I’ve been M.I.A. for the past few days, but with good reason–I just turned 26! To celebrate, my friends planned a small karaoke party for me. What’s funny is that I’m the only one who will sing sober (although I sound awful), so most of the party was me singing out-of-tune Journey songs until everyone else was drunk enough to join me.

During our second drunk rendition of Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’”, someone suggested we head to the strip club next.  Some people went home after we paid the tab, but a few of my friends decided to stick around so we piled into my car and headed to the nearest strip club.

Remember how I’ve mentioned the idea of the Hot Mess in previous entries? Well, strippers are the epitome of the Hot Mess, and for me, they’re hard to resist.  We pulled up seats near the side stage and my guy friend, nicknamed Otter (’cause he kind of looks like a cartoon otter), had his wad of bills out and ready. “I’m going to get you a lapdance tonight,” he said, folding a dollar bill and dropping it on the stage right in front of me. My other two girl friends sat on the other side of him and immediately ordered drinks.

The dancer was in the middle of the set, swinging around her pole wildly to “Pour Some Sugar on Me” and scooping up money from the surrounding patrons. She had dirty blonde hair and liked kicking her legs in the air when she danced. When she made her way to Otter, he was squirming enthusiastically in his seat. “Today is my friend’s birthday!” he cheered, pointing at me. “Be nice to her!”

I waved awkwardly and Blondie crawled in front of me. “It’s your birthday, huh?”  She pulled me by the collar of my shirt toward her. “You’re cute.” she paused. “Am I making you nervous?”

I tried to pull away politely, but Otter kept stuffing dollar bills in my shirt pocket. “Uh. I’m fine.”

After her set, she collected the rest of her money and then made her way around the room to see who wanted a lapdance.  She pulled up an empty seat next to me and smacked her cheery glossed lips. “Having a good time?” she asked.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I answered.  “Although, my friend is having a great time. And you?”

She tossed her hair. “It’s going okay. It’s a slow night. So it’s your birthday, huh?”

“Yeah, unfortunately. How come they don’t serve alcohol here?”

“It’s a dry club,” she explained. “Why? Want a drink?” She sprung up from her seat. “Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

She returned holding one of those plastic red cups you get at a dorm party. “Try it,” she said. “We call it the Lexi, after one of the girls here.”

I took a sip. “Wow. Tastes good. Strong.” It tasted a little like listerine and it burned going down.

“It helps me get through my sets,” she said, more to herself than to me.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be–you’re good company.” She rested her head on my shoulder and I was intoxicated by the smell of sweet perfume and sweat. I know all strippers have to be like this. They’re amazing at inflating your ego and making you part with most of your paycheck. I know all of these things, but I was flattered when she decided to spend the next few sets by my side instead of asking others if they wanted a lapdance.

My two girl friends were busy comparing breast sizes (most likely) with the dancers while Otter nursed a beer while folded dollar bills in front of him. When the song finished, he came running up to me grinning. “Hi! Having a good time?”

“Yeah, just hanging out,” I told him.

He looked at Blondie leaning against me and took it as an opportunity.  “Are you giving out lapdances?” he asked her.

She sat up and fixed her hair. “For you, baby? Of course.” It was like the word lapdance had flipped a switch in her and now she was ‘working’ again.

Otter’s head was so full of compliments by now that he was about to tip over. He was drunk with happiness. “Not me. For the birthday girl!”

I waved. “No no, I’m fine.”

“Ahh come on!” he said. He stuffed a few bills into my shirt pocket. “She’s being modest, don’t listen to her. She really wants a lapdance.”

Blondie stood up and was fixing her tiny bikini, practically falling out of her top. “Well, then I’ll be sure to show her a good time.” She winked at Otter.

“Come with me,” she cooed into my ear. I stood up and she grabbed my hand and led me through the seedy club. I imagined that we were actually making our escape out of here, pushing through the crowd. She took me to a back room, with two rows of smaller booths with curtain doors. She pulled back the curtain from the last booth and nodded her head for me to go inside.

It was tiny and honestly I was afraid of touching everything. “Why is there a kleenex box here?”

She laughed. “Well, you know…”

“Ahh. Nevermind. I get it. Would like to get that image out of my head now.” It was basically a tiny room with a bench attached to one wall. It was barely big enough for one person, so I tried not to imagine how they made two people fit in there all the time.

She touched my face, so I would look right into her eyes. They weren’t vacant like the other dancers I saw that night.  They were blue and swirly, dangerous and self-destructive, much like the Hot Mess’ eyes. “Don’t be nervous,” she whispered.

I shifted uncomfortably. “Seriously, you don’t have to do this. We can just sit here and talk. That’s okay with me,” I explained to her. I handed her Otter’s money. “I’ll still give you my friend’s money. It’ll make him feel like he did something nice for me. I won’t tell him that all we did was talk.”

“You’re really sweet.”  She tapped me to scoot over on the tiny bench and sat down beside me, sticking out her legs so her high heels touched the other wall. I did the same and we compared shoe sizes.

She grabbed my shirt collar and pulled me into her, kissing me with all her might. I know it seems strange, but I almost felt like I was watching everything from outside my body. It didn’t really felt like it was happening to me.

The song ended and she stopped abruptly. “Sorry, it’s supposed to be no- touching, so don’t tell anyone. Come on, let’s go back in the front before I get in trouble.”

I pulled out Otter’s money, flustered. “Here. Take this, please.”

“Keep your money, silly,” she said. “I just wanted to know what it’d be like to kiss you.”

We left the club in a daze and when I checked my phone on the way home, I noticed a text message from the Hot Mess.

It read, “Facebook told me today’s your birthday, so happy birthday. Hope you’re having a good time wherever you are.  If you’re nice, maybe you’ll get a birthday kiss.”

No related posts.

Related posts brought to you by Yet Another Related Posts Plugin.

3 Comments » Posted: October 4th 2009
Filed under: The Crazy, The Good
Tagged In: 26 is okay i suppose, don't stop believing, happy birthday, quarter life crisis, strip club, the epitome of the hot mess