be the other. Double life… I’m trying to change. I’m trying to be sincere and honest… without fear. I’m working on it.

I was faced this evening with a glaring reality. I found myself in a situation where I had to choose between lying to someone I hope will become a friend, and coming clean and being honest about my involvement with The Musician. My first reaction was to smile sweetly and remain in the shadows. All I wanted to do was listen and remain a passive observer.

I’m so used to being a secret that I’m overwhelmed with fear at admitting the reality. I was terrified to say it out loud. No gory details, no time frame, no emotional admissions… just a simple statement “He and I are involved” caused panic in my mind and a knot in my stomach.

Can I continue to blame him if I continue to lie to the world? If I deliberately remain the affair, the secret, the other… can I still blame him for it?

Tonight I chose honesty. I hope it was worth it.

dating...

2007-07-21T00:38:00.000-07:00

I’ve been meaning to write all week but never quite get around to it. It’s been a very productive, and exhausting, week. But things are coming together and I’m feeling very positive and passionate about where I am and where I’m going. Stay tuned for details in the coming months.

I love this feeling, just authentic, and powerful, and inspired. Positive people are all around me, and more keep appearing. I can feel it. They can feel it. I love it.

I’ve been dating a bit, partially because of boredom, partially searching for something special, and partially to maintain a level of distance from my ongoing affairs. I’m not sure if it’s working but at least I’m mostly having fun. I saw The Musician this week. Sometimes I am so content just to lie next to him. Sometimes he’s all I need.

A first date earlier in the week was perfectly enjoyable until he kept trying to get in my pants. What’s with that? I understand the attempt at the belt once-- maybe I’m feeling easy. But to try over and over again-- Just in case I forgot I said no 5 minutes ago?

Too often guys will insist on pushing the boundaries. Some will try to force my hands down his pants or try to stealthy undo my pants. (Like I’m not going to notice) Fuck it’s irritating! Then I have to be guarded and defensive. Seriously what’s with that? If I wanted to grab his cock— believe me I would. I know where it is.

On the other hand a lovely date last night left me with a soft smile and a quiet enjoyment of the moment. It was nice. He was intriguing enough to meet again today for tea. It was a mellow and sweet afternoon.

It’s been a good week. I’m having fun. I even have a video of me having fun with Justice at the movies. What can I say... I'm just awesome!!

just a note

2007-07-12T02:25:00.000-07:00

I’m happy. Confused and unsure, overwhelmed and nervous, but I’m happy. The sun is shining. The heat is melting. Nothing is easy but it’s okay. I get jealous and I get scared. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring but I like who I am.

The tears still won’t fall and ideas run in circles in my head. I miss my friends, but I’m okay. Death hurts; Disappointment returns; grief is time-consuming. But I’m alive and I’m loved and I love.

It’s a beautiful day to be.

giddy.

2007-07-08T03:11:00.000-07:00

7-7-7 If I was superstitious then I guess today would be a lucky day. I’m going with it. I’m happy, giddy even. I love crushes. They’re so pure, like grade 9, before the cynicism sunk in, before the jaded began, before loss and before broken hearts. Right now it’s perfect, flirty and filled with possibilities. It feels lovely. I almost want to keep this crush in the pure fantasy of idealism but I’m done waiting patiently. I’ve been so good and even mostly appropriate for the past couple months. I want a taste now. Just a little one…

Live Earth is playing all over the world and I’m sitting naked in a cheap hotel room watching Bon Jovi and Lenny Kravitz rock the stadiums while I write. My next show is in 20 minutes. I suppose I should pretend to care but my body hurts and I’m too tired to get up even a minute before I absolutely have to. Maybe later I’ll change a few light bulbs and figure out what else I can do to help save the world. Then maybe I’ll giggle a bit more to my girlfriends about this lovely crush. I guess I’d better get dressed to get naked now.

Cheat.

2007-07-04T23:53:00.000-07:00

Does everyone cheat? I’m tossing around a couple of thoughts right now about who to trust and how to trust and how does the concept and practice of monogamy fit into it all.

I’m single. We all know that. I might have feelings and even emotional attachments, but I’m not in an exclusive anything. I don’t have to think about it until someone requests it and at the rate I’m going that could be a very long time.

I look around and I’m scared. I’m surrounded by liars, mistakes, and disappointments.

I’m jaded. I see it in the bar and I hear about it from my friends. “I can’t believe he cheated on me.” “He lied.” I’ve seen so much. I’ve heard so many rationalizations and excuses. “It’s not working. It doesn’t matter.”

But here I am, lying on my living room floor, wondering when do the lies start? Why does the communication break down? Is there any way to avoid it? I’ve been on the outside watching for so many years, more times than I care to remember. I’ve been the mistress and the affair. I’ve been the cheater and the liar.

I’ve been the friend.

I watch the tears stream, and the chest ache. I watch the hearts break and the expectations shatter time after time. I’ve felt it. I know that sickening feeling when fear meets reality and hope is stripped bare. I know what it feels like to choke on your breath, unable to do anything but stare into the mirror and watch the tears well. Eventually the reflection hardens, experience they call it. The acute pain subsides, jaded remains.

It hurts.

So many people seem to live in a bubble of denial, needing their partner to be perfect. Personal relationships aren’t easy. I understand why people leave and I know why they stay. No one is perfect and expectations often take the place of acceptance and love. When love is thrown into the equation people want to protect their partner. So often that desire to shelter their partner turns into a breakdown of communication. “No you don’t look fat in those pants” turns into “I would never look at another woman”.

I’m afraid of being blinded by love. I hope for honesty, not monogamy. I’m terrified of turning into one of those women that believes “he would never do it to me.” Only to be blindsided by betrayal.

I’m never surprised, but I’m often appalled. I know I’ve done it. I know I’ve taken advantage of that trust in the past. I know I’ve manipulated situations and lied. I know I’ve left out certain details and made excuses. I don’t want to do it again. I don’t want to lie or pretend to be someone I’m not. Does that mean I won’t?

People fuck up. I know I’ve done things that many would regret. They say “Once a cheater, always a cheater.” I guess that means me? I can’t judge. I won’t judge.

Why do people cheat? I’ve always thought I understood… but I guess what I want to know is… why do people stay faithful? Is it possible? Is it reasonable? Is it a reasonable expectation or does everyone ‘slip up’ on occasion? Attraction and temptation are always going to be there. Is the value of a relationship judged by will power? If not, how do you determine the value and worth of a relationship?

I don’t know what to think. I don’t know what the deal breakers are anymore. I’ve seen too much to believe it couldn’t happen to me.

I’ve lived too much to believe I can protect myself from heart break. I can’t stop my friends from dying. I can’t avoid grief. Loss is a part of life and even though I’m scared I don’t want to be detached forever.

I’m so scared of being lied to, but I’m terrified of always being the affair. I want to be the one that matters. I want to be the lover and inspiration. I’m scared but I know I want the more… somehow, someday. I want the magic.

I don’t know what to feel or say. I don’t have an answer.

Mugs, Jugs, and smiles.

2007-06-26T11:42:00.000-07:00

Yawning, I stare across the decrepit old room towards my suitcase. “What to wear? What to wear?” I mutter to no one. I glance at the clock, stretch, and with my blanket wrapped around my body I walk the short distance across the room to reluctantly peek into my garment bag. The metal rod squeaks as I flip through the hangers. The crowd downstairs is working boys. They like rock. I like rock. Besides I’m feeling fat today and I don’t want to wear my angel. Lil’ Red Riding will do. I haven’t done that show in months.

Staring at myself in the mirror I notice how tired my eyes look. It’s been a rough couple weeks and I’m beginning to see the results. I paint on another layer of foundation, and accent the smoky makeup of my eyes. Bright red lips are glossed and puckered. Mascara is retouched. I quickly run a comb through my hair, it’s getting long, and stuff my blanket into my rainbow leopard print stage bag.

I’m watching CSI Miami while getting ready. I won’t see the end of this episode because I have to be on stage at 12:25am. The red PVC layers are completed by the hood. I adjust my PVC skirt, and slide into my stilettos, grab my stage bag and CD and walk down the stairs to the bar. It’s time to work.

I’m exhausted from my week off, but so thankful to be on stage where everything is okay. The music fills the bar, and fills my mind and I dance. Mugs and Jugs is a kick ass bar. It’s fun and full of good energy. The crowd cheers and grins and loves the attention. I’m having fun grooving to Billy Idol, and laughing as the crowd sings along “In the midnight hour she cried more more more! With the rebel yell she cried more more more Whoooooooo!”

It’s a happy bar. Tips are good and the energy is awesome. I love shows like this. I’m a performer and anyone that lives on stage knows what a difference the audience makes. As the final notes of The Who fade into the cheers I smile and collapse on the floor, sweaty and happy. I grab my work purse out of my bag and stuff the couple five dollar bills in. I feel my phone vibrate as I do. I’m done and curiosity gets the best of me as I pull out my phone and glance at the call display. It’s The Musician. I answer. “Hey babe, I’m still on stage. I’m sitting here naked with everyone looking at me.”

“What! You’re answering your phone on stage? hahahaha” he’s laughing at me, but I know he’s totally entertained by the image.

I giggle and tell him “I’ll call you back in 5 min babe.” Quickly tying my black lace top, and sliding into the matching tiny skirt I grab my shit and head up stairs to get dressed and call him back. I’m done for the day, and so is the bar. The lights go on as I make my exit.

The Musician wants me to come over. I pack my stuff, wriggle into my jeans and jump into my car. It’s a quick drive to his house at 1:00am. He grins as I walk in the door...

It’s really late when I finally pull into my driveway.

It’s not just the sex, which is amazing. It’s hanging out and just being real. I love the goofy shit, listening to him babble about stories and thoughts and people. I’m smiling from just laying there exhausted, chatting, and watching stupid 80’s movies.

We talk about music and business. We talk about life, and what's been going on. He takes my mind off everything and always makes me giggle. All I want is him to just be himself. I love it. He gives me the release I need and the companionship I adore.

It was a wonderful day. I can still smell him on my skin. I can taste him on my lips and I’m going to bed with a smile.

I wish I could cry.

2007-06-19T01:03:00.000-07:00

I don’t want to be numb anymore.

I don’t want this. I want to taste the air and feel alive. I do. I really do. I’m happy (not today) and life is good (just not this week). I just want… something. I want to hear “I love you.” I want to know that someone thinks I’m special. I want someone to convince me I’m not disposable. I’m feeling pretty pathetic and vulnerable… from that detached stance I take.

I could care. I know I could let myself love… someday… when someone wants me. maybe I’ll just be real. I’m not impenetrable. I might be invincible.

I’m just me. It’s all so fucking repetitive and who cares really... I want to be loved. I want to stop being defensive and afraid. I want to let myself love.

Not yet. But I want it. I want the magic. I wish I was adored... the Musician is being caring. Alexander is wrapping his arms around me. Neither one is really present in my life. Neither one has done anything to actually pursue me, but they’re both acting like they might possibly give a shit. Maybe someday someone might actually care about me.

I wish I could cry. I always wish I could cry but I can’t. I can feel it… barely… so far below the surface. An inkling of pain is there, quiet.

I wish for so many things. I wish I had spoken with Merrick these past few months. I wish he had been more communicative. I wish I could have known what was in his heart. I want to know if he knew, what he was feeling, how and why and what… was it cancer? Was it defeat? I wish Merrick had taken the time to talk to me. I’m a million miles away. I’m a million years away. Our paths crossed like two ships in the dark, sailing blind through an intense collision. I don’t even know how I feel about him. I don’t know anything. I just know I can’t cry. I can’t do anything.

I’m paralyzed and angry. I’m nothing. I’m so sick of being numb. I wish I could scream and shout and feel. I wish I could jump off the cliff and know that I would survive. I want to feel the pain. I want to bleed and ache. I want to yell at him. I want him to hold me. I want to know whether I even give a shit. Do I even care? He’s gone. Big fucking deal. He was a hurricane. He was an incredible force and maybe he was just done. I don’t know. I don’t know anything. Fuck this.

It’s just so weird. Other people can cry. I wish I could cry.

I feel sick, weak, lost, needy, and pathetic. I want to be fucked. At least then I would feel something. I want pain and humiliation. I want the punishment and the comfort. I want the warmth and fear. I want the soft protection and the violent degradation. Instead I’m alone. So alone. Silent.

No man loves me. No man needs to protect me. There is no number in my phone to call. I can’t say “I need you to hold me. please.” I don’t have that. I’m too strong. I’m too in control. I’m in so much fucking control I can’t even cry.

I could be weak with Merrick… but he’s dead now.

I'm numb

2007-06-15T04:38:00.000-07:00

He’s dead.
Merrick is dead.
It’s a fucking death year. I don't want it. No more! No.
I saw him at Christmas. He came from Slovakia to visit over the holidays.
Sunshine told me a few hours ago over msn. "He's dead." A million miles away in Slovakia our friend is dead. The End.

I don’t know what to say. I can’t feel anything. So fucking numb. I knew. I knew he was dying and now he’s dead. Been there. done that. I watched a friend die. They’re all so surprised, so shocked. I’m not. I knew. And now he’s dead. Weird.

I’m numb. I can’t cry. I won’t cry. I won’t cry until I feel safe, safe enough to be vulnerable. I won’t cry until a man I trust wraps me in his arms and takes away the pressure of control. It could be a while. I have to take care of everything. I have to be strong. I have to… breathe. It’s not the worst week of my life—not by a long shot but it still fucking sucks.

I’m numb.

I just want to focus on the manageable stuff. I want to think about boys and crushes and possibilities. Maybe I could just be vulnerable. Maybe I could let myself care. I don’t even know what I’m scared of… a fucking broken heart? What’s so terrible about a broken heart? I know it’s not worse than this. It’s not worse than this fucking helpless numb overload. I’m so stressed and worried. My family is in crisis and I’m scared. The burden of responsibility and powerless frustration fucking sucks. I can’t deal with any more. I’m maxed out. I’m done.

My friend is dead. I can’t sleep. I want to sleep.

end of an era

2007-06-10T23:03:00.000-07:00

What a day. I don’t even know where to begin. I’m totally overwhelmed. As everyone knows last night was the final night for The Drake. That alone was both amazing and emotionally draining. The bar was packed, wall to wall, hundreds of people came out to celebrate and mourn the end of an era. Crowds cheered. Sequins glistened. Gravity was defied. Beer was poured. Breasts were revealed. Hugs were shared. I fought a lump in my throat as I watched the final few dancers bring the bar to a close. I’m really going to miss that bar and the people that made it such a great place to work.

I also ended up working the entire day at the No5 Orange, and I spent my time in between shows running around trying to make my extensive to do list manageable and plausible. It worked but it took a lot out of me. On top of everything work related I also received some personal news that really shook me up.

The thing the audience always forgets is that the show must go on. There were moments yesterday when I wiped away tear smudged eyeliner before touching up my lipstick. Sometimes you just take a deep breath, add another layer of makeup, and hide behind the music.

I was onstage at the No5 when I saw The Musician. I contemplated ignoring him or pretending I didn’t see him, but I didn’t. I don’t know why he appears when I’m having a rough day. It’s not the first time I’ve been grateful for the comfort and distraction of his company. He asked me to come over later. I said yes.

After my last show, after The Drake had put its final dancer on the stage, after there was nothing more to do with my personal worries, I went to him. Frazzled and physically and emotionally exhausted I drowned my night in whiskey and giggles. It was a very intoxicated night. It was exactly what I needed. A lot of things were said last night, some he may remember—many he probably will not.

I liked being around him and I liked the feel of him next to me. I missed his laughter and his unnecessary apologies. I don’t know where I stand with The Musician or how I feel or what’s good for me but I guess that’s life. If I’m totally honest with myself I’m just feeling vulnerable and exposed. Dammit!! I’m afraid a layer of my defenses has been breached. It was good to see him.

Tomorrow I’ll continue rebuilding my life and deal with my family responsibilities. Tomorrow there won’t be naked ladies at The Drake Show Lounge. Here’s to the end of an era and to finding a way to make tomorrow a step in the right direction.

it just sucks.

2007-06-02T01:16:00.000-07:00

I don’t want The Drake to close. I feel like I’m losing a friend. What I am losing is options. I’m losing a safe environment in which to work. I’m losing security and choice. They don’t fucking care if they run strippers out of business. They don’t fucking care if our choices are taken away, if we’re forced to make harder decisions. They don’t care if we end up on the street.

It’s just another reminder of how disposable the City of Vancouver thinks we are.

Bastards!
I’m going to cry again.

They bought everything—the stage, the bar, the poles… everything! Someone tell me what the city needs with a stripper stage? Maybe they’ll run us out of town and use the brass poles for the fucking Olympics.

Alexander

2007-05-27T20:22:00.000-07:00

I can’t really discuss the details of this one. I’ve been intentionally avoiding mentioning him… well forever. Alexander is a bit of an enigma in my life and has been for years. Through all my stories he’s remained an intentional void that I’ve trying to brush off as insignificant. My closest friends know he exists, but almost no one knows who he is. He’s my secret.

I’ve been drawn to Alexander since the moment we met. He seduced me five years ago and I’ve been unable to walk away since. I was young, and infatuated with his dominance and charisma. His soft blue eyes saw through me faster than anyone previously or since. His arrogance fascinated and scared me. His manner would float between flirty and attentive, and condescending and dismissive. He was charming and manipulative, and I fell into his seduction. I loved the feel of his soft blonde hair between my fingers, his strong hands caressing my soft body, the smell of him, and the taste of his skin.

That was forever ago and now it’s just different. I don’t know what to say about him. I don’t know what to say about how I am around him… The reality is that once I accepted that The Musician and I had probably run our course I stopped avoiding Alexander. I hadn’t seen him in almost two years but we had been flirting over email for the past few months. I finally gave in and let him back into my life a couple weeks ago.

I expected it to be a no good very bad idea but things have changed, as I guess one would expect after five years, and I’m surprised. I grew up and the games we used to play have matured into something I can’t define.

I want to hate him simply because of what he represents and how impossible he is but I melt in his arms, wrapped in a false sense of comfort. I’m simultaneously powerful, content, and vulnerable. I feel exposed, weak, and intensely calm when I’m his presence. I alternate between adoring and despising him. I want him to kiss me and hold me, torment me, challenge and restrain me. I want him to caress me. I just want to feel his energy around me.

I’m apprehensive talking about it, but it’s real now and I’m having trouble avoiding the trepidation in my mind. I’m scared of him. I’m scared of how I feel about him and how I could feel. I like being around him. We’ve existed in such an isolated bubble that really we don’t know each other. I don’t know how to properly define it anymore but fuck-buddy is still probably the most accurate. I’m in unfamiliar territory and my level of vulnerability worries me. I doubt he wants me for anything more than a play toy but if I’m honest with myself I know I’m actually curious to get to know him. I could get hurt—I know.

Another one bites the dust

2007-05-24T23:50:00.000-07:00

I just found out The Drake will be closing its doors for good on June 9, 2007. I burst into tears when I heard. Those of you who have followed this blog know that The Drake has been a home and a sanctuary for me and an incredible venue for events like Dancers for Cancer. Nick is probably one of the best mangers I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with and I’m devastated by the loss.

We really are an endangered species in Vancouver. We’re not going to last long. I suggest everyone get out and support the strip clubs in Vancouver before they’re all gone. I’ll be at The Drake on June 9— saying goodbye, sharing a drink, and likely crying.

I won’t be on that stage again… I’m really going to miss it.

Dating vs. Fucking

2007-05-21T16:05:00.000-07:00

Well most of my friends are aware that I’m “dating” again and know how incredibly unique my perceptions are. Spader was asking me about how my most recent date had gone and after my detached report he broke it down for me. “Most people don’t think of “fucking” and “dating” as two mutually exclusive worlds that shall never meet. Most people actually fuck the people they date.”

Ick. What?

I’m totally busted on that one. I guess the key to my learning how to date, or eventually even consider a relationship will be in convincing me to fuck the men I date, or date the men I fuck. This looks like a pretty big challenge.

Here’s my logic.

Say you meet a guy in a bar, decide he’s good enough and take him home and fuck him. Everyone can acknowledge that as a one-night stand. It is what it is and it works well for some people. But say you meet a guy in a bar and you like him. You make out with him a bit but don’t have sex because you like him. First date goes well. Second date is lovely. By the third date the expectation of sex is there. So say you fuck him because you’ve been wanting to do him since you first met him, but one-night stands are ‘dirty’ or whatever.

The way I see it the difference between fucking the first night or on the third date is about six hours in time spent together. In my mind it’s still fucking a stranger and it doesn’t do anything for me. Most guys aren’t willing to hang around without getting laid for the months it takes for me to decide if I’m even interested. After three dates he’s not someone I know, or trust. Instead of some guy that bought a couple drinks- he’s some guy that’s bought a couple dinners.

If I wanted to have sex with men I either don’t know, or barely know, I’d be an escort.

I have no desire to have sex with a man I hardly know. At this point I’m envious of the incredible women that do. I’ve been off work for a month now because of this stupid accident and honestly I am wishing I was comfortable fucking strangers because then I wouldn’t be in such a financial free-fall. I could just fuck for money and be done with it.

I don’t know why some women are able to do it and others aren’t but I know it’s not something that is an emotionally healthy option for me.

The Musician was someone I trusted and someone that I actually took the time to know. I was comfortable with him, and I felt safe in our isolated affair. I knew his life and he knew mine and it was a very honest relationship. The rules changed and the affair ended but I can’t just replace that with some random guy I hardly know.

The few men that have earned the title “fuck buddy” in my life have been long term (years) affairs with a man that I feel to be a kindred spirit and with who I share a powerful connection. Granted I’ve certainly lived through my share of heart breaks and disasters but at least it was always honest and real. Attachments do develop after years of being intimate with someone but I’d still rather have that than a 3-week fling with some guy I hardly know.

I still wouldn’t recommend dating me. I’m complicated.

Change.

2007-05-14T00:53:00.000-07:00

My life is changing again. I’m not sure how I’m dealing with it, but I suppose I am. Nothing feels too drastic, except the lack of work-- but when I step back and look at my life I’m struck by how rapidly my world has shifted.

I’m hurt and no amount of demanding to be better is helping. I’ve had to accept that it’s going to take time and even though I want to be healed and back at work yesterday- that’s just not realistic. My circumstances have changed significantly and I know the financial repercussions of this accident are forcing me to make some tough choices. I’ve already spent next year’s tuition and even once I’m back at work it’s probably going to take me a while to get myself back on track.

My personal life is different. All of a sudden I’ve run out of excuses, and I have free time. I’m dating again. Nothing serious but I haven’t seen The Musician in a while and this time I think we might be done. He and I have certainly gone longer without speaking and we’ve had our share of ups and downs over the years-- but this feels different. Some things were said and some things have just changed. It’s one thing for me to just not care. I’ve been emotionally unavailable for a long time. It’s totally another for me to try to force myself to pretend not to care.

I know many people will be glad to see that affair fade into the past, but I’m not. I miss him and I’m hurt that he’s dropped off the face of the planet when I’m so bored and isolated in this city. I know it was just an affair and that I never really meant anything to him… but there were moments when I thought maybe I did.

Sometimes I feel like so many people want something for me that I don’t want, that wouldn’t be what I need. I know I have some friends that just want me to find a “nice guy” that will treat me “right”. I probably shouldn’t be so annoyed by that desire. But it’s impossible to convey that their idea of a good relationship is simply not what I need.

I don’t want or need a nice guy. I need something different and I’m not willing to settle for a stand-in or warm body. I’d rather be alone than give myself to someone that has no chance of ever understanding or appreciating me. I know what I need. I’ve known for years what I actually need. I just expect it to take years for Him to find me.

What I need is rare and there are very few Men that are powerful enough to be with me. I want my soul mate. I don’t know who He is. I don’t know what His face looks like or what He smells like but I know what He is.

I saw The Brat

2007-05-04T22:26:00.000-07:00

I saw The Brat tonight while I was out for dinner with a friend. He was with some blonde girl and they looked absolutely miserable. I watched from the shadows of my booth as he drummed his fingers on the table and she stared awkwardly into her lap.

From the corner of my eye I caught some gesture that triggered my memory. My mood sank as I turned and watched him, allowing my mind to float over memories. He saw me. I saw him. We never made eye contact. We didn’t speak. But I saw him, and that’s all it took. I remember that I liked him. I remember that he didn’t want me. It was just weird seeing him again. I didn’t expect it.

I’m so tired of being a secret. I don’t know what I actually want, or what I’m capable of… but I’m just tired of being disposable. Seeing The Brat brought back a multitude of memories, how much fun we used to have laughing and arguing together, how peaceful I felt walking along the beach with him, and how disappointed I was when he chose someone else. They all choose someone else.

I want to be with someone I trust enough to fall asleep with. I want to be with someone that I know actually cares about me. I don’t know how. Really, I don’t believe it exists- not for me.

It's different

2007-05-03T23:01:00.000-07:00

It’s been a strange week. I don’t really know what to say about anything. I’m incredibly frustrated that I can’t just snap my fingers and heal my body. I’m not used to being so limited. I don’t know what to say…

The sun is shining as I wait for the ferry to arrive. It’s a beautiful day and I’m incredibly thankful to be living on the West Coast of Canada. It’s surreal, but I’m lonely. My best friends are on the island or far away, and being off work has really made me realize how isolated I can be in Vancouver. I have a few stripper friends, but… I want to be around the people that really know me.

I don’t feel like a stripper right now, and there are parts that I really enjoy about being in the “real world”. I like waking up in the morning, being out during the day and not constantly checking the time to make sure I’m not late for a show. It’s been different interacting with the world as me, rather than the stripper. I don’t know if it’s good or bad, just different. I miss work desperately. I’m craving the stage like an aphrodisiac. I miss it. I need it. I love it.

I’m feeling a little lost. I’m not feeling whole. A huge piece of my life has been taken away from me, my passion. I just want to dance. Everything will be okay once I’m back on stage.

CRASH!!!

2007-04-27T11:16:00.000-07:00

I was in a car accident on Wednesday and this sucks.

I'm okay...ish. It could have been a lot worse. I can walk. But FUCK!! Everything hurts, I can't move, and I'm worried about work. And my car has no front end, so no more car for me :(
As everyone knows, I'm a dancer. I dance for a living and have a very physically demanding job. For those that don't think it's that hard I'm just going to say "try it"

So... I'm hurt, not dead hurt, or broken bones hurt, but my neck and back are screwed and I’ve been nauseous since it happened. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut a million times- which well I was- by a fucking mini-van. This sucks. I don't know how I'm going to work. I don't know how long it'll be before I'm able to dance again... and that thought just makes me want to cry. I love being on stage. I live for it. Dancing is my life.

I think I might just go cry… again.

Bachelor

2007-04-23T17:03:00.000-07:00

It’s early. The bar is empty but for staff and a handful of patrons. I’m not even expecting to have any dances to do for another hour or so. But then the elevator door opens and a group wanders in. I notice him immediately. He’s wearing a cowboy hat and women’s clothing. Not a dress, no, he’s wearing women’s shorts and a flowered blouse. Not a small man he fills out every inch of the attire, leaving very little to my imagination. What I can see looks good.

It’s a stag, obviously. And they’ve come in to buy the Bachelor a private dance before hitting the next bar. I like this Bachelor. He’s cute and well mannered but I know that cowboy hat will look better on me. Flirting and smiling, I steal the hat and add it to my outfit. I was right. I look adorable.

Still wearing the hat I take the Bachelor by the hand a lead him into the VIP room. I dance. He watches. I dance again. His eyes never leave me.

“Are you going to give me my hat back?” he asks, watching me pull on my dress and place the hat back on my head.

“Mmmm. It looks better on me.” I reply smiling at him and walking out of the VIP. Justice is on stage, and sees me wearing the cowboy hat. Giggling, with arms outstretched she prances over to us, begging for the hat.

The Bachelor is confused, not knowing if he’s getting his hat back but enjoying trying. Once Justice does a few laps of the stage and poses seductively with the hat she tosses it back to him. Grinning he places it back on his head, adjusts his pretty blue shorts and the stag leaves the bar.

The night passes quickly. Dances are sold, beer is drunk, and women are naked. Finally at 2am I head for breakfast at Denny’s with an old friend. (For my American readers- Denny’s in Canada is actually really good)

We laugh and exchange stories over hash browns and eggs. Out of the corner of my eye I spot the infamous cowboy hat. The stag has arrived.

I catch the eye of the Bachelor and start laughing as they start pointing at me, whispering (loudly) “stripper”.

“I’ll be right back.” I tell my friend and sashay over to the stag’s table. I grab the cowboy hat off the bachelor’s head and place it on my own. Suddenly he grabs me and pulls me into his chair.

“Join us” he slurs, offering me his chair.

I accept. I watch him standing above me, happy and oblivious, and see his eyes sparkle with a new bright idea.

The Bachelor starts dancing. “Duh nu nu na” he sings, twirling his jacket over his head. “Duh nun u na”. He sings while gyrating his hips. He spins around shaking his booty, and wiggling around as I laugh and laugh.

“Ya like that!?” He asks me, pointing to his tight abs, then turning around again to wiggle his bottom.

I clap.

He unbuttons his pretty blue shorts.

I clap.

He pulls his shorts down and whips out his cock, flopping in the wind.

I look. Lucky bride.

His friends struggle to not choke on their drinks. I clap and laugh again. The Bachelor has finished his show, and pulls his feminine attire back in place. They beg me to stay, but I politely refuse. I do have company waiting for me. The Bachelor places his jacket over a high chair to make it more comfy because they’re out of chairs but I don’t sit.

Reluctantly I return the cowboy hat, shake my head and laugh. It’s bedtime for me. though I have to say I’ve never had dick in Denny’s before.

I am NOT collateral damage!!

2007-04-19T12:30:00.000-07:00

Well Suzy and I went to the police board meeting, made our presentation and had a brief meeting with Superintendent Steve Sweeney. Sigh… I think I’m finally coming down from the adrenaline rush and the emotional overload. It was intense. I’m trying to remember the conversation before I forget too much.

Ok basic points:

Exotic Dancers are not the target. It’s the Gang Violence Task Force and their target is organized crime.

I’ve unwittingly become part of the underworld of Vancouver by being a stripper and joining the ranks of sex industry workers. But the thing is- I’m a nerd. I go to work. I get naked. I go home. I’m totally oblivious to the underground culture that the Superintendent is referring to.

I was told that the people they’re after hang out in those types of establishments (ie strip clubs) and that there’s a gang war brewing and apparently it’s going to erupt one of these days in a Vancouver strip club WTF!?! So even though I haven’t seen any of these very bad people they’re referring to, and even though security at all of the clubs is excellent, apparently it’s very important that the Gang Violence Task Force is on hand to stop… something.

Sigh… I don’t know, and frankly I don’t care what internal underground politics could be brewing in the background. I need my job.

Part of the conversation:

Sweeney: They’re putting pressure on the strip clubs because of the gangs. Three gang members died 6 months ago.
Suzy: Not as fast as we are.
Ryann: In strip clubs?
Sweeney: No, but those type of people are known to frequent those establishments.
Ryann: But it’s coming out of my pocket. I’m the one affected.
Sweeney: That’s not our intention.
Ryann: But that’s what is happening.
Suzy: How does barging into dressing rooms fight gang violence?
Ryann: How does harassing customers combat gang violence? What about barging into VIP rooms?
Suzy: I was offered a ride along. I want to go with the Gang Violence task force when they patrol strip clubs.
Sweeney: Well The Gang Violence Task Force has temporarily been stood down.
Suzy: What does that mean?
Sweeney: That might not be possible.
Suzy: Driving sex industry workers out of safe work environments can’t happen.
Ryann: We don’t care about your war. I care about my job, my tuition, my income. I care about feeling safe at work.
Suzy: Sex industry workers are not a reasonable casualty in your war.
Sweeney: Sometimes that happens. You guys might be the ones hurt by this for a while.
Ryann: We’re talking about my job!
Sweeney: I’ll read your letters and look into seeing if there is a better way to get things done.

… and so on… That’s about all I remember right now. I’m sure I’ve missed points.

If there is a war coming like the Vancouver Police Department believes to be true, then why aren’t they protecting the dancers, warning the girls, and taking steps to ensure everyone’s safety? Why are they watching the shows, leering at the dancers, barging into dressing rooms? Why are undercover officers buying private dances? Why are they monitoring private dances so carefully? Why are they harassing customers and dancers? Why are they taking away safe work options for women?

I’m estimating that I’ve experienced a 30% decrease in my income in Vancouver in the past 5 months since this mandate started. That’s my savings. That’s my future. I can’t imagine the Superintendent sitting in front of an elementary teacher and saying “you are a reasonable casualty”. So why the fuck am I disposable!?!?

This whole thing is a mess. I pray something changes. This current agenda is putting hundreds of women at risk. I’m just one of them. I don’t fear a war. I fear unemployment. I’m not collateral damage nor am I a reasonable fucking casualty!!!

Wish me luck

2007-04-18T02:19:00.001-07:00

I’m kinda freaking out. The Police Board meeting is tomorrow and even though I’ve been involved in politics since high school, sat on steering committees, talked at city counsel meetings, presented in front of numerous colleagues and superiors, organized international events, and done media relations more than once… That was my old life, my real life.

I used to speak from a position of well-educated ambitious young woman, and while that hasn’t changed, now I’m speaking as “The Stripper” and I’m so afraid of the judgment and condemnation. I don’t want to stand in a board room and put myself in the spotlight as the “other”. I liked being admired and respected in the community. I miss believing the police would protect me.

Something has to be done. Someone has to speak for the dancers in Vancouver. I know I can’t just hide in my house hoping someone else will. I know I’m already that voice for numerous women, but I’m scared.

I don’t like inviting people to attack me. I don’t like walking into situations where people will judge me and introducing myself as “The Stripper”, but that is precisely what I’m going to do tomorrow.

Wish me luck… Wish me the courage to stand up for our rights, and the strength to speak. I pray for the guidance to say the right thing.

Vancouver Police Department pressure on strip clubs

2007-04-16T12:39:00.000-07:00

I doubt I’ve mentioned it before, but for a number of months the Vancouver Police Department in partnership with the Liquor Board has been putting pressure on the local strip clubs. They’ve been in the No5 every single day, including photographing tattoos and scanning license plates on occasion. The Gang Violence Task Force is making regular visits to Brandi’s and The Drake. Private dancing has been shut down at the Cecil. Basically it’s a mess.

I suspect that it’s part of a pre-Olympic clean up mandate, but in a city that professes harm reduction it’s pretty absurd and it’s making my life rather difficult. A group of dancers and industry people have joined together to put pressure on the police to basically back-off and let us work in peace. This is no longer normal police checks. It has become outright harassment. On Wednesday a group of us will be appearing before the Police Board to voice our concerns. This is my letter…

April 15, 2007

To Whom It May Concern:

I understand that very few people understand the day-to-day reality of being a stripper in Vancouver, so maybe I can help illuminate our industry.

Stage dancers are booked through agencies and paid by the bar per show. Keeping entertainers on the stage is a sizeable expense incurred by the clubs each week. When working as a stage dancer income is made on stage. No shows, no pay. Some stage girls sell private dances to subsidize their income, others choose not to. A contract with the bar is made on a weekly basis and the women work Monday to Saturday at that particular bar. Some clubs will have the women do 3 shows per day, others open for lunch and a shift can be up to 8 shows a day with up to 13 hours between first and last show. It’s an extremely time intensive career and every week the dancers are required to change bars, hence the term “working the circuit”. Working on stage does not allow for flexibility or personal time. It’s often a 12 hour day, a 6-days-a-week-travel-on-Sunday kind of job.

Very few women have the flexibility to travel out of town for weeks at a time, thereby leaving their families and other responsibilities. Yet there are currently only five strip clubs operating in Vancouver: Cecil, Penthouse, Drake, No5, and Brandi’s.

Working exclusively on stage generally requires a lot of traveling and weeks away from home. A lot of women in Vancouver choose to work as VIP girls selling private dances instead. The advantage of VIP work is stability and being able to have a “home bar”. VIP girls sleep in their own bed at night, are able to set their own hours, and work around their study schedules and personal and family obligations.

Recently dancing in Vancouver has become somewhat of a challenge.

I’ve danced in over 50 different strip clubs across Canada but Vancouver is home. I’ve been lucky in that I have had the freedom to travel, so when Vancouver clubs aren’t doing well I’m able to leave town. But with school coming up in September I’m extremely concerned that I won’t be able to make a living and go to school. I’m worried that I may be forced to sacrifice my education in order to make a living. I won’t be able to work the regular stage shifts while in school. I won’t be able to leave town, nor will I be able to work 6 days a week and still maintain my GPA. Come September I’ll be working as a VIP girl, and the way things are right now- that worries me.

Exotic dancing is a legal profession within Canada. Whether certain groups feel it is immoral is irrelevant. Women are going to dance, to feed their children, to further their education, to travel and explore, to finance their life. Whatever personal reasons lead an individual into this industry it is lawful, although marginalized.

Exploitation is a very real problem in our world. There are many circumstances, in many countries that can lead to the sexual exploitation of women. Women forced into prostitution, women finding themselves in a foreign country without support. History is full of stories of lost or forgotten women coming to harm. In Vancouver we need only look as far as the tragedy ensued at the pig farm to see what can happen when very real people fall between the cracks.

Pretending something does not exist will not make it go away. Only through awareness and openness can an issue be addressed. There will always be industries and fragments of society that do not meet the approval of mainstream expectations or comfort zones. However, the persons within it are valuable human beings deserving of fair treatment and dignity.

If the goal is to decrease the amount of women sexually exploited within Canada, then the women in question must have full access to their rights. The following is taken from the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. http://www.un.org/Overview/rights.html

Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of person.

No one shall be held in slavery or servitude; slavery and the slave trade shall be prohibited in all their forms.

No one shall be subjected to torture or to cruel, inhuman or degrading treatment or punishment

Everyone has the right to recognition everywhere as a person before the law.

Everyone has the right to an effective remedy by the competent national tribunals for acts violating the fundamental rights granted him by the constitution or by law.

Article 23.

(1) Everyone has the right to work, to free choice of employment, to just and favourable conditions of work and to protection against unemployment.

(2) Everyone, without any discrimination, has the right to equal pay for equal work.

(3) Everyone who works has the right to just and favourable remuneration ensuring for himself and his family an existence worthy of human dignity, and supplemented, if necessary, by other means of social protection.

(4) Everyone has the right to form and to join trade unions for the protection of his interests.

Without lawful protection of these rights, there is no way to monitor or protect them. Without the safeguard of authorized employment there is no way to shelter the women in question from the potential exploitation. Blinders will not stop an industry. Unawareness will not stop women from working within the Exotic Entertainment Industry. These women are daughters, sisters, mothers, and friends. Those persons within an environment or industry that is often hidden from the mainstream require extra attention and consideration. Everyone deserves a voice and avenue through which to seek protection of their rights.

The reality is that I no longer feel safe in the Vancouver strip clubs. The employees at the bars are excellent, and take good care of the women working in their establishment. I love my job, but I don’t feel safe because of the Vancouver Police Department. The police have been into every single bar I’ve worked in the past few months.

I feel targeted, judged, criminalized, and condemned. I feel it’s very unprofessional for the police to come into the bar and watch my stage show. It makes me uncomfortable and their attitude has made it very clear that they are NOT there to protect me.

I’m afraid to sell private dances for fear of being trapped by undercover officers, or barged in on by patrolling police. I don’t feel safe. No one feels comfortable in a strip club when police officers are staring at them accusingly. We need our patrons in the bar enjoying the entertainment and buying drinks in order to pay dancers to be on stage. Our customers don’t deserve to be harassed nor have their tattoos photographed while enjoying a beer after work. The deliberate attempts to drive customers out of the bar are affecting my income and as a result I’m not making enough in Vancouver to save for school.

I have the right to work with dignity in the career I choose. Leering officers walking into change rooms and VIP rooms does not protect my dignity. The police presence is disturbing and degrading and deliberately trying to force my unemployment.

I have a Bachelor of Arts Degree and I’m intending on doing a Masters Degree at UBC. I’m still carrying student loan debt from my undergrad and without dancing I will not be able to finance the remainder of my education.

All I ask is that my dignity and my career be respected by the police officers in the city of Vancouver. I am not a criminal, and I should not be made to feel degraded or like a lesser human being for selling a private dance or getting naked for a living. All I ask is for the right to go work in a safe environment without fearing personal and financial repercussions inflicted by the police.

Sincerely,

Ryann Rain.
Exotic Dancer. Vancouver.

I don't know...

2007-04-13T01:26:00.000-07:00

The house is quiet and empty- really empty. But I’m trying to make it a home. In the meantime I’m sitting on my living room floor eating Wendy’s fries. Mmmm. It’s my first night in my new place. I guess I’m here now.

It’s been a good night. I went to the history of sex work launch party and was thrilled to be in the company of so many incredible people. It’s a stunning exhibit. We watched a couple burlesque shows and danced a bit, talked a lot, and enjoyed the evening.

I just got back from The Musician’s show.

See the thing is- I like him. I don’t know when it changed. I don’t know when I began to miss him, but suddenly I’m aware that there are more feelings there (at least on my side) than I thought. My first reaction is to run like hell and stop talking to him immediately. My second reaction is to go fuck someone else just to avoid my emotions (no that’s not an offer and no I’m not actually going to). My third reaction is just to deny it all and pretend I don’t care.

It was a wonderful evening, and a strange evening. I was with great friends and we danced and danced and danced. It was lovely. But at some point in the evening I realized that I was in a room with the first woman I’d been in a romantic triangle with (12 years ago) and the most recent women for whom I’ve been the other woman in her relationship (The Musician’s ex-girlfriend)

Ugh. I think my stomach just clenched. I don’t even know what to say about that. Hell I don’t even know what to think about it.

I should probably maybe kinda somehow actually let him in on the secret. Should I?
I assume people should just know how I feel but then I listen to myself be so defensive and dismissive and I wonder if I really come across that cold.

All I know how to do is run and hide and lick my wounds when it comes to romantic feelings. Maybe someone can tell me- step by step- what I’m supposed to do here. Because I honestly don’t know.

Good People.

2007-04-08T06:17:00.000-07:00

I’m sitting on the floor of the airport but I feel like I’m in a hunting lodge. Wooden beams crisscross above my head creating a rustic vaulted ceiling. Only the occasional flight announcements interrupt my experience. The sun is rising from behind the mountains, filling the sky with a bright morning haze. I haven’t slept yet and I know this is going to feel like a very long day. I’m wondering if I should have stayed longer… I bought a magnet in the gift shop just so I could have some cheesy reminder of how much I like it here. It says “Cowboy parking only” and I’m going to put it on my fridge.

It’s been a great week and I’ll be back- soon. There’s really only one thing to say about this bar- good people. They run a damn good bar- one of the best I’ve seen. I danced for cowboys and rodeo guys, construction workers and ski patrollers. I danced to Brad Paisley and Tim McGraw, Frank Sinatra and Bob Dylan, ACDC and Def Leppard and I loved it. I heard “yes mam” and “thank you mam” countless times everyday. I just danced, and danced, and danced.

Really what I have to say is that I felt like part of the family. I felt welcome and appreciated. I felt safe and desired and I liked it. I’ll be back soon. … I know I have my reasons for going home today, mostly financial, and I want Easter dinner with my family. I’m glad I have the opportunity to go home for the day and see the whole fam damnly but I’m going to miss my new friends at the Buffalo Station. Good people.

Happy Easter friends.

where oh where am I?

2007-04-05T11:46:00.000-07:00

My paper isn’t writing itself and I really wish it would. My motivation to dissect Plato’s arguments and form an opinion is pretty much non-existent. I did that years ago and I feel like I’m going backwards taking this course.

It’s been a crazy couple of days. I moved (kinda) and then I got on a plane. I was bored of my regular gigs and decided to try something new. So I’m in uncharted waters here- at least for me.
Wish me luck.

Can you guess where I am?

Hints:
I can see mountains outside my window.
It’s still winter here
The bar loves country music
The Easter Keg Hunt has begun

I'm boring but Justice rocks!!

2007-04-01T01:52:00.000-07:00

I never have anything interested to say when I work at The Drake. The customers are predictable and well behaved. The staff is still great. The dressing room is still cozy. The hours still rock. I still love that bar, and I’m freaking exhausted. I think I’ve been pushing myself harder than I’ve realized.

I’ve actually been remarkably productive this week. I picked up keys yesterday. I’m no longer homeless. I officially have a place to live!! I just need stuff to put in it; I’ll get around to it… someday.

My week passed quickly having lunch with friends and getting naked for money. The highlight of my week was Thursday night at the Miss Pole Dance Canada competition. I managed to be there in between shows to support the other dancers. (No, I wasn’t entered- I’m so out of my league there) But my dear friend Justice won!!! I’m so proud of her. She is AMAZING on the pole and now she’s got the title to back it up. Justice is Miss Pole Dance Canada 2007. She’ll be heading to Amsterdam later in the year to represent Canada at the worlds.

As for me… I’m going to start getting things settled, cross my fingers that I’m on the right track, and head out of town again. Oh and I’m going to write a philosophy paper, because it’s due and I’m a nerd. I should probably read the books first. Ugh.

Yawn. Bed time.

Asshole!!

2007-03-25T02:44:00.000-07:00

Mother Fucking little Weasel!!! Christ I’m so fucking mad right now I’m still shaking. My head is pounding and I’m raging. I just want to tear out his balls shove them down his throat and slam his face into the heel of my stiletto!

Still shaking.

Sigh… I guess I’ll back it up…

It’s been an uneventful week at the Liquid Zoo. Too many spoiled drunken kids as usual, but the lineup was good, the schedule was ideal and everything was smooth… until about two hours ago.

I’m in the dressing room after my show, just touching up my makeup and cooling down when the DJ comes in. “I have a private show for you to do.”

I look at him and respond with “okay, $40.”

“No. I hold on to the money and you get paid at the end of the night.”

My eyebrows go up as I look at him, thinking about that idea. I’m not comfortable doing dances unless I’ve been paid for them. “No. I’m not cool with that. It’s my money. Take your $10, but I want my $30 for the dance. I don’t like doing dances unless the money is in my hand.”

Cocky and dismissive he explained, “Well we’ve had problems with dancers stealing before and this is the best way to do it.”

I don’t like where this is heading. “Sigh… Well I’ve had problems with bars before trying to rip me off. But fine. Whatever.” I shrug, ending the conversation and grabbing a pen. “I’ll log it.” I say as I write down DJ owes me $30 in my book and go do the dance.

From there it just escalated.

After my third show the DJ comes in again. “I have another dance for you to do.”

I’ve already thought about it and decided that I’m not comfortable with the DJ holding on to my dance money. It’s not legal, and it’s not smart. Without vouchers or dances being logged I have nothing to prove how much money is owed to me. I explain it to him. “No. I’m not doing dances unless the money goes to me. I’m sorry that’s just not how I run my business.”

“Fine you stupid bitch. No more dances for you. You’re cut off. You’re not allowed to do anymore private dances.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“This is how it’s done! It’s the best way to do it. Maybe if you’d been selling dances you would know that.”

“Excuse me? I’ve sold more private dances than any girl here. I’ve done dances every single night this week and this has NEVER been a problem until now.”

“You don’t want to do that dance fine. You’re done. You want me to fire you and you’ll never work here again. Fine I’ll get the manager.”

“Fine!”

After a brief encounter with the manager we’ve managed to smooth things over and I’ve calmed down enough to work. He gives me the $30 for the dance I already did. I go back out on the floor, sell a few more dances, and pay the manger directly for the $10 on each dance that the house collects.

It’s 1:00am and I’m getting dressed for my final show for the week. My Sister is in the bar and she wants to see the pirate show, so she will. I pull on the black PVC leggings and red and gold sequined bra and fiddle with mesh of my pirate shirt. The DJ comes into the dressing room and announces, “Hey Fuck Face give me your songs.”

My blood boils, my teeth clench and my pupils constrict as I stare at my CD case trying not to hit him. I don’t say a word. I don’t move an inch. After a minute he walks out, frustrated. The other dancer stares at me in disbelief. I’m raging.

Asshole DJ returns as I’m lacing up my red brocade skirt and demands my song numbers again. I glare at him “Oh I’m sorry were you talking to me? Because I’m pretty sure you don’t need to talk to me like that.”

“You stupid cunt! Everything had been fine all week then you have to get a fucking attitude and be a spoiled bitch! This is how things are!! Now give me your fucking songs or get the fuck out!”

“I’ve worked in a hell of a lot more strip clubs than you have, so I’m pretty sure I know how things are.”

“Listen you stupid bitch how about you give me your fucking songs.”

“Fuck you! Get out! Just get the hell out of my face.”

“You’re done! Forget it. I don’t need your shit. Your show is cancelled.”

“You are NOT canceling my last goddamn show.”

“Well when a cunt like you has to cause so many problems. Why should I put you on?” He smirks at me, mocking my anger.

My knuckles are white. My fists are clenched. Somehow I breathe long enough to give him the song numbers before he wrenches the CD out of my hand and slams the door behind him. My hands are shaking. I’m too angry to cry. I have to be on stage in two minutes and I want to fucking kill that self-righteous little prick. I want to scream. I glare at the door through which he disappeared and scream.

“SLAM!!” my stiletto punctures through the drywall from the force of the kick, leaving a full footprint hole in the wall. I look at the damage and glance over at the other dancer. She’s dumbfounded by the entire scene she just witnessed.

I take a deep breath; pull a poster off the wall and cover the hole I’ve just made. I watch my hands shake with rage. I have to be on stage, now! I take another deep breath, put the red brocade pirate hat on my head, adjust the feather, add another layer of red lip gloss and beeline it for the stage.

Somehow I survive my show. I just dance. Fuck him. I just dance, and dance and try to expel the excess energy. It doesn’t work, but it helps. On stage I’m safe. I still want to implant my stiletto in his throat, but I don’t. I hate him.

I pack my things, collect my pay, say goodbye to the other two dancers and get the hell out of the bar. I’m so done. Fuck him!!

I need to sleep

2007-03-22T04:11:00.000-07:00

I look like a tramp. That is a tramp in care bear pajamas. Leftover smoky eyeliner is smeared across my eyelids and my cheek. It’s not classy but I don’t care. Stage makeup is never flattering after a nights work, but it was worth it for the full Cleopatra effect.

I’m tired-- body aching, eyelids heavy, brain foggy, crushing exhaustion tired. Yet I can’t sleep. I don’t even know what I’m thinking about but I’m in one of those moods. Wondering who I am, and why I do what I do. Wondering what I want and whether any of it is worth it. I’m not really having an existential crisis, just an ambition and homework mini-crisis. I’m not feeling very motivated to write papers or drop thousands of dollars into the educational abyss. I’m feeling a bit over my head with certain endeavors, but I’m sure it will pass.

I don’t have any answers; I don’t even really know what’s keeping me awake. There aren’t any real problems in my life, and everything I’ve taken on is on track and progressing as it should. I’m just feeling… exhausted and unsettled. I should sleep…

k-town

2007-03-19T18:19:00.000-07:00

CSI is playing in the background. I can’t remember if I’ve seen this one or not, but I’m exhausted and not really paying attention. My sister is sprawled on a lime green yoga mat on the floor, watching CSI and snuggling with a giant teddy bear. The cat has lost her mouse in a pile of fabric that used to be a curtain and is attacking everything in sight searching for it. The Little One (our youngest sister) is beside me on the mattress MSNing me from 3 feet away. We’re a lazy bunch of girls this afternoon.

I’m in K-town for the week. Soon enough I’ll have to drag my fabulous but exhausted ass off the floor and get ready for work- but not yet. I think I’ll sit here for a couple more hours, wishing for a nap and recovering from the weekend. Maybe I’ll get back to my homework tomorrow… maybe. Maybe I’ll just enjoy the sister time. It’s too rare.

I’ll be getting naked at the Liquid Zoo all week.

Fetish.

2007-03-19T00:57:00.000-07:00

I learned something new today. As some of you may remember I managed to get my poor car stuck in my driveway in the evil snow and had to call a friend of my sister’s to come rescue me. I had no idea that my annoying predicament drew the attention of the dedicated followers of Stuck World.

Fetishes amaze me. I encounter a few fetishist patrons at work, but many of the less acceptable fetishes remain hidden in the dark corners of the internet. Strip clubs are by nature very vanilla, but we certainly get our fair share of loyal fetishes. Common strip club fetishes include:

Voyeurs- I don’t think I need to explain the prevalence of that one.

Submissives- it’s pretty easy to be treated like a worthless wallet in a peeler bar, and there are usually women willing to take out frustration and rage on a willing victim. I know I’ve had my share of subs pay me to be a bitch.

In a world where the fantasy is the perception and adoration of the parts all sorts of objectification fetishes are welcome. Pick a body part or accessory, and there will be someone in the bar that fantasizes about it. Small boobs, huge knockers, legs, booty, blondes, piercings, tattoos, long hair… you name it. Many theme costumes such as the school girl and dominatrix also play on common uniform fetishes. We also get a huge variety of the clothing fetish guys. Stockings, garters, corsets… etc… and of course the favourite “fire-crotch” red head fetish, and all sorts of variations on that theme.

Foot/shoe/stiletto fetish: usually found sitting in front row staring at dancers’ feet. I LOVE foot fetish guys- they’re so easy to please.

That’s the thing about fetishes, I suspect that everybody has at least one. Some are perceived as mainstream and acceptable (like boobs- everyone is allowed to love boobs) others are considered perversions and remain secrets, hidden even from loved ones and partners.

Glad to do my part. Haha.

Oh yes I have my own fetishes. No, I’m not telling what they are ;)

It doesn't matter what I say.

2007-03-17T18:11:00.000-07:00

I had a great night. The company was great. The music was awesome and there was no bloodshed or tears. (at least that I know of)

I doubt I can defend my absurd relationship with The Musician. I know many people would be much happier if I would just find a (good enough) man and become part of a societal acceptable partnership. Then I would be properly “figured out” and categorized. I would meet other people’s expectations of what I deserve and what I need and everyone could sleep at night- everyone except me.

I know it doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter if I say I’m happy, or if I say I don’t want a boyfriend, it’ll still be heard as something entirely different. People will hear that I don’t think I’m good enough, or that I just haven’t met the “right one”. People will say “just wait- it’ll happen to you when you least expect it”.

It doesn’t matter what I say. It doesn’t matter how I feel. I’m something else. I don’t fit into that bubble. I never have. I don’t even want to. I don’t even want to care about The Musician, but I do. Maybe someday I’ll feel differently.

I’m selfish when it comes to my life. I don’t want to take anyone else into consideration.

I guess people are welcome to read my words and think I’m lost or in denial, or just waiting… I know it doesn’t matter what I say.

better...

2007-03-16T14:39:00.000-07:00

Okay I’m less mad now. I’m still irritated at my own vulnerability but at least the situation isn’t what I thought. I suppose things are okay, and I welcome the distance again. The Musician called me and we're back on the same page. Cryptic communication and assumptions never do us any good.

I’m okay. I’m totally overwhelmed by my life and everything I’ve taken on, but I’m okay. I don’t have time for drama. I do not have the energy for bullshit. Every-so-often I remember that I’m human, and I feel weak. I know that’s kinda stupid. But fuck that- I'm going to the show. Not to be a bitch, but because I want to.

I think I’ll head over to Van… later… maybe… I should be packing. Soon…

I don’t know what I need for the next month. I’d better figure that out soon. Costumes, shoes, real clothes, homework… and everything else I have room for?

By the time I come home again to my precious island I will officially have moved to Vancouver. I suppose that means I should put my stuff in order and have a plan as to how to get this shit off the rock.

I’d rather just sit here and write, or think, or work on the projects that are consuming my inspiration.

Not willing to care enough to cry.

2007-03-16T02:39:00.000-07:00

Fuck this! I’m pissed off and I’m pissed off because I care. Yes, I actually care about feeling disposable today. I might not have cared yesterday, and hell I might be back to not giving a shit tomorrow, but right now. I care and it fucking sucks.

The Musician and I have a complicated relationship on the best of days. We’ll go weeks or months without speaking and inevitably the status of his on again off again pseudo-ex-girlfriend effects my life. It doesn’t seem to have much relevance as to whether we fuck or not, just timing and logistics, and guilt. Mostly it just effects his guilt.

I don’t know what they’re doing. I don’t know why they continue to circle around the disaster and pain of what they’ve become- but then again I don’t know why I’m here today so I suppose I’m not much better.

He has a show tonight. She’s going. Therefore I’m not. I want to go. I want to stand in front of her, looking perfect, looking like the stripper, and stare her down. I want to glare at her and ask, “Do you really think you’re that sweet and good?” I know in his mind she’s the good girl, the girlfriend, she’s the one you marry.

I’m something else.

I want to stand in front of her and invite her to attack me. It’s not jealousy; I just want to feel real for a moment. I would rather have her hit me than continue to pretend I don’t exist. It’s just fucking selfish but I want to feel some power and influence. I want to be real, not hidden as an obscure threat, or an indefinable fantasy, but real- as a woman. She doesn’t need me to deliberately hurt her. But I can’t help wanting to.

I want to scream “Do you really think he’ll stop fucking me!?!”

I won’t do any of that. I won’t go to the show, and I’m not going to do anything malicious. I don’t know if anyone would call that morals, but it’s about respect. I doubt I can even defend that claim if challenged, but it is. I would not actually be that cruel.

I suspect this absurd affair will continue… and really it doesn’t matter. I’m just realizing that while my intentions haven’t changed, somewhere along the way I accidentally grew to care.

If I come to care anymore I might have to end it. I’m not willing to cry over this guy.

WET!!

2007-03-11T17:40:00.000-07:00

It’s raining… it’s pouring… the island is WET!!

Ok so my rhyming skills aren’t up to par today but I’m afraid my brain has turned into mush. It’s been a rough week for homework but my paper has been emailed off and I can check that assignment off the list. It’s strange flipping back and forth between antisocial nerd and naked fantasy, especially when doing it every 2 hours, but that’s my life right now. I slide into my stilettos and costume of the moment, smile, and dance up a storm. My “clothes” end up in a pile the corner of the stage, and I end up naked, sprawled on my back. As the music fades and DJ announces me off I wrap my rainbow leopard print blanket around my naked sweaty body, climb the secret stairs, and curl up on the dressing room couch, computer in my lap, and books all around me. It did make the week fly by.

I’ve been busy, too busy, too busy to think or create, or write or explore. I’ve been buried in books, and multitasking an absurd amount of tasks. But I’m happy. Things are coming together and my homeless days are almost over.

I’m beginning to get a sense of how exhausting my gypsy life has really been. The constant moving, the lack of a stable base, the memory of my own bed totally gone from my frame of reference, it’s almost over. I’m moving to Van… in 3 short weeks I’ll officially have my own apartment again (it’s been years). I’ll have my very own space… complete with NO furniture because after three years of being transient and homeless- I own nothing but books, PVC, plastic shoes, and sequined hats.

I’ll still be touring, but for the first time in my stripper life I’ll be able to come home to my own space. The idea is calming and exhilarating. I can’t wait!!!

(from the Vancouver Courier) Me and Trina at Dancers for Cancer :)

ED4C4 Thank you

2007-03-05T15:22:00.000-08:00

I’m exhausted!
I’m also famous. Urgh. Well if anyone didn’t know I’m a Peeler- they do now. CTV carried the story on both the 6:00 and 11:00 news. Global picked it up at 11:00.

The day itself feels like a very long, very exhausting dream. It’s been overwhelming and exciting, and wonderful, and challenging all at the same time. I’m very proud to be able to call myself a member of The Naked Truth and the exotic dance industry. What an incredible community!!!

I want to personally thank everyone that came out us last night. The support has been tremendous. A HUGE THANK YOU to all the women that donated shows last night. We had 20 different girls get up on that stage out of the goodness of their hearts. Ashley came all the way from Toronto, and Alena joined us from Edmonton. I also want to send out a special thank you to Lady Sable for making the trip down.

There are other donations still to come in, but last night we raised $7705

I’m exhausted, but I’ll be back at the bar in an hour… It’s Monday and I have a full week of work ahead of me at The Drake.

Thank you everyone. Every dancer I know has experienced the stigma associated with this job at some point in their career. The judgment and negativity can follow you for years… When the Breast Cancer Society turned us down I was hurt. I wasn’t angry, or bitter. I was hurt to be reminded of how harsh some people view us, view me, simply because I get naked.

Even now, being inundated with positive energy and love, I’m still waiting for the backlash. I’m still waiting for the hate mail and the condemnation. That’s how deep the stigma runs.

Thank you to Rethink for accepting our money, and openly supporting our compassion and desire to make a difference. We’ve all been touched by cancer and if I think about it too much tears well in my eyes. Cancer has broken so many hearts in my life, and broken my own too often. Thank you to the media for covering this event in such a positive and respectful manner. Thank you for validating our humanity to the masses who may not have thought too much about strippers before.

“Our beauty lies deeper than what we expose to the masses on stages all over the world. We are strong, independent, powerful women who deserve to be heard, not just seen.” Trina Ricketts.

24 hours to go...

2007-03-03T12:17:00.000-08:00

In the background I can hear my laundry clanking against the walls of the machine. I’m waiting impatiently for the cycle to finish before I leave to do errands. Exotic Dancers for Cancer is tomorrow and I still have a long list of things to get done before I make my way to the ferry.

I pull my geisha costume out of the closet and quickly count the pieces. It’s all there. I grab metallic paints from the cupboard, and dig my wig out from behind my posters. Due to popular demand I’ll be doing my Geisha show at the event. My show time is tentatively scheduled for 7:30, and all my props are ready to go!

I’m exited. The event this year is going to be our biggest yet. At last count there were 20 girls donating shows. The list of items up for grabs at the silent auction is sweet. The media attention has been overwhelming, and the guest list has become long.

I’ll be at The Drake from noon on tomorrow. Hope to see you there!!

I'm a little whiney and pathetic

2007-03-01T11:13:00.000-08:00

Las Vegas was shiny, and sparkly, and wonderful. I could talk about all the glitter and glamour, or how fat and rude Americans are (sorry to any nice people south of the border). But seriously I was shocked by how rude people were. I had fun. The wedding was sweet, and my sister and I had a blast running through the smoke and mirrors.

But now I’m home. It fucking snowed and I don’t wanna be here. I can’t get out of my driveway until the ice melts a bit, and I’m not getting anything done. I’m pretty much feeling whiney and pathetic and I want to curl up with my care bear and cry. I’m totally overwhelmed by everything I’ve taken on. Exotic Dancers for Cancer is only 3 days away. Homework is piling up around me and all I really want to do is go for coffee with Ginger or Clare. I miss my friends.

The house I’m living in is for sale. What little stability I did have to come home to is gone. It’s been replaced by the pressure to make everything look like no one lives here. Maybe I shouldn’t live here anymore. I don’t want to think about it but in the back of my mind I know I’m moving, sooner than I had hoped.

I guess in a couple short months I’ll be saying goodbye to my precious island home and trying to make a life for myself in the pre-Olympic construction zone they call Vancouver. Urgh!

I know life isn’t that bad, and really I have it pretty good. But the lack of stability is starting to get to me. I guess three years homeless is enough? I want a home. I want bookshelves with my books on them. I want a kitchen with food in it, and an oven that works. I want to bake cookies, and sleep in my own bed. I want my pictures on the wall. I want my clothes in a closet.

It looks like my life is changing again. Sigh… I’ll deal with it. I know I’ll figure it out and everything will be fine, but I’m feeling a little resentful right now. I want my own place, and I know I will have to move. I just don’t want everything to change right now. I don’t want to add more stress to the pile. I don’t have a choice, but I don’t have to be happy about it today.

I’m going to finish cleaning my room, and then make another attempt to get out of the driveway.

vaca...

2007-02-24T11:06:00.000-08:00

I'm going to Vegas.

right... now!

byeeeeeeeeeeeeee

pondering...

2007-02-19T01:22:00.000-08:00

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.

ED4C4 letter from Annie

2007-02-17T00:54:00.000-08:00

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:

ED4C4 media circus

2007-02-14T19:09:00.000-08:00

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.

Breast Cancer Society of Canada doesn't want our money

2007-02-14T01:15:00.000-08:00

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
4pm-midnight
The Drake Exotic Show Lounge
606 Powell St. Vancouver, BC

Just another night at Harley's

2007-02-08T14:36:00.000-08:00

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.

Freaks!

2007-02-07T16:28:00.000-08:00

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?”

“No.”

“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?”

“No.”

“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?”

“No.”

“I love you.”

“Uh huh.”

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

“No.”

“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.

Ick. Sick.

2007-02-02T12:31:00.000-08:00

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.

I'm a busy girl

2007-01-30T14:22:00.000-08:00

It’s the end of January and I can hardly believe it. I know they say time goes by quicker as you get older, but aren’t you supposed to be able to get more done? Or is that just wishful thinking?

I’m starting to feel the school crunch. Note to self: I’m in school. Fuck! The past two weeks of chaos and stress have resulted in me being too far behind in my homework. Exotic Dancers for Cancer is quickly approaching too, and I have commitments to that event as well. So here I sit in Yellowknife trying to manage my life, catch up on a month’s worth of reading, write an essay, book my schedule, negotiate with bars, keep up on my own writing, travel, keep up on the Naked Truth events, make the money and put the money where it needs to be… oh and actually work.

I think I’ll be hanging out in Western Canada for a while. I find the lack of private dancing allows for a lot more segmented chunks of time to be productive. The money isn’t as good, but I think I need to look at my education priorities. I’ll get a lot done up here. I always do… but I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed.

On the bright side Roxxanne’s was a great bar. I managed to wiggle off the financial loss and meet my target income for the week. It’s an awesome bar, well designed, well run, good clean bar. The people were lovely and I would love to return to Roxxanne’s. Good people. I’m so glad that after the animosity and bullshit of the previous week I managed to find a cozy week in Kitchener.

I’m happy. It’s great to be back in Yellowknife. It’s such a relaxed gig for me. I know some people hate it, but we all have bars that suit us best, and this is one of mine. I have friends up here, and I know the town. It feels like another home. But right now I need to finish the massive “To Do” list that’s staring at me… growing… bigger… and bigger… and not in a good way.

I hope I find time to write more later.

Broken contract.

2007-01-24T10:17:00.000-08:00

What do I say? It’s been a crazy couple of days and I’m fucking exhausted.
I’m at Roxxanne’s in Kitchener. After what feels like a hurricane of bullshit I’ve managed to find a piece of stability in this bar. First impressions are clean, friendly, and potentially lucrative. The staff has been very welcoming and kind and after the animosity of last week, I need it.

I don’t know if I have enough distance from the situation to write about it yet… but I’m at least going to try. I was booked for the feature spot at Whiskey A GoGo, just north of Toronto, last week. The manager knew what I looked like, he knew my show, he knew what I was offering… and he booked me back in December. I rearranged my schedule to accommodate his dates and in good faith made the journey from Vancouver to Toronto for a mere two week gig.

This industry can be pretty brutal at times, and we are judged daily, hourly, weekly… on everything from boobs, show, boundaries, pole work, attitude, costumes, body, makeup, beauty, walk, posters, cellulite, music, smile… If you can notice it, if it goes into a show, we are judged on it- naked.

At some point last week the absentee owner came in and decided he hated me. Maybe I wasn’t blonde. Maybe I didn’t buy my tits. Maybe he saw part of my show and decided I simply wasn’t good enough. Maybe this just isn’t my bar. It’s a strange club. Shows that get rave reviews, cheers, and money thrown on stage everywhere else I’ve ever done them went over like gay marriage in Alberta in this bar.

Regardless of my learning curve in meshing with this club, there was a verbal contract in place which the powers that be chose not to honour. Saturday night I was informed of the owner hating me, but nothing was confirmed. Sunday night… at 2am I received a phone call to tell me my shows had been cut to one a day. I was now booked 6 shows for the week rather than the 18 I had agreed to (difference of $1000 on my pay cheque)

I did my one show on Monday, while sorting through alternatives. I fly to Yellowknife on Sunday, and I’m stuck in Ontario for this week. I flew out here for a confirmed booking. With all expenses out of pocket, and work available to me at home, I agreed to come to Toronto because I trusted Whiskey A GoGo to be good on their word. I will not be making that mistake again.

Faced with a broken contract and an income problem I spent Monday and Tuesday searching for a replacement gig. It’s almost the end of January and I have financial obligations just like everybody else. I wish it was easier to get a straight answer on what a club is actually like. Agents will push bars they get a kickback from, and minimize the value of every other booking. Managers of course function on loyalty. Customer’s impressions rarely include more than what extras they can get, and how pretty the girls are. Even other dancers can be reluctant to share accurate information. Thankfully I do have some excellent contacts and friends in this industry whose opinions I can trust. Under the guidance of my stripper friends I found Roxxanne’s.

I started last night and it was a good night. No pressure. It’s a beautiful club and I’ll be okay. (I love the stage here- it’s perfect) I’ll make enough money this week to cover my expenses, and the hit my bank will take shouldn’t be too drastic. It sucks, but I’m resourceful and I tend to figure things out quickly. I’ll be at Roxxanne’s for the remainder of the week.

As for Whiskey A GoGo… well I have no desire to step foot in that bar again. They’re concerned about the reputation of their club… I can see why they might need to be.

They fucked me.

I’m okay, but the level of unprofessional, unreliable, two-faced manipulation and betrayal that I was subjected to is unfortunate. I liked that club. I have recommended it to both customers and dancers. I would have continued to support it. I would have encouraged other features to take the price cut to work there.

I won’t be doing that.

work in progress

2007-01-16T12:10:00.000-08:00

I’m in Toronto. The night has faded into a soft blanket of white as ice crystals send the city into an early slumber. I’m left the bar early simply because I was bored and it was as exciting as a morgue. Gramma called me earlier, worried about the dreadful winter storm I’m supposed to be surviving. It doesn’t look so bad to me. I think this city just whines a lot.

This room hasn’t changed. The bar is still the same. Externally everything appears just as I left it. So much of my life exists only within my mind. The melody of Bob Dylan is floating through the room like the soft current of a river in August. Wind echoes in the background, adding depth and layers to the already poignant song. Tears flutter behind my lashes as I type the date and realize the calendar marker.

It’s been two years. I don’t want to rehash the reality of that day or the phone call that changed my life. I know it. I know every tear and every touch. I just want to pause for a moment and remember…

Trevor.

I wonder when so many years will have past that I will forget the date? Will I ever forget? Or is it to be forever etched in my soul? Am I destined to always think of the beautiful taste of The Musician and the heartbreak of Trevor, entwined in memories?

“We live and we die. We know not why but I’ll be with you when the deal goes done… We eat and we drink. We feel and we think, far down the street we stray. I laugh and I cry and I’m haunted by things I never hoped or wished to say. The midnight rain follows the train. We all wear the same thorny crown. Soul to soul our shadows roll and I’ll be with you when the deal goes down…”

Some days I feel that everything is different, that the whole world has changed and nothing is the same. Then sometimes I look around and feel like I’m standing in exactly the same spot. Sometimes I think my memories are just dreams. Did it all really happen? I struggle to remember the feel of certain touches… too surreal to be factual.

Have I changed? Or have I just awoken to who I always was? Was I living in a dream for years? Sometimes I think I’ve come so far, and then I remember how flawed I really am… and how much I have to grow.

I’ve had a lot of things on my mind the past couple days, most of which I don’t even know how or what to say. I wish I was as good with women as I am with men. I wish I naturally sensed when I was out of line, before I do land myself in the middle of somewhere I don’t belong… I’m trying to learn. I am. Sometimes I’m afraid of Who I Am.

I'm a work in progress.