Story of a True BAD ASS

I have never been known for my ability to hold my alcohol.  I am only about 110 lbs and drinking is a rare occurrence for me so it does not take much for me to be three sheets to the wind.  I almost always turn down alcohol but every now and then I give in and have a drink.  My friends egg me on by saying things like, “Just have one, you’ll be fine!  It’s just one!”  But for me, “just one” is halfway there.

So, one Friday night, I caved.  *Sean, the bar back and couch room attendant, was pouring shots for my friends, *Nikki, *Jim, and himself.  We were doing a champagne room.  “I’ll have one too.” I said.  After a little while, we ordered food, ate it all, and on a full stomach I decided another would be no problem.

Time passed.  We were having a good time.  The club was beginning to fill up.  So after our time was through, I bid my friends goodbye to go mingle with the customers at the bar.

“I’m a mystery woman” I teased, putting on the sparkling, blue sequined mask that perfectly matched my neon blue boa.  “I must go make my appearance on stage.  After all, my fans are waiting!”  All night I had been enjoying my costume.  It truly was awesome.

Last time I wore a boa, it was a hot pink one that matched the pink accents on my outfit and the pink feathered earrings I was wearing.  It looked great.  That night I looked over at *Sadie in her pink glittery get-up and remembered her saying she owned a shirt that said, “I FART GLITTER.”  Her hair looked especially blonde next to her pink two-piece lingerie set.  My dark brown hair hung down in waves against the hot pink feathers.  I’m not Barbie.  She’s Barbie.  I am Barbie’s brunette friend, Teresa.  That’s why I chose the blue boa this time.

Not too long after my second shot, my ego had only grown to larger proportions.  I had just done three champagne rooms in a row.  I was walking down with my fourth customer for another.  I held his hand, looked in the mirror on the way down the stairs, and thought, I really am a star tonight.  LOOK AT ME.  I am a true BAD ASS. I was loving my blue outfit from the tip of my feathered boa to the rhinestone studded, black mini-dress I was wearing.

I paused in front of the mirror in the hall to take a mental snap shot of myself and my new customer.  The guy was bald and looked as though he could’ve been a bouncer.  When I first approached him, I was thrown off by his all black clothing and wondered if maybe we had hired a new security person.  Luckily he was not a new hire and he was in fact interested in doing private dances with me.  Now we were on our way.

I have always thought it would be funny if the mirror in the hall was secretly a camera that would take a snap shot of you with the stripper of your choice.  Or there could be a camera in the couch room that would capture your expression mid-lap dance like the ones that take your photo on the gut wrenching drop of a roller-coaster.  Your eyes are always shut tightly and your mouth is wide open while your hair is flying straight out of your head.  I can imagine the kiosk outside of the couch room, trying to sell you key-chains and mugs with your mid-lap dance face photograph in the center.  “Just $14.99 for a key-chain!”

As we descended down the stairs I was thinking about how my sisters, our friends, and I used to get dressed up as whores when we were kids.  We used to put on makeup and stuff our bras with water balloons or tissues.  We wore our mother’s high heels and darkened our red lipstick with eye liner pencils.  Sometimes we’d even roll up paper and make fake cigarettes, the extra-long kind of course, because we were high class hoes.

Playing “whore” was so much fun.  It’s still fun.  This must have been what I was practicing for all those years of putting my dolls in shiny pink pleather and the many times I scuffed up my mother’s high heels.  Now I am center stage, a star in this this little strip club, but a star nonetheless.  And I was pretty AWESOME at it.  In fact, I was a real BAD ASS.

We were about three or four steps to the bottom of the stairs when I somehow missed a step.  My knee-high patent leather boots slid against the stairs while the top half of me flew forward and did not stop until I hit both wall and floor.  *Sean came running after hearing the noise.  He helped me up while asking, “You want another Jack Daniels?” and laughing.

I had a long scrape that ran down my right shin and a big scrape on my knee.  My customer had apparently failed to catch me in time and had literally watched me fall on my face.  So much for being a BAD ASS.  I was extremely glad that we did not have a camera to take snap shots on the way down, because I sure wouldn’t want this to end up on someone’s key-chain for the next ten years!

*Please note that I have changed some names to protect the anonymity of those involved.*