I just found out that a buddy of mine has fallen for one of the oldest tricks in the world. We had plans to grab a bite to eat and go see a sneak preview of True Grit last weekend, but he wanted to bug out at the last minute, saying he was tapped out. Tapped out? Morry throws nickels around like manhole covers.
I told him not to worry about it, it’s on me, just don’t try to kiss me at the end of the night. It was Saturday and 99% of the time that meant a late night ending with breakfast at some greasy spoon. Well, Morry suggested that we hit the Admiral Theatre (strip club) after the movie, but I didn’t want to pay the $$ cover. Besides, I went a couple of months ago with my brother and the talent that night was, while hot, sort of goofy. These girls couldn’t dance to save their lives. But, none of this mattered because Morry insisted on going and that meant I had to go.
Real quick FYI for the ladies: We (guys) do go to strip joints once or twice a year. It doesn’t matter if we’re single, engaged, married or happily married. It doesn’t matter if we’re getting laid every night or once a year, or if our significant other still blows us four times a week.
To be honest, by the time we’re 30, most of us only go because some other guy insists. It’s not about seeing some TnA, not wanting to come home or maybe getting lucky. It’s about Guy Code. Guy Code specifically states that you have to go to a titty bar if your buddy insists. Maybe it’s been a while since he’s seen a live one and he doesn’t mind paying to see it. It also stipulates that the guy covers all costs for the guy he’s badgering to go. It also stipulates that one never discuss the outing with any female, never, ever. This rule makes “What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas” look like a joke. Once you break this rule, you are never invited to another outing and you can never recover the required level of trust.
So we end up at the Admiral around ten thirty, order a juice (dry bar) and start watching the girls shake it. Morry finally tells me that he’s after a dancer who goes by the name “Cherry”, but her real name is Diane. Yeah, right. Fucking dumbass. I tell Morry that until you get your ** wet a couple of times, she’s not gonna tell you her real name and she might not even then. Look, I “dated” (if you know what I mean) a stripper for a couple of months back in ’94. Her stage names were “Dallas” and “Star”, and she told me (after the nasty) her real name was Michelle. However, the mail on her kitchen counter said otherwise, but I couldn’t care less.
Well, Marty insisted that there was a mutual attraction and they hadn’t gone out yet because he’s a 9am-5pm and she’s a 9pm-5am. Yeah, and she’s in church all day Sunday too. Marty said it would be hot to date a stripper, the sex must be great judging by the way they move. “Besides, didn’t you date one?” Sort of a touché, but then I laid out some guidelines to successfully “dating” a stripper.
- 75% of strippers are either lesbians or bi. I’ve dated two Bi chicks, one a stripper. You have no chance with the lesbian, but you can hook up with the Bi if she’s had enough twat and is looking to switch sides of the plate for a few at-bats. Then, trust me, she’s gonna tear your wanker out by its roots. You might as well be sleeping with a freshly ex-communicated nun. The other 25% are honestly trying to make a living or a buck or two for their own reason. (yes, I’m saying I would do it for a year on the weekends to pay off some debt or save for a deposit on a mortgage if I looked like Natalie Portman or Eva Mendez)
- Don’t initially meet her at the club. You’re just another wad of ones and fives. I met “Star/Dallas” in the laundry room in my apt bldg.
- Don’t visit her at work. Enough said.
- Don’t become too emotionally invested in her. Strippers are as volatile as roofers and Marines. One false move and you may end up on page three of the Sun Times.
- Don’t think for a second that this is destiny. Destiny is backstage counting her tips.
OK, I’m rambling on a bit here. Yeah, I got a look at her, she was hot. Yeah, Morry heard every word I said, but I think it went in one ear and out the other. I guess we all learn our lessons at our own pace. I am Morry’s friend, so I will keep apprised of the “situation” and offer advice when it warrants.