Friday, February 24, 2012
This is Bob, despite his questionable taste in sports franchises he is my friend. He has mentioned to me on a number of occasions his desire to be included in one of these pointless missives. Be careful what you ask for Bob............
Last year I was invited to attend a surprise birthday party for Bob. How old he was that day is immaterial, for the purpose of this essay let it suffice to say three quarters dead. So I hopped in the car and headed for Kelowna. The plan for the party was for our friend Pat to get Bob out of the house so the guests could arrive, and the place could be made ready for the big surprise upon his return. Sounds like a decent plan on paper, but what no one was counting on was that Pat would take him to a recently opened strip bar down the road. Not unlike myself Pat and Bob are of that age where a man slips comfortably into the classification of old lech and perv, so how do you get them out of the tittie bar? Time past, everyone had arrived. Precautions were taken in parking vehicles so as not to give anything away. All had gone as planned, but the guest of honor was still drinking beer while watching girls young enough to be his Grand daughter dance poorly around a pole.
Bob's better half Kathy is a saint. She actually has the patience to put up with his shenanigans.......
It took Kathy calling Bob and telling him that his Mother had shown up unexpectedly to get the boys to give up their seats in gynecology row and to leave ogling women who smell like a bunch of men for another day. Bob was a bit mortified by the idea of having to explain to his Mother where he had been, and why he smelled of beer at noon on a Saturday. This made the big "SURPRIIIIISE" all the sweeter when he arrived home.
Later after the dust had settled, and Bob and I were having a smoke outside I asked him, "So what were the peelers like"?
"There was only one good looking one, but she didn't look too happy", he said.
It took me a second, I replayed his response in my head and said, "Really? She didn't look happy? Really? Bob, she was once a young girl with dreams and aspirations. It would never have occurred to her that one day she would be on some dark stage on a Saturday morning holding her labia open for the likes of you and Pat".
I could picture the two of them sitting there imploring her to afford them a better view of her "peehole" and "turd cutter". She didn't look happy, God's Balls!
All of this brings back memories of earlier times. Strip bars really do nothing for me now, it really is surgically enhanced women dancing poorly on or around a pole, or taking a shower. The days of the intimate lap dance seem to have gone by the wayside, in Calgary at least. But back in the day I enjoyed them for what they were, somewhere to be visually stimulated while you got drunk. I had my share of fun times. One day the boys and I took score cards with a 1 - 10 rating and flashed them after every dancer. Strangely the girls didn't seem impressed, perhaps we were stingy. I recall yelling loudly at ever girl on stage halfway through their set, "Divest thyself of thine raiments harlot"!!!!
One night one slapped my face as I sat in gynecology row because I was watching the hockey game instead of her giving a kegel demonstration. Coincidentally that was the night that I realized I was getting old. I recall a rather homely one, the kind where if you saw her on the street the last thing you'd want would be to see her naked, crawling across the stage. She took off my business partner's tie and ran it between her legs, like she was trying to wipe herself after piddles and grunties. She then proceeded to tie it around his face right under his nose. He just turned to me and said, "fuck, that was my favorite tie".
Another night a friend and I went to Calgary's now defunct "Dooie Stevens" strip club for customer appreciation night. The idea was that the dancers would give a gift to a lucky customer after she danced. I don't know what vibe I was giving off, but five strippers in a row gave me their gifts. Even the DJ said, "man what's with this guy". I got a Molson Ice carry bag, some beer mugs, sun glasses and other pretty good stuff.
Some buddies and I were at "The Place" in Lethbridge chatting up a table of chicks. I struck up a conversation with a pretty one. Allow me to rephrase, she may have been pretty.....put it this way, she was pretty to me at that moment as I had 16 beers in me. I asked her what she did and she told me she was a dancer. "You're a stripper"? I asked. She looked aghast and replied, " I am an exotic dancer". A more tactful man may have left it at that, but having never been accused of being overly tactful I said, "Oh please, that's like a hooker saying that she's not a prostitute, but rather an "extractor of sperm. It's just your way of feeling better about yourself". Needless to say I didn't spray paint her tonsils that night.
Then there was the night that my friend Darren and I thought it was a good idea to steal this big fire extinguisher from "The French Maid" so that we could use it to spray the hookers downtown. We led the bouncers on a merry foot chase for many blocks.............but I'll save this story for another installment.
Strippers are not like they are portrayed in movies. For every beautiful stripper, there are two unattractive ones, and none that I have met have a heart of gold. Yes, I've known a number of them in my time, and though I am loathe to stereotype I will anyway.
The really good looking ones have a certain haughtiness about them that is quite undeserved. I feel like telling them, "So you're a high class, "A" circuit stripper. On the social ladder that places you below high class escort or the lowliest of porn stars". (Even the women in beast porn actually do something with their slime sockets besides teasing).
Then there's the other end of the spectrum comprised of the poorest, heavily tattooed, usually drug reliant, hooker on the side, white trash whose stomachs at any given time are filled with either dong vomit or baby. The less said the better.
I read a sociological study some years back that suggested that these heart of gold, working her way through medical school strippers are another urban legend for the most part. The simple fact of the matter is that they are lazy. Stripping provides a lot of money for a modicum of work, the ramifications of which most of them never think of. It stated expediency over ruled such considerations as social or familial consequence, and there was no forethought given to the inevitably of age. Let's be realistic here. Most stripppers can't even take to the time to learn to dance properly, and really why should they have to? They should dispense with those first two or three songs by Bon Jovi where they teeter around the stage before getting naked. Dancing is as important to stripping as clever, organic dialogue is to porn for guys. Indeed I'd be more inclined to lob my change at a peeler if she duck walked across the stage with a huge black rubber cock stuffed in up front and a Pepsi can protruding from her anus. Whatever, they serve a purpose, even if it is just eye candy or giving erections to pubescent males. After all how else does a young man become proficient at throwing loonies at a target these days?