Ava Adore

Shift: 10.17.10, 6pm-12am.

This shift was not as intense as Friday’s, thankfully. It was slow for a Sunday, surprisingly. I made my first $100 simply because Ch.’s drunk, handsy client Gary thought I was cute and Ch. was nice enough to share, and the drunk guy was good enough to continue to tip us both heavily, so it was win-win.

Ch. left hella early because her knees were killing her. I gotta get that girl some Tiger Balm patches. I made stage tips the rest of the night until Brett and Felicia came in for her post-birthday lapdance (Happy birthday girl! I don’t think you read this, but you rock anyway) right before I left, around midnight. I love those clients.

Lo. came in to visit around 11:30, which was pretty cool! We caught up, she’s trying to get her job back because it turns out Mi. got fired (!) which I didn’t know until last night. I don’t know what Mi. could have possibly done to get fired, but seeing as it’s Mi., it must have been pretty bad; I know they like to keep her. I am surprised.

That’s about it. Watched bad Japanese horror at Ch.’s after my shift. Was ADD with clothes, wore Lorenzo, La Cage, SOS, and Baby Firefly. I need to update my locker list badly. I have new bruises on my hip from landing a new trick. Learned two new tricks, still working on getting them to look right.

Douchebag Count: 0
$hift Grades: B

Shift: 10.11.10, 6pm-2am.

Possessive.

That’s the word that comes to mind after last night.

Blood, too, but I’ll get to that later.
We’ll start with ‘possessive.’ We’ll start with Keith.

It was slow, because it was a holiday kids are off from school, so after I sat with a great gent for a half hour, Ch. and I sat barside and bullshitted for another half hour. At one point I happen to look up, surprised, to see Keith standing there. Right next to me. Mouse quiet, ninja style.

He remembered me from the last time he came in; he said he’d come to see me. Alright, that’s cool, I’m down with that, I didn’t remember much but most people who come to see a specific dancer have brought money for that dancer, and the more we talked the more I remembered a few things.

He’s like a twisted Father Figure, he believes the best of me and that this isn’t the way, but since he knows how I feel about it he’s taken it upon himself to Protect Me from Other Men there. Ch. got appropriated into the umbrella for the evening, or so he told me he didn’t ‘like when the other guys hit on her.’

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Shift: 08.15.10, 10pm-4am.

I sat with 90% of the clients: I was in major hustle mode. There wasn’t a lot of money to be made last night, but where I could make it, I did. I did 2 or 3 “hit it and quit it”s, which is when a guy picks you out, says, “How much for a dance?” and takes you right off—and then, his mission accomplished, leaves. So those guys’ names I don’t recall.

I began with a sweetheart guy, Turkish, named Mitch, who was wearing some wonderfully scented cologne. He bought me a Dirty Shirley (way to my heart) and two dances. Next was a hit-it-and-quit-it birthday boy (Joe?), followed with this super adorable husband and wife who each got a dance from me while the other watched.

Not only were they adorable together, it was a very liberated kind of feel, and they were telling me they came to strip clubs now and again just to do this so that the wife doesn’t feel like she lost her bisexuality, because women are also important to her and getting married didn’t change that. They just seemed to have such a great relationship.

After them it gets a little hazy; I think I did two more hit-its and ended the evening with a very drunk man—a very, very drunk man—who, while amenable, was very, very drunk. I don’t think I can stress that enough. He would want to tip a girl, look at his money, and seem confused about how to do it.

The girl would wait, since he’d said to, and ask him to help, and he’d give a little snap like, ‘It’s not my first time at a place like this,’ and then stare at the money again for awhile. You could watch the wheels in his head whirring as he tried to compute the action.

Eventually he would tip the girl, his hand slowly finding its way as if it didn’t belong to him. This, ladies and gents, is the last man I danced for that evening. After that, it was about 3:10, and I went to ask the deejay when our last set was. He gave excellent news: Lilah and I were off! With time to spare for TACO BELL.

Douchebag Count: 0.
$hift Grade: B

Shift: 07.21.10, 8pm-3am.

I am actually not going to talk about last night.

It was one of the most emotionally draining evenings of my entire past year, surpassed by only two instances I can think of. Needless to say, it’s what happens when your personal life comes into work and you can’t extricate the two. It was so stressful I puked and later on I was excused an hour early.

What I will say is that, despite being amateur night, they didn’t ‘have enough girls to run the contest’—or they just didn’t feel like throwing it, who knows. So the pattern of the evening was a little off… we had a rush at 10pm, instead of midnight and 2, which made for a busier start to the evening and a quiet end, as far as amount of clientele goes.

I did about 6 or 8 dances, I lost count, often with men who never really sat with me for longer than 10 minutes—which is a blessing because it made the job easy but hard because I don’t remember any of their names, except Al, who is an asian gent who is a regular of Ry.’s (who got her job back! yet to see her though).

Regulars came in and out last night, I saw P Escalade and Hue AKA Tiffany Bond and a few others. Ds. stopped by; she’s not mad at me, and was actually really supportive, as usual, of only the second time I’ve been upset at the House in the 7 months I’ve been working there.

Tested out—and am in love with—one of my new costumes, which I call Pinot Noir. More on that in another post. No new bruises. No unknown douchebags. Had one set I felt really stellar during, which was a good feeling, and unsurprisingly it was to House of 1000 Corpses. Costumes were Pinot Noir and Limewire.

Douchebag Count: 0.
$hift Grade: B

Shift: 07.05.10, 8pm-4am.

So last night was, hands-down, the worst night at the club I’ve ever worked, monetarily speaking. Post-Holiday Syndrome. Everyone spent cash the day before (the 4th) so no one was tipping—which naturally begs the question, so Why the Fuck are You Here? but no one likes to be asked that.

If it weren’t for one particular client, Doug, I would have made no cash last night. Thankfully, Doug was a wonderful to sit with and very funny and I enjoyed spending time with him, so I did so for a few hours. He gave me dances, which was great.

Then after he left I had the pleasure of sitting with Chuck, who comes in every now and again when he’s in the area, but I’d not met him before. He gave me a neck massage, and was actually good at them, so that was nice; he rounded out my evening with one last dance.

In other news, a friend of Lilah and mine, Rain (henceforth called Ri.), started last night. We felt bad that it was her first interaction with the club, since it was so cash short, but everyone made her feel really welcome and I think she’ll fit in nicely if she stays. She impressed everyone with her Alice in Chains selection.

Lastly, updates on Lo.: definitely has progressed from strippercrush to actual crush. We were flirting all through last night and it has half hot-stripper and half girl-gradeschool. If nothing else, still hella fun. Makes me all blushy dorky.

Minor inner right thigh bruising. Costumes were Punk Rock Princess, Sparkling Diamond, Lace Domme, and Closer. Also I’ve concluded that my clients can be as funny as Lilah’s, my memory is just for shit and I can’t remember most of the quotes. Sad times.

Douchebag Count: 0.
$hift Grade: B

Shift: 06.13.10, 8pm-4am.

Slow Sunday… but still better than a usual Thursday.

Started out with John and Paul, a large Italian and skinny tattooed guy, respectively. John called me over because he liked my bum in the Cherry Kirsch outfit (and I have to agree; that’s why I bought it). He boisterously proclaimed he wanted a dance from me.

So the three of us got to talking and John has a wandering eye but Paul liked me even moreso, and tipped me continuously. He was shy but very funny, I enjoyed the time I spent bsing with him; he was actually the one I got the dance with.

After they left, I had another stage set, and was called over by the Douchebag Who Shall Not Be Named. I will refer to him by his Douchebag Code, which is “Money Talks,” and I will address his assholery in the next post.

Lastly, Steve and his friend came in (Lilah and I met Steve a different night when we’d talked tats and photography); apparently he’d been in a few times asking for me. He brought me a CD of his spoken word band and is bringing in photos of Dita for me tonight.

Steve got 3 dances from me. He’s a sweet and respectful guy. He actually tried to comfort me after the douchebaggery with Money Talks. Why can’t more gents be kinder? And not try to treat dancers like a) cheap whores or b) like a strip club is a 3D version of match.com?

No new bruises. Costumes: Cherry Kirsch, Sparkling Diamond, Lace Domme, Boifriend.

Douchebag Count: 1.
$hift Grade: B

Shift: 04.29.10, 6pm-2am.

Was an interesting night. 4-5 customers, 2 of which gave me dances (for 3 dances total), and 1 who did not dance but tipped me profusely. 1 wanted to tip me nicely but I had to leave for stage, so I lost out on that.

My last dance of the night was ‘on accident’—I was shouting for a guy I’d been talking to, named Anthony, only this guy looked up at me. I was as surprised as he was. I was like, ‘Are you Anthony, too?’ and lo and behold, he was also an Anthony.

Apparently my psychic skills warranted a dance, and I won’t argue.

On an unrelated and sad note, Gi. got gypped the night before and stormed out angrily before her shift ended. Rm., her best friend, went out after her, under the impression that Gi. had already asked permission from our manager. …She hadn’t. They both got fired.

In other news, my friends came in tonight, so that was a lot of fun. Two of them did the amateur wet t-shirt contest, and one was introduced by her, I’m assuming, wannabe stripper name, Rogue. Now I am forever going to call her that.

Douchebag Count: 1.
$hift Grade: B