- Left home with $150 to blow between Deja Vu and Platinum Showgirls (FYI, we never made it to Platinum...the unc turned into a pumpkin and...if you can believe it...got bored and wanted to head home)
- Got 5 vodkas (1 cherry, 4 grape) with Red Bull (my drink of choice) at $4.75 apiece (the unc bought two of them)
- Got six boobs on my face of varying size and at varying times, but all told I had an absolute value of probably a dozen face-to-titty interactions (stage gratitude plus couch dances)
- Three couch dances total at $15 apiece (the unc paid for one), the first was very nice, the last two were just one LONG one with a gal named Racquel who came to sit at our table and bullshit with us afterwards for about a half hour....naked....and completely comfy with it. Gotta love that.
- About $9 spent in stage tips, and the ladies were far less greedy than the ones in NYC, where one had the nerve to tell me to tip $100 or not at all. You can guess which option I chose.
I walked in with $150 and walked out with $97. Not bad at all, in my mind. I expected to spend more, but I have it down to a near science. Would you like to know more? Of course you would.
I grab a seat, not right at the stage, but pretty close, and examine the merchandise. I don't make any bones about this. It's a meat market for all intents and purposes. I watch how they dance, how they're built, and after the first full rotation, I know who I'm going to start spending some money on. Even then, I don't go berserk with it....a few bucks here and there, the occasional lap dance, and it's all good. PACE YOURSELF. If you run out of money in the first hour, you're gonna start feeling the booze wear off, and the ladies stop paying attention to you. That's a shitty place to be.
I also do not buy into the facade that they really are interested in me any more than a grocery store cashier is interested in how many hot dogs and ravioli I buy, so long as I pay and walk out with a smile on my face. I will never get a date with any of these girls, despite the unc pressing the issue between me and Racquel; it's legally considered prostitution if she even accepts a phone number from the clientele. However, I respected that and told her that the sentiment was there nonetheless. She was great. It's hard to compare one great dancer to another. It's like picking the impurities out of a gold bar. Who the fuck cares at that point; both she and my fave vixen at Rick's in NYC were top shelf acts. The rest is just details.
So the story has a happy ending, but I still want to see what Platinum has to offer. Tonight was Foxy Boxing, which didn't really pique anyone's interest anyway. I'm happy to see that no one's vocally chastizing me for taking these little adventures in bachelorhood, not that it would stop me at this point anyway. Now I just need someone willing to reap the whirlwind of a hornified me. Now accepting applications....