So I recently was charged with planning a bachelorette party for one of my girlfriends. None of the bridesmaids involved in the planning lived in the city where the party had to take place and none of us lived near each other, so it was a bit of a challenge to coordinate the logistics.
We figured it’d be simple: Find a dance club or a strip club (although I used to be a stripper myself, I’m not a fan of male dancers ;), pile a bunch of ladies in a car and call it a nite… But after we called around a bit we found that there were no male strip clubs — or is it female strip clubs (not sure what you would call a club where men dance — is it a male strip club because the dancers are male, or a female strip club because it’s primarily for women… who knows?…) Anyway, there were tons of places to see dancing girls, but none for boys.
Now we gotta find a freelance wardrobe-removal consultant (I believe that’s the proper PC term for this career) So naturally we turned to Myspace… The rate wasn’t outrageous — $200 for a private show — so I said sure let’s go for it, and we locked it in.
We rented a suite for the nite, bought a bunch of liquor, and had the bride convinced that we weren’t gonna do anything wild — just drink, listen to music and hang out on her next to last nite of single-ness ;) Dude was scheduled to arrive around 10:30 but he didn’t show up until well after 11. Then when he came to the door, he was still in his street clothes — no cop or electrician or room service uniform. Just a dude in jeans with a suitcase. Totally ruined the surprise “Where do I change?” he asked.
“Really?” I shouted back.
We pointed him to the bathroom and he was like “No, I can’t change in there. What if people have to go to the bathroom? I’ll be tying it up.” And I was like, “I think we’ll be OK. We all peed during the hour we were waiting for you. If anything comes up, we can hold it ’til you change.” But he insisted on changing in the bedroom. He gave us a CD to play in the boom box and told us which track to use. So we cued it up, sat back and waited for the show.
5… 10… 15… 25 minutes pass and he has not yet begun the show. One of the other ladies knocks on the bedroom door and he says he’ll be out in a minute. And all I can think is this fool is in there stealing all my stuff! He’s probably gone thru my purse and bag and packed all my valuables in the bottom of his suitcase.
When he finally comes out to begin dancing, I make a beeline for the bedroom to make sure every penny, credit card, etc. is where it should be. I check all my belongings and then I realize he’s been using a laptop and there are a ton of unlabeled DVDs lying on the bed — and it hits me.
Dude was back here fluffing.
Or whatever you call it. Yuck! It never even crossed my mind that he would have to *do that* before he performed. But I guess it makes sense. If you go to a club I guess they can do it backstage — but when backstage is your bedroom, well…
The rest of the nite was ruined for me. I was so upset I couldn’t think of anything else. I already didn’t love strippers, but this was like an MTV True Life episode of what goes on behind the scenes. Thanks a lot stripper guy for making it way too real.
No more strippers. Ever.