1. Stripper Chronicles: tales from the strip “First day at work”

This is not your typical “first day at work” story.

Some people may say it's not work at all, but opinions of others have never been my concern. 

I’ve always been one to naturally go against the grain. 

What people think of the specific brand of capitalism I choose to feed and cloth me in this cruel world, doesn’t bother me. We’re all selling our time and bodies for some greedy boss somewhere. Whether your back hurts from lifting heavy boxes or from shaking ass on stage, we're both sore aren’t we? 

Midnight ballerina, “accountant”, “bartender”…

there’s many aliases for the deliciously taboo title of a stripper.

I think ”exotic dancer” is a happy medium.

I was freshly 19, had just moved to LA to go to school. Well - 200 hr Yoga teacher training. (Spoiler alert, I don't teach yoga)

I had whatever disease makes you skip college and go straight to the pole, not out of desperation, no. Much worse.

I started dancing because I was born this way. A force to be reckoned with.

Oh, and my best quality? This mouth piece. 

Excuse me for knowing myself.

As the great Mac Dre once said, I could sell a penguin ice and get him twice.

You can look at the world of stripping through many different lenses, and you may be surprised at what you see. There is quite a duality.

I personally have much love and hate for the game. I wont tell you its empowering, but i wont tell you its degrading. Those who are able to keep an energetic shield around them may prosper,  but be careful what you let in. 

This is not a place for the weak, the meek, or the naive. 

The duality in the strip club is much like the outside world. There’s beauty, and there’s pain. There’s the light, and the dark. The most important rule - don't ever give up control. 

Now let me tell you about my first day.

Bare elegance, California. They don't call it BARE for nothing. 

Picture a strip club. What do you see? 

Girls scattered about, dancing and shaking in tiny bedazzled bikinis…

That’s what you should see, but not at the B.E.

No outfits allowed here, honey. We walk around nude at the bare.

Kind of hard to strip without having something on first right? Thats what I thought.

Now, you would think that news would have had me running for the hills but like I said, I have the disease where this stuff doesn’t phase me.

I sat at the bar, taking in my surroundings. It was a shit hole. I didn’t really expect anything fancy, but the place was definitely haunted and covered in ancient jizz. You would think I was applying to work at an ice cream shop with the twinkling energy I was exuding. What can I say, I was enthusiastic. Sue me.

I watched as an ashtray of a man waddled his way over to me. I assumed it was the owner because of his troll-like aesthetic.

I’ve come to find out club owners and managers usually have a certain je ne sais quoi, if you know what I mean.

“Hey sweetheart” he breathed down my neck, smiled and winked, 

just as a professional man conducting an interview would do.

He had the aura of a chain smoked Marlboro red and a restraining order.

I shivered and forced a smile on my face, making nice-y nice with the big boss man. One thing about club owners, their ego is their biggest body part. And boy, do they want you to stroke it- amongst other things. 

After a while of fake giggling with the troll from under the bridge, I signed my shady employment papers that exploited us into working long hours with absolutely no benefits. HOORAY!

I turned around and headed for the dressing room, anticipating and practicing my audition in my head.

That’s when I see her - KiKi. 

The broken girl who would become my closest friend in the club. She was sitting at one of the vanity mirrors cussing out her reflection, because apparently she didn't know how to do her makeup. She was definitely one of those naturally pretty girls, good skin and pretty eyes. She didn’t really need it. I remember she had a whole sleeve of outer space on her arm. Almost a tragically beautiful metaphor for how lost she was at that time.

Little did I know, that was just the beginning of a long string of chaotic twists and turns with KiKi.

I walked out of the locker room, wearing nothing but heels and a dream. Bless my heart, I wasn’t even wearing Pleasers, just some chunky heels from Ross and my naked ass reporting for duty. 

“Now on stage, the sexy RRRRRRReinaaaaa” 

Why are DJs the way that they are?

Anyways, yes. My first stage name was Reina. The first of many.

I danced my little ass off for 3 songs, the man whose job is completely pointless helped me down off stage completely disregarding the fact there was a hand rail, and I was hired on the spot. 

I smiled and signed my onboarding papers like I just got accepted into college, and college it would be. Little did I know, this place was going to teach me more about the raw unfiltered psychology of Man than any school ever would.

KiKi was enthusiastically waiting for me at the bar with a congratulatory shot of Hennessy in each hand. I cringed as I reluctantly grabbed the shot and clinked her glass with mine. 

“Cheers, new friend,”

It’s only 2pm but who am I to say no to a new friend initiation shot?

“Cheers” We said in unison. 

As we took our shot, the bond was made. 

I had a feeling this wouldn’t be the last time I’d be drinking Hennessy at concerning hours of the day.

I got dressed and made my way out of the locker room, waving goodbye to the DJ and all of the bouncers. I pushed through the double doors of the dark club and into the bright light of day, I had only been in there for an hour or two so it was still as hot as ever. I stepped over a puddle of dried puke and turned to look back at the building behind me.

I watched as the as the letter E on the neon sign flickered until it went completely out. 

Welcome to ‘bar’ elegance.