Beyond the Neon podcast

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

it's the end

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.

The best gig ever!

“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!

done with AB

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.

Top 10 dumb-ass questions guys ask strippers.

I know I’m supposed to be a fantasy but even when I’m flirting around a strip joint in a slutty lil’ skirt I’m still a woman. I know strippers are mystical magical creatures that just appear. I know customers often want to “know more” and create some picture in their head of who we really are. Often men want to “rescue us” from our tragic fate.

For some reason when males walk into peeler bars all manners are lost and the most offensive and rude questions are asked. Things everyone knows never to ask a woman, we hear multiple times a day. Lucky us!

Top 10 dumb-ass questions guys ask strippers.

10. Where do you live?

9. What does your boyfriend think of you dancing?

8. How much for the night?

7. What else do you do?

6. How old are you?

5. How much money do you make?

4. What’s your REAL name?

3. I don’t feel right giving you money. Can I take you out for dinner instead?

2. You’re too pretty to be here. Why don’t you do something better with your life?

and the #1 dumb-ass question...
1. It’s my birthday can I get a free dance?

Mugs, Jugs, and smiles.

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.

end of an era

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.

I'm boring but Justice rocks!!

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.

WET!!

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 :)

24 hours to go...

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!!

Just another night at Harley's

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I throw up a little in my mouth.

He continues. “How old are you girls?”

We lie.

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

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

“So?” I ask

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Freaks!

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.

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

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.

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.

Stuck in the snow...

My car is stuck in the middle of the ice covered driveway. Front wheel drive, when facing up hill, without snow tires, on compact ice and snow… sucks. My cell phone is frozen from being dropped in the snow (overnight) and my luggage weighs too damn much!! (This is me taking a quick break from hauling fifty million pounds of fucking sequins and winter coats up a slippery bastard of a hill.)

See the hill...

Winter? Oh yah I looooooove winter… Alrighty time for this Bitchy McBitch of a peeler to stop whining to the world and drag the last suitcase up that COCKSUCKER of a driveway.

See the house at the bottom of the hill...

It’s time for another tour. Now if only someone with a big ass truck can come save me so I can get on with it.

I’m off to Toronto… and then Yellowknife… and then I’ll be a stripper popsicle.

All bitching aside... the view from my deck makes it all worth while.

Stripper room

I love this bar...
And yes... this is actually how I live while on the road.

at the CoHo

“SLAP!!” the sound of my palm against his cheek echoes in the room. His hand momentarily releases my hip as he gazes up at me.

He mumbles “Ohhh baby” and winks at me. His tongue is undulating in the air, slapping against his lips and bringing to mind the image of a half-swallowed goldfish still in his throat, swimming for escape. “Can I lick your pussy?” he asks.

I shake my head and watch him giving sloppy head to the neck of his beer as he attempts to drink more. He’s blonde, young, drunk, and dumb. My favourite! The pretty brunette beside him peaks through the cracks in her fingers, embarrassed for his sake, and trying not look. I ask her “Is he yours?” and laugh at her adamantly negative response. If he had any hope of getting laid tonight he’s probably destroyed it.

His hand stealthy wanders towards my ass; my right hand is already cupped. “SLAP!!!” Palm to cheek impact is harder this time. I feel his head turn in response to the force and watch his eyes flutter in surprise.

“Oooh do it again. Harder! Please?” He gazes up at me, rubbing his cheek, and savoring the violent memory.

The intoxicated masochism is not attractive and I’m bored of this fool. “You have pay for that shit, kid” I state as I shake my head and walk away.

I make eye contact with some old friends, and wander over to say hello. My name is in the marquee and I’m close to home. It’s not the first time this week that an old friend has come in for a peek.

The updates are shared quickly. Where you living? Whatcha doing? Who else is still around? It’s been years. We used to volunteer together, in a different life. Word of my new career spread quickly through my old colleagues but I’m on the road so much there have been very few opportunities for reunions. From this group they are the first. I know the news will be shared quickly and with pride “Guess who WE saw at the CoHo!?!”

We head into the lobby to take a picture, because they need proof not only that I’m a stripper, but that they really do know me. I watch Mark turn bright red from the top of his head to the collar of his shirt when I bend over to pick up my keys. I laugh at him for checking out my ass. The photos are taken and the hugs are passed around. It’s a good way to start the year.

It’s been a great week in Courtenay and I have only good things to say about this bar. It’s a good atmosphere, good stage, great poles, and a cute town. The staff is amazing, and they run a damn good peeler pub. I really need to remember to work here more often.

Happy New Year.

The sun is shining and the bar is empty but for staff, musicians, and fans. There are bands taking over our stage tonight and it should be an interesting evening. Aside from a few details it’s New Years Eve and everything is exactly the same, but I feel rusty. It doesn’t take long to adjust to a normal life and forget about the routine of Stripperville. It’s been an amazing month but it’s time to go back to work.

Mindlessly I wander the dressing room. Makeup splayed across the counter I play with colours and paint my eyes, creating the fantasy. My eyes glow jade surrounded by the smoky midnight navy shadow. Metallic gold accents shimmer in the light, drawing focus to the sultry stare that both mesmerizes and betrays me. Sometimes I wish I could hide from the honesty in my eyes. My lips pout, plump and sexy. Powder evens my skin, as blush emphasizes my already prominent cheekbones. I’m beginning to look like the stripper again.

Naked, I examine my body in the mirror, looking for evidence of my couch potato weeks. It’s not as bad as it could be, but I do need a better fitness routine (or at least some imitation of fitness in my life). I slide my feet into my plastic platform shoes, fiddling with a bent clasp. Turquoise sequins in hand I naturally pull the image together. The bra clasp fits snug between my breasts. The skirt zips loose onto my hips. Mechanically I tug at the zipper of the bustier and pull the white PVC trim in line with the laced bows. Snapping on the girly collar completes the outfit and I become the stripper again. Ryann Rain stares back at me through the mirror. It’s time to work.

2006 is coming to an end. I have no doubt that this coming year will be an amazing adventure. I can already see so much on the horizon. I’m excited. Passion and creative inspiration flow through my veins. 2007 is upon us.

Happy New Year!!

Almost home...

I’m on my way home. The horizon is melting into cotton candy and marshmallow waves as I wait patiently to glimpse the mountains. My laptop bumps against the seat in front of me, a glaring reminder of the limited personal space. The directional artificial lighting from above blends with the raw sunlight creating harsh shadows that seems to diminish the individuality of the other passengers. Distracted I stare aimlessly out the window, white speckled fields cover the earth below, and I know I’m not there yet… just a few more hours.

It’s been an amazing couple of months, and I feel I have learned so much in such a short time. I’m returning home with new friendships, experiences, and opportunities multiplying before me. My birthday is coming up, and I’m wrapping up my twenty-fifth year exuberant and energized.

I’ll be back in the Toronto area, at Whiskey, in the middle of January. Until then it’s my time. Six weeks on the west coast lay before me. I have time to relax and enjoy the friendships dearest to my heart, time to explore and prepare for my next challenges, time to escape for lunches with Daddy, and even time to indulge my mother’s “to do” list.

I’ve been thinking about choices lately, about Who I Am today and how far I’ve come in the past couple of years. When I started dancing I was devastated. I felt as though I had fallen off a cliff and had lost all sense of purpose. Today, I am passionate, confident, inspired, and simply fabulous.

I guess I’m just feeling thankful for everything. I have an amazing family, and the best friends anyone could ever dream of. I have a welcoming home, and a solid foundation. I have a job that I love, that is intensifying opportunities for growth and discovery. I’m returning home with a shiny “Miss Congeniality” trophy and to me it means so much more than a simple award. To walk into a new environment, a contest, and be able to easily become a part of the structure, organization, and flow of the event confirms how much I have learned. I made a difference, and I did it professionally, while making friends and contacts. I used to run events, competitions, but now I truly know my personal strength. I met a handful of incredible women during this tour, women I am proud to be developing friendships with, and that I am eager to be collaborating with. I have so much respect and admiration for the beauty and strength of character I’ve come to know. I can’t wait to be a part of the creation of something bigger than the individual, something incredible. I can feel it.

It’s all fan-fucking-tastic!