Stop Talking to Strippers, Kate

Stop Talking to Strippers, Kate

I went to an awesome birthday/anniversary party in Weho last Saturday night.  The hosts are friends of a friend and they really do it up. It is at their gorgeous home and there are always burlesque dancers, usually fire eaters and the group Barbie’s Addiction shows up (which is comprised of 3 insanely talented dancers that fit into much smaller shorts than I do.  Fuck them.  Just kidding.  Kind of…) and that gets the party started.  Well, this year was different.  

The party started out the same this year as it does every year.  There was a live band in the backyard, you could get your makeup done, there were professional photographers, hot dogs and lots of options for drinks.  When we arrived, it was hotter than blazes outside, so we just collectively whined and drank some beers.  This party is great for people watching and seeing faces you recognize from the “industry” (and subsequently feeling like you’re failing at life),  and it is a great party for being entertained.

This year we were all chatting when a super in shape, insanely good looking dude rolls up with his shirt barely on and with a small Filipino dude holding his stuff in tow behind him.  As the hosts of said party are gay, I thought that this dude was an odd fit and was probably somebody’s straight friend.  Almost immediately, he grabbed a drink, took off his shirt and started dancing on a pole that was lovingly placed by the pool.  Here, this is him doing that –

IMG952931Yup, my creepin’ ass took a photo.  But come ON – what’s happening with those arms?!  Welp, calm down ladies, he’s got baggage (shocking) and he’s not into what you’re selling.  Wanna know how I know this?  CAUSE KATE TALKED FOR WAY TOO DAMN LONG TO THE STRIPPER WITH A DRUG PROBLEM, that’s how I know.

After a few awkward minutes on the pole (no one had enough booze at this point to really want to throw $1 bills at the guy), he stepped off and walked to the middle of the patio area.  Well, I had to know things cause I’m curious about people and life in general.  So, I walked over to him thinking that this was my opening to ask questions.  Nope, apparently this was my opening to play life coach and try and help the stripper get out of the hand job business and into the modeling arena.

underwear-modelsHello, sir, you’re not a real person. Photo – modelingjobshq.com

Me: “Hey!  What’s your name?”

Danny: “I’m Danny.”

Me: “So, you’re a stripper?” (Oh cause YOU have a better opener?  No you don’t.)

Danny: “I’m a dancer, yeah.”

Me: “Cool.  You’re really hot.  Are you gay?”

Danny: (laughs) “Yeah. I mean, it’s new because I used to date chicks, but I’m into guys now.”

Me: “Cool, but bummer for all of us ladies.  What got you into dancing?”

I’ll save you from reading the annoying small talk we exchanged.  Suffice it to say, Danny decided to start dancing when he got asked if he did by an older dude that owned a club (this is how girls end up in porn when they had no plans for that either, people, so stop asking) and his dad left him when he was 3.  The Filipino dude with him works for Wells Fargo and is basically his best friend/booking agent.

finding-a-bookie

Here’s the thing – I can assume that most people that work in that field have some trauma in his/her past and are quite vulnerable to artificial praise on his/her respective appearance.  That part makes me sad, but it is the reality.  That’s part of my industry too (but nobody wants to talk about it).  Where he derailed and possibly sent me into a tailspin of depression was when he started saying that he only has a couple years left to make this money since he’ll be old and gross soon (he’s 25 now for those of you that were waiting for that number so you can go kill yourselves) and then he wants to be a model (..the hell?!).  I gave him some advice on agencies and stuff (I mean he’s hot as hell and most people in Hollywood have drug problems, too) but didn’t know what more I could say.  My main advice was to stop taking meetings and telling people he strips.  There’s a social stigma attached to that…well there used to be.  We can all thank the Kardashians for breaking down the walls of porn crossover, actually.  Moving on…

The reason I am telling this story is that there is a solid justification for why men buy the fantasy and don’t want strippers to say much.  So, if you ever run into Danny out in WeHo where he dances 10 TIMES A WEEK or in Vegas where he drives 5 hours to dance for 4, don’t ask him anything – just oggle his hot body and walk the fuck away.  Otherwise, you’ll end up giving him your phone number to help advise him on the industry.  And, he’ll call you.  And, you’ll have to ignore those calls.  And, this will make you sad.  And if you don’t ignore them, you will believe that life is a sad sack of sad times dripping in sadness.  At least it wasn’t all a loss – I’ve changed my ways, and I’ve got Danny to thank.

Moral of the Story – Danny gives great lap dances and is available for parties.  For 2 more years.  Dear. God.