my first trip to a nudie bar

My head hurts today thanks to lack of sleep and one too many beers last night. Jess, Pete and I watched the kick-ass band The Witching at The Pussycat Lounge into the wee hours. We all agreed that it was a fabulous -- and fucking strange -- night out. Jess recounts our odd encounter with an ATM in the shady back room of a nearby deli. Had either Jess or I ventured in there alone, odds are we would have been sold into slavery and never seen or heard from again. Sketchiness abounds in that place.

So I've never really been to a girly bar before. I don't know that I'll ever go again. Yuck. It smelled like disinfectant, which I guess is better than NOT smelling like disinfectant but it bothered me somewhat that Pine-Sol needs to be so liberally applied during business hours. I don't think they're mopping up spilled beer, you see...

I don't understand that whole ogling of women business. I also would love to know what the dancers think about as they sit and wiggle on a mirrored surface. Prior to my entering the establishment, I entertained the notion of dating one of these women. My theory was that a stripper would take to me because I'm practical and grounded. Not a sugar mama, mind you, but rather a consistent force of stability... and you know, a guaranteed rockin' romp in the sack, if I do say so myself. But when I entered, I was immediately put off by that dead, vacant "I don't give a fuck" look in their eyes. I don't care how they make their money if they like the work but that sort of detachment scares me. I think I'll set my sights on burlesque dancers since they're self-aware and 'cause I think pasties would be fun to play with.