Private Stripper Lessons

You'd be amazed at how hard it is to find something to do in Las Vegas--the city of lights which never sleeps. Once one is off the strip, the city become amazingly normal--the freak shows only occur once in a while as opposed to on every corner. Most nights I find myself at home, in my poorly furnished apartment, either reading, writing, doing lesson plans or downloading TV on demand. In short-my life is fairly boring and normal.

One of my friends (and I have to protect her animonity because she has a different day job *wink, wink*) has taken to supplementing her income at night by striping at one of Vegas' many upscale and posh gentleman's clubs. I did not know this--until she showed up to my house for dinner last night half in costume. After dinner, I asked her where she was working so late, knowing that she had to work in the morning. She took off her sweatshirt, this revealing a bra top with swinging gold tassles.

OK.

Then, under threat of death and being sworn to utter silence, she informed me that she was working as a stripper part time.

OK.

Then, she told me it was an all nude establishment.

OK.

Well, my friends pay big bucks to have a woman come set up a pole in their basements for private pole dancing lessons--usually at a martini night or bachelorette party. I figured, I have a real life stripper right here--I may as well learn something while I can.

Those of you who have ever seen me dance know that I am not what you would call "good." I'm not even adequate. I'm a C-, on a good day. I have limited rhythm, I like to swing my hair around and am frequently off beat. Eight years of ballet, tap and jazz evidently had no lasting side effects, like the ability to move my feet with the beat. So when Random Friend Who is Not a Teacher offered to show me some moves, I jumped at the chance. I learned how to make my booty cheeks clap--not really, but that's how I imagined it in my head. I learned how to crawl sedutively on the floor--not fun on a harsh carpet. I even learned how to work a pole--not a real pole, a light stand. One of the biggest problems, however, is not my dancing; it is my inability not to smile. Evidently a big cheesy grin while stripping is not sexy.

*M*