Aftershocks of the Crazy Lust

Okay, now that I have told the story of how I met Heather, I will tell another story about her.

Okay, this was a few months after I moved into my new apartment. I was at the club on my night off enjoying drinks with friends and watching the monthly wet t-shirt contest. We and my boys were sampling the amateur buffet and having a great time flirting with all the horny college girls. I struck up a conversation with this girl, I have no idea what her name was so let’s just say her name was..err…Natalie. Well I had seen Natalie in the club before with a few of our regulars so I was talking to her about random crap and the conversation was getting a little serious, well as serious as one can get when one is talking to a girl with rock hard nipples sticking out of a soaked white t-shirt.

Well it would turn out that Natalie was with friends and since I had two of my buddies with me, Natalie brought over her girlfriends and you know who one of them was? That is right my friends, that crazy bitch Heather. Have you ever seen a grown man run like a little school girl who just saw a snake? Well that was me, I just bolted followed by an angry crazy bitch who threw a beer bottle at me, then keyed my car as I locked myself inside.

Long story short, the cops came, she got arrested since there was a restraining order placed on her and she was banned by the club, and that is why I continued to work there. I was insulated from that crazy bitch for a little longer, yet she would turn up in the months to come.

That however, will be a story for another time.

Crazy Lust

My fellow readers, I have neglected this blog for too long and I have now found the time to pick up my keyboard again and start telling more tails from the VIP room.
One story that I reflected on with much displeasure in my past was a story of love, well more like a story of lust. As you readers may know, I was in a six month relationship with a lovely brunette named Lindsay and I vowed to stay single after her departure. Well, that didn’t work out too well. This story starts like so many others, and ends, like so many others.

I was club hopping with some buddies on a Friday night and looking for a date for the evening. The night went well with pitchers of beers and a serious buzz. I was striking out and was feeling the seventh inning stretch. Last call was called and I starting chatting up a girl at the bar. I have no idea what I said since I was so drunk, but it apparently worked and I ended up going back to her place for a few hours of steamy nookie. She gave me her number and I left for home. A week later, I found the number and wondered who the fuck “Heather” was, so, I called. Big mistake! As soon as she picked up the phone I remembered who it was and I immediately wanted to get off the phone, yet she started to chat me up and we ended up going out to a movie and then, back to her place. You know how you don’t want to be mean and blow someone off? Well that was me and I caved big time. The only thing was, well, I was sober and this girl didn’t sit right with me. I made an excuse as to why I couldn’t spend the night and I booked it as soon as I could. I tossed out the number so I would never be so stupid to call it again.
Then, all the fun began.

It turns out that this girl was friends with a guy who knows a girl who knew a guy who was friends with someone’s third cousin who knew me. So she got my address and telephone number (she didn’t have call display as per why she never called before). So, I hadn’t talked to her in over a month and one day out of the blue, this girl calls me and asks why I had been ducking her. She goes on to tell me she went to the club looking for me and even went to my employer (the other club) and she wanted to know why I was such an asshole and why I use women. This caught me quite as a surprise and I just told her I didn’t really feel a connection and blah blah blah. Well she hung up on me, and then started calling me twice an hour for the rest of the day. I just stopped answering the phone. Two calls and hour tuned out to be 5, then 10, then 20. I didn’t use my phone for a few days. Finally I went out my back door to my parking lot the find the word “Bitch” painted on my hood and my tires slashed.

Funny huh? We’re just beginning.
The calls died down but I would mostly get calls on a Friday or Saturday night around 3am, I would answer and the person would hang up. I thought it was all over. Then one day, I came home to find her talking to my roommate. Yeah, she was sitting there on the couch talking to my fucking roommate. I took my roomy aside and asked why the heck this crazy bitch was here and he told me that he thought we were dating and it was all cool. Well I told her to leave and naturally she freaked out and locked herself in my bathroom. After about an hour I got pissed off and kicked my bathroom door open and her reply was to rip my bathroom sink off the wall. I have no idea how the hell she did it.

I used physical force to toss her out then called to police in fear of my tires getting slashed again. She was arrested and whisked away and three days later, my tires were slashed again. I promptly packed up and found another apartment. I guess it was safe to say I would be single for a while.

To this day, whenever I am in that town, I keep my eyes to the ground in fear of what I may see.

Superbowl Sunday

More and more as the months went on, I would find myself hanging out in the very club that I worked. I mean hanging out, on my days off. As scary as that sounds to me today, it was fun back then. I would always head to the club with my buddies because of my “inside” knowledge of everything. It is amazing how popular you become when you can get your friends inside without a cover charge.

One Superbowl Sunday, I ventured forth to the club with two of my buddies to watch the Superbowl on a projection screen, enjoy free pizza, half priced beer and lap dances. I could think of nothing better on a Sunday night.

The evening was fun, and quite enjoyable. Sunday was always the changing of the guard and I got to sample the new dancers who revolved to our humble club. Sunday was always a good night to work, or a good night to hang out.

The evening ended when my buddy Steve, yeah the guy from my first entry, passed out on the loveseat in the rear. As Steve was getting awaken and ousted by the Brick Shithouse, Steve cocked his head to one side and puked all over the bouncer’s shoes. Man did I lose some street cred with that little stunt.

Steve spent the next few hours sitting on the bench outside as Todd and I enjoyed the rest of the night. Served Steve right for being such a cheap drunk. Todd got scammed out of $200 from random dancers. The girls love guys like Todd, always willing to throw his money around in desperate hopes of getting laid. It cost Todd $200 to find out that getting laid that night was just a pipe dream.

The girls (most of them) were professionals.

Far too long...

Well shit, if you readers have not noticed, I have not produced a new entry in quite some time. I just find it ever so hard to find the time to sit down, and write. Between the job, social life, and the woman, time just falls out of my hands. Maybe if I didn’t have to sleep every night, perhaps, only then, could I find the time to do everything.

But when it comes down to it, I am just a lazy bastard. I can admit that, but this is my blog, so I can update whenever I feel like it…. Yet, to the dismay of my loyal readers. I do not mean to neglect you.

I recently realized that this blog was featured on Fleshbot’s website in regards to the “Sex Blog Roundup”. I was happy to see that I was featured with Ex-Millenial Girl, who I would regard as my muse. My blog was quotes as follows….

Girls Gone Wild....Too Wild

“One of my favorite things about working at a strip club was the feature nights. My favorite was the amateur wet t-shirt contest. This feature was a night you loved to hate, or just loved. An excuse for drunken college girls to take off their tops and expose the goods. I didn't mind one bit. The wet t-shirt contest was a great way to meet new people and yes, pick up a date. I have no shame...”

- True Confessions of a Strip Club Bouncer

I guess I have a sense of achievement to see that I have been recognized for my works, yet I feel a slight sense of shame since I have neglected me work for so long. I guess my morality has become a two-way street.

College Girls Gone Wild......Too Wild

One of my favorite things about working at a strip club was the feature nights. My favorite was the amateur wet t-shirt contest. This feature was a night you loved to hate, or just loved.

An excuse for drunken college girls to take off their tops and expose the goods. I didn’t mind one bit. The wet t-shirt contest was a great way to meet new people and yes, pick up a date. I have no shame; I’m the first to admit it. All the other staff was the exact same way. JP just loved these nights.

As I stated before, you have to take your good with the bad and the bad was, girls and alcohol. I am sure I have explained this point in a previous post but I must reinforce this ideology once more. Men get drunk and we fight and we get a little rowdy yes, I will admit that, however, woman are a completely different story.

Woman mixed with booze equals no morals and thus nothing will ever be taboo. We always run a full security staff on nights like these as per the amateurs would pick fights with the dancers, the amateurs would pick fights with the amateurs, amateurs were giving hand jobs to regulars in the parking lot, amateurs were passing out on the floor, amateurs would not get off the stage because they were having too much fun with the pole and we would have to physically pick them up and drag them off the stage.

You just have to stand back and let everything wash over you, then you smile and the aggravation slowly subsides and laughter takes over. Case in point, one night, one girl was so drunk by the time she got up on stage that she started dancing, then, puked all over the stage, then passed out and fell off the stage into the arms of a few guys in perverts row. Almost like the scene from the movie “Detroit Rock City” only with a woman.

Yeah, college girls went wild once a month. Wild was an understatement.

Little pig little pig, LET ME IN !

It was an ordinary Thursday night if there was any. I was back to work, The Little Mobster went back to his cushy house with his stripper wife, J.P was happy because he could once again run the club and sample to new arrivals.

There was an average turnout, tips were going well, I was running errands for a few girls, softening them up for a nice tip out at the end of the night. The waitresses were talkative; the night just wore on and on. There was little trouble, as per this club was manageable and most of the rift raft and parasites went to the other club where they knew they could purchase their dope and a trick at the same shithole.

The night finally ended and the doors were locked. Clean up had begun and the beers were going down easy and then….. The racket began; BOOM BOOM BOOM at the front door. We paid the racket no mind and went about our business, but then again the sound BOOM BOOM BOOM. Someone was pounding at the front door.

I went the front door and notified the customer that we apologized for any incontinence but were we closed and if he/she would like to come back tomorrow, that would be terrific. Well okay, it was more like “We’re closed you asshole, so fuck off”.

All was silent and 5 minutes later, a huge crash sounded and the walls shook, the display case glass had shattered all over the floor, some girls jumped to the floor and dust blew out from the front door. The huge crash was more like an artillery attack then a guy beating on the door so Chris and I ran out the side entrance and found some drunk had just tried to drive his car though the front door. He was dazed, staggering and swearing like a sailor.

Chris just laughed “You stupid dumb fuck… ohh my fucking gawd” the driver promptly chucked a beer bottle at us and tried to run away. I called the cops and 20 minutes later the drunk was apprehended.

I didn’t get home until 6am after the rounds and rounds of questioning from the cops. The drunk said I hit him and we had to convince the 5-0 that I did no such thing.

I went home, smoked some weed and went to bed. That night of excitement was just too much for myself. It never ceases to amaze me how stupid one becomes when alcohol is introduced. I never did find out why the guy tried to get into the club, guess he was just bored and needed something to do.

What a dumb shit.

The Big Bad Me

Now that I think on it, I am sorry that I don’t have more pictures from this era. Since I worked in the kind of establishment that I did, flash photography was prohibited and this, I never had a camera on me. I didn’t really socialize with most of my co-workers and the ones I did socialize with, well…. I kicked them out the next morning. So umm, yeah.

I do have pictures of me however, and at most times, this does not help to tell the story of my experiences. I frown upon this rational.

Wow, just another week of me being stupid

I was exiled from the land of flesh for three days. I attempted to contact JP to inquire about when my shift would be and the “little mobster” answered the phone. Since I am such a dumb shit, I asked him when my next shift would be and got an ear full of “3jkejcew efvkvker ekrjmviejr ejrpjepoir erjr efvjrdfj erfvjerfjr” which meant blah blah blah, I’m bad, blah blah blah I should know better, blah blah blah, I should be more responsible, blah blah blah come in for Friday”

Hot dog! I fuck up and get handed the Friday night shift. As I had stated in a previous post, Friday nights were a cash cow. I could clear some serious dough on a Friday night. I needed it since I had not work for about a week and my road trip had left me a little strapped for cash.

I took a trip to the drug store that day and purchased several items like Advil, Pepto-Bismol and stuff for my sunburnt face, ears, neck, arms, back, and legs. Ouch, fuck I was in some serious pain. I spent the next few days drinking beer, and smoking weed with Steve and Steve and playing hours of Smack down 2 for the Playstation 1. I really couldn’t do anything else. I also got a visit from my landlord advising me to pay my rent before I was evicted. My week was not going well. I shouldn’t have fucked off and went to Barrie. So stupid of me. Well, I did have fun.

I also got another flat on my way to meet my girlfriend for dinner. I got chewed up major for that little bit and was notified that I needed to grow up.

Now that I reflect back on those years, I truly say that I was an immature asshole. I would like to think that after four years, I have finally shaped up. Well, only time will tell I guess.

Up Shit Creek

“Where the fuck have you been?” Was the first thing I heard as I entered the front door at work. My Manager was pissed and worst of all, the owner was in town and had taken a sudden interest to how the whole place was running. This did not create an enjoyable working environment when JP was pissed. Mark…. Oh fuck….Mark (the owner) was as useless as tits on a bull. I shit you not. For one to understand Mark, I would need to describe him.

Mark’s English was really bad, I mean really bad. His accent was a mix of French and Middle Eastern. Mark was very short and dressed like an Italian mobster. Lots of Adidas jump suites, gold chains, rings o’plenty, sunglasses (in a dark bar) and the classic slicked back dark hair that was dripping wet with hair gel.

Yeah I was in shit from the gods of the strip club world. I guess my little escapade of taking off for a weekend worked out so well. I was hung over, I was sunburnt to the point where it hurt when I moved, I was in a foul mood, and I had the “littler mobster” yelling at me.

“I cannot run a respectable business when the help will not show up” or it actually sounded like “emfknmdvrdfkvdf fvpervpdv ermpemjvpoe 3repvcere” but you learned to decipher the meaning of most things as you spent more time around the “Little Mobster”

I was sent home to think about what I had done and to consider if I wanted to continue working at this club. I was more than happy to go home and sleep. Ohhh, the sleep.

We came, we saw, we left

So, the day of events was worth the frustration. Beer, weed, girls, tittles, and hours of playing that game .....You know the one....where you rate women out of 10. The day was cold, windy, crowded, no place to sit, no place to piss, plenty of places to smoke up. I saw Cake, Project Whyze (or however the fuck you spell it) Our Lady Peace, Bif Naked and yes, Tool. I also dropped $100 on nothing.

My companions and I skipped out early to sell our ticket stubs to teenagers for half the original ticket price, then we hit the bar one last time. Then I met this girl. Guys let me just give you some words of advice, never promise a girl you’ll be right back, only to be found 15 minutes later, hitting on another girl. Yeah, I was blasted and took one of those cliché drink splashed in my face. Double J said I just laughed for like five minutes.

We hit the road, back to our meaningless lives and out deadbeat jobs. Fuck, my boss is gonna be pissed.

Next Morning

Okay so Tool was just one of the many bands that were playing that day. Among the other bands to rock the house, Weezer, Bif Naked, The Tea Party, Project Whyze and a few other god-awful hunks of shit (Our Lady Peace)..

That morning, we arose to headaches, stiff muscles, shattered egos, and a liquid breakfast. Nothing like a Screwdriver to get you going in the morning. We hopped in our car, hid our weed in convenient places on our bodies and off we went.

That morning it had rained, and rained hard. The sky looked like it would open up on us at any moment, so headed to Wal-Mart to purchase garbage bags as a cheap alternative to rain jackets. Would you know it but over a hundred people were fighting over waterproof objects at the Wal-Mart. Yes, fellow concertgoers. Double J wasted $60 on a rain jacket. We spent $2.50 on 50 glad garbage bags. Well of course we made fun of him… the whole day. I guess it didn’t help things when it didn’t rain at all. As we stood in the endless line, awaiting our entrance to the music extravaganza, some girls mistook Double J’s raincoat price take as a VIP pass. Well sure we chatted the girls up a bit and acted like we were hot stuff with VIP passes. One good thing that this rainjacket brought to us…Well until Double J told them it wasn’t a VIP pass. They left right after that.

We were frisked from head to toe by security and I will tell you, not the toughest guy in the world will frisk your junk. So yeah, that’s where I had my weed. No problems, on we went.