See you all later

Dear Internet,

I'd like to thank you for the interesting people and experiences you've brought me over the past (almost) six years. Last night, on the quiet drive home from work, I was thinking about closing this place down. Then this morning, the first thing I read was Tara's goodbye, and, well, I'm doing it, too. Those of you who know me know how to keep in touch, and those of you who lurk can email over the next couple of weeks at the below address. I'll be moving the blog, probably to generic blogspot hosting, and shutting down the rivercitykitty URL.

Until we meet again,

Susan

And I'm on my way

Spyce, with a y

Last Thursday I got together with a couple of friends -- the dancer I went to Vegas with in April, and Summer, my teacher (and then boss) from PDX Pole Divas. Someone had the amazing idea to open up another strip club in Portland! What's that make, 56?

It's billed as Portland's newest upscale gentleman's club. It's located near Old Town, down on NW Couch and 2nd, close to a bunch of nightclubs and bars, and reminds me of the location of that short-lived place in Austin on 6th Street. The kind of traffic you expect there would be douchebags hitting meat markets and the drunk douchettes they hope to hit on, and our expectations were thoroughly met.

While two of us stood outside waiting for the third, who should we see approaching but this guy? "Don't recognize me, don't recognize me, I'm wearing my glasses, don't recognize me," I muttered. "Hi, Susan!" "Oh great."

Either he never read this article or he graciously (?) didn't mention it. Whew. I guess. It might have been fun to get into it.

We entered when Summer arrived; her vehicle clearly advertises her pole business and she confirmed that this attracts a lot of attention for her. The interior of the bar was pretty nice and very nightclubby. The stage sits a mere six inches off of the ground with poles very close to the corners and table seating rather than a rail around the stage; guess what this means? Nightly meetings twixt stiletto heel and customer body parts. They have got to raise that stage or build a rail around it before someone gets an accidental stripper-induced concussion.

But we really couldn't see too much, what with some woman's birthday party in front of us. As we explained to Summer, "When strippers bitch about female customers, this is what they're talking about." "I see why!" They were dancing on the floor, smacking their asses, blocking our view, and taking snapshots until one of the dancers on stage sent a bouncer over to ask that they put the camera away. Since, you know, it's a strip club.

What fun that would be to work around every weekend!

We talked about having some lapdances, but none of the dancers ever came by to ask for one, even though we tipped them all on stage. Boo for lazy strippers! Then we took off to check out Nicolai Street and see some girls we knew there. It was like night and day going from the downtown bar full of clubbers to the northwest one full of blue collar guys and people from the neighborhood restaurants. People were actually paying attention to the stage; and that bar is, if anything, one of those places where the strippers are incidental attractions somewhere between the video poker and the pool table. It's not upscale, but it's been around a while and will most certainly outlast Spyce. They're making a lot of work for themselves with that location.

From the Mary's jukebox to Fox

Of course I'm watching the show Fringe because what's not to like about The X-Files? And of course, since people wind up dead on a show about an FBI agent pursing paranormal incidents, there's going to be some hookers and strippers making cameos.

But hey, they're the kind of strippers who dance to the Black Angels. "Bloodhounds on My Trail" has been in my personal list of favorites for months thanks to a cool Mary's coworker (and friend of the band) who put it in the jukebox. Hearing "Young Men Dead" in a strip club scene during primetime totally took my mind off of the fact that of course that stripper was going to be dead inside of seven minutes. And that the one on the pole was dancing on a brick (?) floor.

And no, I never get tired of this kind of thing. It's always going to entertain me.

I'm teaching!

Summer of PDX Pole Divas has asked me to teach a lapdancing class this Saturday night.

From the PDX Pole Divas site:
Lapping Your Honey
Dates: Saturday 9/20/2008
Time: 6:00 PM - 8:00 PM
When it comes to giving, it's the thought that counts, and for your significant other, all the better if those thoughts are naughty! Come to the Diva Den West this Saturday, September 20th at 6 p.m. for Lapping Your Honey, a two-hour class on exotic dance, striptease, and private dancing for the bedroom.

We'll talk about

* costuming: lingerie for every woman
* setting the mood and music
* striptease, or, yes, there is a right way to take it off
* sensual movement
* how to feel great naked
* private dance techniques
* floorwork
* revealing your inner seductress

Bring your heels, a button up shirt, or double layered shirt, and shirt or shorts...you are welcome dress the part! There will be no nudity in this class

Susan Wayward has over a decade's experience as an exotic dancer, but more importantly has sustained a great relationship with her husband for over ten years. At least once a week she hears, "Can you teach me how to do that?" from female customers. Why yes, yes she can!


Go here to register at the bottom of the page.

Last night at the rack

"You should wear more green eye makeup. The green would go great with your red hair (I'm a brunette)."

"If your ass could speak, I bet it would be multilingual. It would speak, like, six languages."

(This is second only to "I bet your ass has opposable thumbs" for my favorite ass-related remark ever.)

Tuesday night, the little bar with one stage and no private dances had an open shift, and with a $4K vet bill on the credit card I need to make an effort to work at least some this week; it's not road money, but it's money, right?

The advantage of a stage only club is that it's relatively easy work to just dance and smile and not have to talk to people and be charming and try to sell them dances. When your brain is working slowly like mine is this week, that's good. Although it is disheartening when your money literally comes one dollar at a time -- I think that might have been the first night in a long time where I haven't been paid in anything but dollar bills. Usually someone tosses a $20 up there at some point.

So I punched in music into a jukebox, spent a little time talking to some customers who were perfectly pleasant if not free with the cash, and got through the night well enough. Enter music, step on stage, remove clothing, repeat. It's very simple.

Summer was also nice enough to let me fool around in her studio a couple of times, having fun with the play part of the job, the pole. My arms are so very very sore today from holding myself up and trying to learn new ways to be upside down holding onto a pole with one leg and no arms, and then doing handstands against the pole. All the blood rushed to my head and I felt dizzy when righting myself. That's a way to get a new perspective; being upside down. Watching all of your body trying to come to your head. It's not a flattering view, really, but it's an interesting one. I expect my breasts to try to hit my chin, but everything else that can move will.

And stainless steel poles require a strong grip that bruises thighs unused to it. These have faded since yesterday but are still quite impressive.


Same club tonight. Then tomorrow throwing myself back into the bigger club, I guess. I need to find my personality; I think I left it in Montana.