Where's Your Head At?

There's a (not so) dirty little secret about stripping. Nights, weeks, entire careers, sink or swim in the minds of the dancers. No one, and I do mean no one, makes good money when a bad mood takes over.

Negativity is the money-killer.

Can you just *see* the bad mood? Bitchface does not sell dances...

A dancer can have perfect tits, an ass you can bounce quarters off of, a sleek figure, an amazing stage show, on and on and on. But if she comes in stressed out about making rent, thinking about an argument with her boyfriend or girlfriend, feeling guilty and unattractive because she skipped the gym all week, it's game over.

If you get on that stage with stretch marks, no makeup, more to love, small breasts, wet hair, whatever it is you or the customers might find less than ideal, but you're wearing a smile, feeling good, having fun and being flirty, there's money out there.

Sometimes, nights that start with bad moods end with huge stacks of paper. But, that's because there was enough of a break in a dancer's clouds for a customer to see the light. Dancers have lots of superstitions about what does and doesn't make money. A bad mood is a known, proven, documented threat to your income.

Ever tried to have sexy tiems with your lovely partner when you're feeling unattractive? When you're having a bad self-esteem day? When they've just done something that makes you feel bad? Imagine mustering up the ability to seduce a complete and total stranger who is most likely not physically attractive to you when you feel that way.

Yeah. It tends to not go well. Which often perpetuates and deepens the bad mood in a nasty little spiral.

Fear not, true believers! There are tricks to reclaiming a good mood on the work floor that I keep in my back pocket.

- Keep a list of power songs. Songs that you absolutely love, that you feel *compelled* to dance to and never fail to put a smile on your face. Songs that make you not give a fuck if the customers are watching & tipping or not. Songs for *you*. A few of my favorites are "P.Y.T." by Michael Jackson & "Smack My Bitch Up" by Prodigy.

- Change outfits. Sounds weird, but it works. It helps you reset your brain, and helps customers to kinda get a new first impression of you. In a big enough club or with drunk enough customers, they will probably really think you're not the same girl.

- Look at porn. No joke. Keep a stash or a link to a good website (I have a few Tumblr blogs I love to go to, like delicate-sex-and-love) on your phone. Good porn will not only help distract you from your bad mood, but it might even turn you on which is a definitely money making boost. If you're just not very visual, copy and paste your favorite sex scenes from books into an email you hide in your email inbox.

- Caffeinate. It's a stimulant, folks. Far more legal, accessible, and safer than the stereotypical strip club favorites. Having a Red Bull stashed in your gear bag for when you're feeling down can save your shift. Sometimes, you just need a little energy.

- Give yourself some time. Go ahead & hide in the dressing room for a few minutes. Sit in the corner of the room and watch the human circus. Go sit & chat with the manager or bartender or somebody. Check Facebook & play a round of Draw Something. Remind yourself that nobody is on point all the time, and that you only need one good customer to make your entire night. Go get him.

And finally, if all else fails,

- Know when to pack up, live to strip another day, and take some mental health time. If this is day two or three of the blues, it's time to take at least one, if not two or more days off. Rest & self maintenance is just as essential to making money as going to work. You may find that when you work less, you actually make more.

I write this, while in desperate need of taking my own advice. I worked till 4am then showed up for dayshift at 1pm, so I am *tired*. I've got difficulties in my personal life weighing on my mind. I've got upcoming travel stressing me out, and I am convinced that I can see the Fillet o' Fish I secretly indulged in among other things the other day right there on my ass. CONVINCED. And on top of that it's been dead, nothing but a few customers who want to tip a dollar or two to the stage and leave without buying any dances. So, here I am. Doing something I love while hiding in the dressing room. Biding my time so I can step out later, when there's customers more worthy of the effort, and do work.

Stay positive, ladies. What do you do to conquer bad moods in the club?

Review: Katy Perry Lashes by Eyelure

You'll notice that I don't have any pictures of me actually wearing these lashes...

See, I wear lashes constantly. I'd sooner leave the house with no makeup than with no false eyelashes. Because I wear them so often, durability is a factor. A pair of eyelashes that look amazing, but only look amazing once, are of little use to me. I also have very little use for subtle lashes. In fact, the vast majority of lashes I try, I end up doubling-up with at least a second pair of half-strip lashes.

So I had some hope for these Katy Perry "Oh, My!" lashes by Eyelure. The other varieties of Katy Perry lashes looked way too thin for me to ever spend $7.59 for one pair, but this box looked like they already did the work of doubling-up for me.

When I trimmed them to fit and put them on, they looked great! Very full, very feminine. I usually prefer lashes that flare out at the outer corners, but these really struck my fancy. I fully intended to use them again the next day and take pictures.

However.

They died on me after one use. One of the lashes was fine, but the other developed a gap in the middle of the band, and that was that. Given that I can double up two pairs of Japanese lashes at $1.50 a pair, and make them last for about two weeks of wear, I won't be buying these again.

If you only wear lashes once in a while and don't want to be bothered with doubling-up your lashes, these might be right up your alley. Do be aware though, the band is pretty stiff and not exactly easy for someone new to lashes to apply. Also, don't bother with the included glue. It's rubbish, as per usual. Always go with a trusty tube of DUO adhesive.

Ready For Those Flashing Lights

This is me. I've come a long way, baby. If you knew me before becoming a stripper and didn't see me till now, you wouldn't recognize me. Hell, if you saw me three months ago, you might not recognize me now. But that's a different story.

The first time I ever went to a strip club, I was freshly 18. The red lights mercifully masked how much I blushed. I gushed awkwardly to my friends about the dancers' amazing shoes and how could they possibly stand, let alone dance in them. I saw bootie popping for the first time and my head nearly exploded.

The second time, I was in college. An obnoxiously charming man, soon to become my boyfriend for a few years, bought me my first lap dance while our friends squirmed uncomfortably in their seats. It was amazing. I was and am pretty much all about men, but the sensuality was undeniably overpowering and enjoyable. I understood why men paid for dances even though they never (I thought) got to have sex with the girls. It was something else. I never forgot the way she moved, how she slid over me, and I would spend years sometimes trying to imitate her in mirrors when no one was around.

The third time, I was quite drunk. Very, very drunk. In Vegas. With girlfriends. I remember buying the birthday girl a lap dance from the biggest, scariest man in the place, and trying to get one poor girl to come off her stage and dance with us girls since we were tipping and the lame men there were not. I think she did. The rest is a blur.

The fourth time I went into a strip club, I came out with a job. I called the number I saw on the Craigslist ad looking for dancers, and was told it was okay to come in that afternoon to audition. My lack of experience was fine, just wear nice under wear and bring high heels. I drove past the small, windowless building to park around back. Not because I was afraid of someone recognizing my car, but because I was afraid of anyone seeing me pep talking myself. I popped a Zanax, and went over what I'd learned scouring the internet for how to do this.

I would move slow. Even slower than I thought I should, because everyone says the number one mistake girls make is moving too fast, too jerky. I would pick a slow song, to help me out. I would remember to move my hips, and to show off my ass, no matter how unworthy of attention I think it might be. I would be sure to walk sensually, not high-stepping like a show pony (something I would later learn is typical of unexperienced dancers and the thing most likely to elicit embarrassed laughter from the dancers watching you audition).

Because of licensing laws in Seattle, I didn't take any clothes off. But I did saunter cautiously from one pole to the other, where I would glide my hips from side to side before doing one turn around the pole, for the duration of "Paparazzi" by Lady Gaga.

The song seemed to last forever... I remember a constant chorus of "slow down" in my brain, and a vague sense of excitement. I was really doing this. I was going to work in a strip club. I knew it not because I was confident I'd be hired, but I knew right then that I was going to do what it takes to get this job and be good at it. The small taste of what being on that stage could be had me bewitched already. The other girls had watched with arms crossed and eyes narrowed, but they hadn't laughed. The two men in the audience had watched, but didn't tip, which I'd later learned was standard. It could've gone a lot worse. When I stepped off the stage, I was shaking. My heart was pounding. I had watched myself in the abundant mirrors, and felt confident that I had managed to not look like an idiot.

I wanted to go again.

After a quick conversation with the pretty woman that owned the club, I was hired. She liked the idea of having a more punk, rocker looking girl on the staff (my hair was purple, black, and lavender at the time), and gave me a schedule and instructions on how to get my license. She assured me I'd learn how to dance as I go. If I got licensed in the morning, I could work that night. And I did. I spent my last $250 getting that silly piece of paper calling me an "entertainer" and I've been working as a stripper for my main occupation & hobby ever since. That was about two and a half years ago.

Before I started dancing, I didn't know I was pretty enough to do this job. I didn't know that I could be the biggest fish in a pond full of gorgeous girls. I didn't know I could dance, I didn't know I could seduce, or charm. I didn't know I could walk up to complete strangers and start up conversations. I certainly didn't know I could be more comfortable being naked in a crowded room than I feel in my pajamas at home.

I didn't know a lot of things. Before I sat down and started writing this post, I had no fucking clue how I'd start off this blog. But here we go. And now, I finally got this blog set up so I can share some of the things I keep learning and doing. I want to tell you how my first night at work went, why I love my job, and how I move around in 8" heels. I want to explain to you why I love my job, what I think about other types of sex work, how I'm a feminist, how I decided I wanted to dance, and why my customers deserve some respect (unless they earn otherwise). I want to tell you about what makes my job hard, about the days I come home crying, about my injuries, about the people who have insulted me because of my job, and why I still wouldn't trade it for any 9-5 I know of. I also want to tell you things that might help you in life outside of stripping, like how to wear multiple pairs of false lashes, how to give your significant other a lap dance, how to buy a stripper pole for your home, and why your husbands and boyfriends come to see me (and if you should be worried or upset about it if they do).

Got a question you think I should answer? A topic you'd like to see me post about? Hit me up: asktheshowgirl@gmail.com If you want to find out what club I'm working at or hire me for a private engagement, I'm afraid that's not an option at this time.

Want to put a few bills in my virtual g-string? There's a link to my Amazon Wishlist in the lefthand column, anything I receive that's wearable I'll post pictures of to share the wealth.

Please forgive me a little awkwardness, as I decided it was more important to get started posting then to spend tons of time getting it to look perfect. If you have a suggestion on making the blog better, again, hit me up:  asktheshowgirl@gmail.com

So, yeah. Hi. I'm Dixie. Need some company, sugar?

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