I have been putting off writing this blog because it's a paycation (coined by Kat) I don't care to re-visit. I did not make millions and that black cloud has overstayed it's welcome. I've been really trying to not be the one creating it, so I'm convinced it is all outside variables, not something I'm manifesting with my bad attitude. I swear!
We start at the beginning. I must be very weird to be seated next to, while flying. I wear ear plugs, an eye mask and, at anytime, will "do the Tri-Met" and jerk myself awake, sometimes throwing my hands out to grab the seat in front of me if a bit of turbulence hits. "Oops, sorry... I'm.. sleepy.. heh." I'll mutter to my aisle mate. yikes. I got to settle in at Ann's (a former co-worker and friend of my sister's) house and spend some time with my estranged brother's on-again-off-again girlfriend of several years. This darling girl is still willing to keep contact with me even though my asshole brother chooses to disown me due to my life choices and an overall deep seeded anger at me. Moving along! Love her, and Ann. I got to play with 3 dogs all weekend too. A handsome, dopey, yearling american bulldog, a wee black tea-cup poodle, and a quiet ChowChow mix. Creature comforts.
Headed to work at Barely Legal on Tue night, was greeted by familiar faces and some "Lark, you're back!" After getting ready, I headed to the office to fill out my 2012 contract. I got blindsided by something that wasn't an issue in Oct. now is, and now my contract would only be good until the end of my trip because I "have too many tattoos". (I do have very many, I get it but... huh?) They were willing to let me work that week but I couldn't have stage rotation on Fri & Sat. (except for one fire show) because the club is trying to get back to the 'barely legal image' and there were others girls that needed to be rotated because I'm too covered. Then tears, I said that I had texted said manager; another manager, and the manger in STL, that I was gonna be there that week. The other manager had confirmed my 6 shifts on the schedule. I still could get my low stage fee, and do fire the other nights. This didn't seem worth it. I was pissed and really sad, I liked that club a lot. It's the cleanest club on Bourbon and that's my style. I made money there too!
I stayed for Tue. night and Wed. night. I was devastated. I barely spoke to any customers, didn't give a single dance in those two days and made sure to tell everyone, not bitching but professionally, that I wouldn't be back after that week, ever. I got a ride home from 2 of the new, very dumb, 18 year olds after I went to the 24 hour diner in the Quarter so they could "eat steak". I ran into the entertainment director from Hustler STL and shared my outrage and sentiment about how the club has been run as of lately. He told me he was quitting on Thur and going back to STL and called said manager some choice names. I adore him and am so glad I just happened to see him. On the ride home I got to listen to the two girls bitch about living with their parents, not being able to drink at work, and a bunch of other dumb shit spoiled, white, young, dumb girls talk about.
Plugged along through my Wed night shift. I was a little better at talking to people that night. There was a major douche bag that came in with a few more well behaved guys. Said db's daddy's owned a big company and they were all on his tab. I called him out when he snapped his fingers at the bartender to order and didn't say please. "I don't say please!" Wow, you must have so many service industry workers who like serving you. He tipped 50 cents for about 4 drinks. There was an older gentleman that I remembered from Oct. He didn't remember me, nor did he want any dances. Another brother there came in wearing headphones. Brilliant! You can ignore the girls spitting game at you AND you don't have to listen to the shitty top 40 they play. I'm stealing your idea.. HA! I had an ok conversation with a man from western Africa named Victor. I struggled to understand his thick accent but he was nice, engaging and bought me a drink. But didn't tip or buy dances, or tip me for talking to him for-everrrrr about all the places he's been and lived, and where I should travel to. Did I mention I'm Travel-Working?! right now! Cause I am, that means I need *your* money. Bums, all of 'em!
After much deliberation I went to audition at 2 other clubs. I wore a cute dress, did my hair and make-up but didn't even make it through the door at Hustler Club. When I told the 3 staff at the door "I'd like to audition, please." An older looking lady of authority responded "You have entirely too many tattoos." I could even squeak out a "but I'm pretty, and talented!" before the security staff chimed in, "have you tried Deja Vu?". I killed time until later Thur. night eating & drinking with my buddy Alex at Angeli. I auditioned at Deja Vu, and worked there 4 nights Thur - Sun. Boy, what a fucking nightmare that was. First of all the club is kind of a dump, it looks nice on the surface and in the dark, but the more time I spent there the more I hated it. It was two stories. It had 1 main oval, solid marble stage (ouch! my knees!) with one static and 1 spinning pole on it, another smaller circle stage on the main floor, and one up stairs in VIP. Same chairs and tables as all the other Larry Flynt clubs, and a long bar with no chairs on on side of the big main floor room. A tiny dance room housed about 10 booths all lined up classroom style, so you couldn't really see what was going on in them. SKETCH! I walked past the booths and caught glimpses of patrons' hands stroking breasts, and girls just plain lay-humping on guys. This is what I was competing with. A large stair case went up to the DJ booth, dressing room (which was ok, and big) & VIP rooms and bar. By the end of 4 shifts my fucking hamstrings were killing me going up & down 2 flights of stairs 100 times a night. There was an elevator at Barely! The VIP was a smaller Safari themed room, and you could go out on the balcony. I spent a lot of time out there trying to be alone. Everywhere I walked my shoes stuck to the carpet. You could see the dark track of grime running down the hallways and the color the carpet use to be along the edges. There was a ripped out section of carpet in the dressing room entrance exposing bare floor next to 2 gross old dance couches girls would sleep on when they gave up working and would nap the rest of their shift. The stages never got cleaned and got covered with the shit sticking to everyones shoes. There was a trash can that had to stay right next to main stage to catch a major drip from the AC and would soak the chairs next to it. The patrons reflected the crappiness of the club and would just ash their cigarettes wherever, (you can smoke in NOLA bars) and throw their candy wrappers, receipts and napkins on the ground and none of the cocktail waitresses or the hospitality (bouncers) would bother to pick any of it up. Gross. It felt like there was no rules. Girls would get called to go on VIP stage upstairs and never show up, and no one cared. On my last day, I dropped a water in the bathroom and just left it hoping some stupid broad would slip on the ice and hurt herself.
This was the first time I was the racial minority at a club. The customer base was also largely African American. I get it, I'm in the south, and I'm at the 'Urban' club. At Barely it was practically all white people and mostly white dancers. There, I would make money off the square young guys with money. They did not go to Deja Vu, only the shit heads and the poorly educated did.
Almost all the girls were amazing ("1000's of beautiful girls and 3 ugly ones" is Deja Vu's slogan) These fit women with amazing weaves of all lengths, and textures, expensive shit. They had big boobs, tiny middles and these big round booties that were like lava-lamps. You get hypnotized by the motion. Their fashion was crazy. They wore slingshots (thongs that go up over your shoulders, and these ripped lycra short sets. One girl had a pair in Gucci print, no joke. I thought for one second that I would have the pole-trick advantage on my side... nope! They all can do amazing tricks and are quite flexible, even the bigger girls would rock it. Fuck! Listened to way more 'Urban Music' than I want to hear for the rest of my life, and I really like (most) hip-hop! I 'Shazamed' all the songs so I would know the names of the ones I hate most.
Poppin' Bottles - T.I. feat. Drake
No Love - Eminem feat Lil' Wayne
Moment 4 Life - Nicki Manaj feat. Drake
E.T. - Katy Perry feat. Kanye West
Whatever you like - T.I.
Til the world ends - Britany Spears
Look these up, listen to them 1,000 times because the shitty DJ only plays the same 10 songs, and try not to kill yourself. The DJ was the biggest moron I've ever had to work with. He was an addict with no top teeth, would pull me out of rotation, then put me back in much later b/c I wasn't on his "Dream Team" which consisted of this white girl Alice, who was kinda cute but had shitty tattoos and was boring on stage. He played her Cinema by Benny Benassi every time she was onstage, which was way more than me, even when I got to work hours before her. He walked by my stage and pretended to throw his wad of pay-out from the dancers at me, then bragged about his $4,000 watch. You know what else you can buy with $4,000 you stupid fucker? Some teeth, and a new hoodie because you wore the same one for all 4 days I was there.
I had some luck with some of the white trash that came in and liked "my sick tatts" but not much else. A couple from Iowa bought a dance, and this UFC/Slipknot fan tipped me about $12. I had an 18 year old stinky metal-hippy kid fall in love with me and get a dance to celebrate his birthday. I gave a dance to a british guy who told me he wouldn't have paid $5 for it. Cool, asshole, that's why I make you pay upfront. I had another super drunk guy who only paid me $29 put my nipple in his mouth. I shoved him away saying "UGH! some of the other girls might let you do that, but I don't! This dance is over!" I had another guy refuse a dance his friend who was gonna buy for him. Really? Wow. Had someone cut me off mid conversation telling me "I'm good, I won't be spending any money on you." I met Chris from "San Antone", he told me he would take care of me if I came to Texas, dropped $40 on the ground but wound up just giving it to me, bought me 2 shots, then he grabbed my wig after he started to get drunker. Ok, we're done here... I gave one dance to Mike from New York, who was really hot. I watched the Jennifer Tilly look-alike who would hustle the shit out of everyone get turned down by him before he came over and asked me for a dance. It was the best!
I got propositioned three times. Once by Lil' Wayne's Rasta look-alike, and the 2nd time by this wigger-wanna-be (I hate that word, sorry, but I need you, the reader, to get an accurate mental picture) He said his friend had paid the $30 for him to get in because he didn't have any money, then sat next to me trying to get me to go "do stuff for free" with him, after I offered him a dance. "Dude, this conversation is free". "Well, how 'bout I give you $50 to go in the back and you can pop me off?" "Nope, you can go fuck yourself." UGH... gross! The third time I got asked "how much?" "Lap dances are $30." "No, for all of it." "5 grand." I said, and the guy set down his drink and walked out the door.
On Sat. I went to my favorite restaurant in NOLA. Adolfo's. It is (usually) amazing cajun-italian, I've been going there for years. I ordered a meal I built up in my head to be something it wasn't. I was so dissapointed, but I had to scarf it down and head to the other side of the quarter for work. On the way I passed by a guy selling mushrooms, I said "why not" and got myself a chocolate. I ate half of it and tripped the whole first haf of my shift. Fuck it, I hated it there anyways. I thought it would make it more fun, but it was horrible. The already overwhelming shittiness of the club was magnified. Everyone looked weird. I breifly spoke with a little person named Brandon and was unsure if his proportions were real, or just in my head. My shoes were difficult to walk in, and I had that paranoid "everyone knows I'm on drugs" feeling. I usually take notes for this blog on my phone, but couldn't type well so I opted to write my notes down. I felt and probably looked like I was up to something using a pen and paper instead, as phone use is so common these days. At 1am I had made $8. I was on 2nd stage downstairs and knew I needed to throw up my mediocre dinner as soon as I could get to the (upstairs dancer) bathroom, which was proving to be my sanctuary where I could be alone. As I puked through my nose all I could think was, "Well, there goes about $40". I looked in the mirror and saw what my rock bottom looked like. Smeared make-up, crooked wig, snot and defeat. I looked how Deja Vu made me feel. I snapped out of it and went back to more top-40 hip-hop and the hot spring temperatures on the balcony. A dancer from across the street on the Hustler Club balcony shouted to me "Hey, aren't you Lark from that 'Shit Strippers Say' video?" Yes, yes I am.
While getting ready to leave a pair of super hot women were bitching about their income for the night. I had secretly stared at the one's bright orange toe nail polish earlier when I was tripping. "Girl, I only made a grand tonight, sure am glad I popped off that 2nd $800 room." "Shiiit, only 6 hundo fo' me baby." I squeaked out that I had made $65. The one realized she had dropped a $100 bill and found it right where she left it near the VIP rooms. They made fun of me for not running out to look for it first.
This trip was the first time I've felt self conscious about being heavily tattooed, and I've had tattoos for 9 years. During my Oct trip, my street clothes were pants and long sleeves and people left me alone. But during this trip it was in the 80's+ and you bet I was wearing dresses! I feel protected in PDX, or I just blend in. I'm not a spectacle, usually. By the end of the week I was snapping at people, "leave me alone!". Every 3rd person I encountered would corner me and want to know about all of the ones they could see, or expect me to stop walking to where I was headed and talk to them about each one. I ignored every car that slowed down to shout at me, and only a few times responded with a 'thank you' to the "Yo gurl, I like dem sick tats!" compliment. My arms got grabbed twice, and a Mom chased me down Royal street to tell me all about her daughter's star tattoos. It's also the south, so people say and do whatever the fuck they please, thinking they're being cordial. I'm too east coast for that shit. I would wear leggings and a light trench coat on my 2 mile walk back to Ann's house from work at 5am, and drunk bros would still say stupid shit to me. Assholes are everywhere. Lemme know how spitting game is working out for you, and how many girls you'll probably try to assault in your future.
I gambled and I lost. I could've stayed at Barely the whole week, had a low stage fee, done fire, missed 2 nights of stage rotation, but possibly could've made more than $600 my whole trip, who knows. I didn't make more than $150 a night, and my lowest was $20 on Sunday. I came home with $200. I have to remember that people usually go on vacation and spend, spend, spend! I was lucky to at least break somewhat even. I bought a dress, a new wig, a shirt for my BF and whatever food I wanted. After my bad dinner at Adolfo's, I had my favorite fried chicken at Praline Connection. It was the first time I've eaten chicken in 7 years and it was worth it. The whole trip made me so bummed, all I wanted to do was rip apart a Chicken carcass like Britney Murphy's (RIP) character in Girl, Interrupted. Take that, pescatariansm.
Just so I have a positive end to this.. I would rather endure work being crappy just so I can walk through the Quarter when it is still and quiet. The gas street lights, the old buildings with huge plants hanging on wrought iron balconies, the faint bubbling of fountains in the courtyards behind big stone walls. Riding the streetcar and walking through the Garden district at 5am. The sound of the birds and the leaves rustling, a cat awake at dawn to get fed. The things I'm happy to see while I'm there.
Lark will be performing fire at Dante's for the last two times on Sunday May 27th. Fire Entertainer of the Year at 8pm and Sinferno afterwards at 11pm. New fire codes restricting performances in Portland are being put into effect until further notice. Come see her while you still have the chance!
We start at the beginning. I must be very weird to be seated next to, while flying. I wear ear plugs, an eye mask and, at anytime, will "do the Tri-Met" and jerk myself awake, sometimes throwing my hands out to grab the seat in front of me if a bit of turbulence hits. "Oops, sorry... I'm.. sleepy.. heh." I'll mutter to my aisle mate. yikes. I got to settle in at Ann's (a former co-worker and friend of my sister's) house and spend some time with my estranged brother's on-again-off-again girlfriend of several years. This darling girl is still willing to keep contact with me even though my asshole brother chooses to disown me due to my life choices and an overall deep seeded anger at me. Moving along! Love her, and Ann. I got to play with 3 dogs all weekend too. A handsome, dopey, yearling american bulldog, a wee black tea-cup poodle, and a quiet ChowChow mix. Creature comforts.
Headed to work at Barely Legal on Tue night, was greeted by familiar faces and some "Lark, you're back!" After getting ready, I headed to the office to fill out my 2012 contract. I got blindsided by something that wasn't an issue in Oct. now is, and now my contract would only be good until the end of my trip because I "have too many tattoos". (I do have very many, I get it but... huh?) They were willing to let me work that week but I couldn't have stage rotation on Fri & Sat. (except for one fire show) because the club is trying to get back to the 'barely legal image' and there were others girls that needed to be rotated because I'm too covered. Then tears, I said that I had texted said manager; another manager, and the manger in STL, that I was gonna be there that week. The other manager had confirmed my 6 shifts on the schedule. I still could get my low stage fee, and do fire the other nights. This didn't seem worth it. I was pissed and really sad, I liked that club a lot. It's the cleanest club on Bourbon and that's my style. I made money there too!
I stayed for Tue. night and Wed. night. I was devastated. I barely spoke to any customers, didn't give a single dance in those two days and made sure to tell everyone, not bitching but professionally, that I wouldn't be back after that week, ever. I got a ride home from 2 of the new, very dumb, 18 year olds after I went to the 24 hour diner in the Quarter so they could "eat steak". I ran into the entertainment director from Hustler STL and shared my outrage and sentiment about how the club has been run as of lately. He told me he was quitting on Thur and going back to STL and called said manager some choice names. I adore him and am so glad I just happened to see him. On the ride home I got to listen to the two girls bitch about living with their parents, not being able to drink at work, and a bunch of other dumb shit spoiled, white, young, dumb girls talk about.
Plugged along through my Wed night shift. I was a little better at talking to people that night. There was a major douche bag that came in with a few more well behaved guys. Said db's daddy's owned a big company and they were all on his tab. I called him out when he snapped his fingers at the bartender to order and didn't say please. "I don't say please!" Wow, you must have so many service industry workers who like serving you. He tipped 50 cents for about 4 drinks. There was an older gentleman that I remembered from Oct. He didn't remember me, nor did he want any dances. Another brother there came in wearing headphones. Brilliant! You can ignore the girls spitting game at you AND you don't have to listen to the shitty top 40 they play. I'm stealing your idea.. HA! I had an ok conversation with a man from western Africa named Victor. I struggled to understand his thick accent but he was nice, engaging and bought me a drink. But didn't tip or buy dances, or tip me for talking to him for-everrrrr about all the places he's been and lived, and where I should travel to. Did I mention I'm Travel-Working?! right now! Cause I am, that means I need *your* money. Bums, all of 'em!
After much deliberation I went to audition at 2 other clubs. I wore a cute dress, did my hair and make-up but didn't even make it through the door at Hustler Club. When I told the 3 staff at the door "I'd like to audition, please." An older looking lady of authority responded "You have entirely too many tattoos." I could even squeak out a "but I'm pretty, and talented!" before the security staff chimed in, "have you tried Deja Vu?". I killed time until later Thur. night eating & drinking with my buddy Alex at Angeli. I auditioned at Deja Vu, and worked there 4 nights Thur - Sun. Boy, what a fucking nightmare that was. First of all the club is kind of a dump, it looks nice on the surface and in the dark, but the more time I spent there the more I hated it. It was two stories. It had 1 main oval, solid marble stage (ouch! my knees!) with one static and 1 spinning pole on it, another smaller circle stage on the main floor, and one up stairs in VIP. Same chairs and tables as all the other Larry Flynt clubs, and a long bar with no chairs on on side of the big main floor room. A tiny dance room housed about 10 booths all lined up classroom style, so you couldn't really see what was going on in them. SKETCH! I walked past the booths and caught glimpses of patrons' hands stroking breasts, and girls just plain lay-humping on guys. This is what I was competing with. A large stair case went up to the DJ booth, dressing room (which was ok, and big) & VIP rooms and bar. By the end of 4 shifts my fucking hamstrings were killing me going up & down 2 flights of stairs 100 times a night. There was an elevator at Barely! The VIP was a smaller Safari themed room, and you could go out on the balcony. I spent a lot of time out there trying to be alone. Everywhere I walked my shoes stuck to the carpet. You could see the dark track of grime running down the hallways and the color the carpet use to be along the edges. There was a ripped out section of carpet in the dressing room entrance exposing bare floor next to 2 gross old dance couches girls would sleep on when they gave up working and would nap the rest of their shift. The stages never got cleaned and got covered with the shit sticking to everyones shoes. There was a trash can that had to stay right next to main stage to catch a major drip from the AC and would soak the chairs next to it. The patrons reflected the crappiness of the club and would just ash their cigarettes wherever, (you can smoke in NOLA bars) and throw their candy wrappers, receipts and napkins on the ground and none of the cocktail waitresses or the hospitality (bouncers) would bother to pick any of it up. Gross. It felt like there was no rules. Girls would get called to go on VIP stage upstairs and never show up, and no one cared. On my last day, I dropped a water in the bathroom and just left it hoping some stupid broad would slip on the ice and hurt herself.
This was the first time I was the racial minority at a club. The customer base was also largely African American. I get it, I'm in the south, and I'm at the 'Urban' club. At Barely it was practically all white people and mostly white dancers. There, I would make money off the square young guys with money. They did not go to Deja Vu, only the shit heads and the poorly educated did.
Almost all the girls were amazing ("1000's of beautiful girls and 3 ugly ones" is Deja Vu's slogan) These fit women with amazing weaves of all lengths, and textures, expensive shit. They had big boobs, tiny middles and these big round booties that were like lava-lamps. You get hypnotized by the motion. Their fashion was crazy. They wore slingshots (thongs that go up over your shoulders, and these ripped lycra short sets. One girl had a pair in Gucci print, no joke. I thought for one second that I would have the pole-trick advantage on my side... nope! They all can do amazing tricks and are quite flexible, even the bigger girls would rock it. Fuck! Listened to way more 'Urban Music' than I want to hear for the rest of my life, and I really like (most) hip-hop! I 'Shazamed' all the songs so I would know the names of the ones I hate most.
Poppin' Bottles - T.I. feat. Drake
No Love - Eminem feat Lil' Wayne
Moment 4 Life - Nicki Manaj feat. Drake
E.T. - Katy Perry feat. Kanye West
Whatever you like - T.I.
Til the world ends - Britany Spears
Look these up, listen to them 1,000 times because the shitty DJ only plays the same 10 songs, and try not to kill yourself. The DJ was the biggest moron I've ever had to work with. He was an addict with no top teeth, would pull me out of rotation, then put me back in much later b/c I wasn't on his "Dream Team" which consisted of this white girl Alice, who was kinda cute but had shitty tattoos and was boring on stage. He played her Cinema by Benny Benassi every time she was onstage, which was way more than me, even when I got to work hours before her. He walked by my stage and pretended to throw his wad of pay-out from the dancers at me, then bragged about his $4,000 watch. You know what else you can buy with $4,000 you stupid fucker? Some teeth, and a new hoodie because you wore the same one for all 4 days I was there.
I had some luck with some of the white trash that came in and liked "my sick tatts" but not much else. A couple from Iowa bought a dance, and this UFC/Slipknot fan tipped me about $12. I had an 18 year old stinky metal-hippy kid fall in love with me and get a dance to celebrate his birthday. I gave a dance to a british guy who told me he wouldn't have paid $5 for it. Cool, asshole, that's why I make you pay upfront. I had another super drunk guy who only paid me $29 put my nipple in his mouth. I shoved him away saying "UGH! some of the other girls might let you do that, but I don't! This dance is over!" I had another guy refuse a dance his friend who was gonna buy for him. Really? Wow. Had someone cut me off mid conversation telling me "I'm good, I won't be spending any money on you." I met Chris from "San Antone", he told me he would take care of me if I came to Texas, dropped $40 on the ground but wound up just giving it to me, bought me 2 shots, then he grabbed my wig after he started to get drunker. Ok, we're done here... I gave one dance to Mike from New York, who was really hot. I watched the Jennifer Tilly look-alike who would hustle the shit out of everyone get turned down by him before he came over and asked me for a dance. It was the best!
I got propositioned three times. Once by Lil' Wayne's Rasta look-alike, and the 2nd time by this wigger-wanna-be (I hate that word, sorry, but I need you, the reader, to get an accurate mental picture) He said his friend had paid the $30 for him to get in because he didn't have any money, then sat next to me trying to get me to go "do stuff for free" with him, after I offered him a dance. "Dude, this conversation is free". "Well, how 'bout I give you $50 to go in the back and you can pop me off?" "Nope, you can go fuck yourself." UGH... gross! The third time I got asked "how much?" "Lap dances are $30." "No, for all of it." "5 grand." I said, and the guy set down his drink and walked out the door.
On Sat. I went to my favorite restaurant in NOLA. Adolfo's. It is (usually) amazing cajun-italian, I've been going there for years. I ordered a meal I built up in my head to be something it wasn't. I was so dissapointed, but I had to scarf it down and head to the other side of the quarter for work. On the way I passed by a guy selling mushrooms, I said "why not" and got myself a chocolate. I ate half of it and tripped the whole first haf of my shift. Fuck it, I hated it there anyways. I thought it would make it more fun, but it was horrible. The already overwhelming shittiness of the club was magnified. Everyone looked weird. I breifly spoke with a little person named Brandon and was unsure if his proportions were real, or just in my head. My shoes were difficult to walk in, and I had that paranoid "everyone knows I'm on drugs" feeling. I usually take notes for this blog on my phone, but couldn't type well so I opted to write my notes down. I felt and probably looked like I was up to something using a pen and paper instead, as phone use is so common these days. At 1am I had made $8. I was on 2nd stage downstairs and knew I needed to throw up my mediocre dinner as soon as I could get to the (upstairs dancer) bathroom, which was proving to be my sanctuary where I could be alone. As I puked through my nose all I could think was, "Well, there goes about $40". I looked in the mirror and saw what my rock bottom looked like. Smeared make-up, crooked wig, snot and defeat. I looked how Deja Vu made me feel. I snapped out of it and went back to more top-40 hip-hop and the hot spring temperatures on the balcony. A dancer from across the street on the Hustler Club balcony shouted to me "Hey, aren't you Lark from that 'Shit Strippers Say' video?" Yes, yes I am.
While getting ready to leave a pair of super hot women were bitching about their income for the night. I had secretly stared at the one's bright orange toe nail polish earlier when I was tripping. "Girl, I only made a grand tonight, sure am glad I popped off that 2nd $800 room." "Shiiit, only 6 hundo fo' me baby." I squeaked out that I had made $65. The one realized she had dropped a $100 bill and found it right where she left it near the VIP rooms. They made fun of me for not running out to look for it first.
This trip was the first time I've felt self conscious about being heavily tattooed, and I've had tattoos for 9 years. During my Oct trip, my street clothes were pants and long sleeves and people left me alone. But during this trip it was in the 80's+ and you bet I was wearing dresses! I feel protected in PDX, or I just blend in. I'm not a spectacle, usually. By the end of the week I was snapping at people, "leave me alone!". Every 3rd person I encountered would corner me and want to know about all of the ones they could see, or expect me to stop walking to where I was headed and talk to them about each one. I ignored every car that slowed down to shout at me, and only a few times responded with a 'thank you' to the "Yo gurl, I like dem sick tats!" compliment. My arms got grabbed twice, and a Mom chased me down Royal street to tell me all about her daughter's star tattoos. It's also the south, so people say and do whatever the fuck they please, thinking they're being cordial. I'm too east coast for that shit. I would wear leggings and a light trench coat on my 2 mile walk back to Ann's house from work at 5am, and drunk bros would still say stupid shit to me. Assholes are everywhere. Lemme know how spitting game is working out for you, and how many girls you'll probably try to assault in your future.
I gambled and I lost. I could've stayed at Barely the whole week, had a low stage fee, done fire, missed 2 nights of stage rotation, but possibly could've made more than $600 my whole trip, who knows. I didn't make more than $150 a night, and my lowest was $20 on Sunday. I came home with $200. I have to remember that people usually go on vacation and spend, spend, spend! I was lucky to at least break somewhat even. I bought a dress, a new wig, a shirt for my BF and whatever food I wanted. After my bad dinner at Adolfo's, I had my favorite fried chicken at Praline Connection. It was the first time I've eaten chicken in 7 years and it was worth it. The whole trip made me so bummed, all I wanted to do was rip apart a Chicken carcass like Britney Murphy's (RIP) character in Girl, Interrupted. Take that, pescatariansm.
Just so I have a positive end to this.. I would rather endure work being crappy just so I can walk through the Quarter when it is still and quiet. The gas street lights, the old buildings with huge plants hanging on wrought iron balconies, the faint bubbling of fountains in the courtyards behind big stone walls. Riding the streetcar and walking through the Garden district at 5am. The sound of the birds and the leaves rustling, a cat awake at dawn to get fed. The things I'm happy to see while I'm there.
Lark will be performing fire at Dante's for the last two times on Sunday May 27th. Fire Entertainer of the Year at 8pm and Sinferno afterwards at 11pm. New fire codes restricting performances in Portland are being put into effect until further notice. Come see her while you still have the chance!
