11am Wake up. Pack. Check out. I have a few hours to kill before I can check into my new casino/hotel and it is a gorgeous sunny day. I put the top down on the convertible and drive out Sahara Blvd.
12pm: Work out at a really nice super-sized location of my gym. Multi level. Very swanky…or was it just stripper hour? I swear every person working out at that gym must take their clothes off for a living. Even the midget. Not kidding…she was hot…in a miniature sorta way….
1:45pm: Great workout. Pound a ChocoMint Muscle Milk shake, put the top down and drive out to Red Rock Canyon. I would have looked much cooler if my car wasn’t jam packed with all my stuff. Nevertheless, driving around with no place to crash…. having enough clothes and food to last a week…a few thousand dollars in cash from two nights of work…and the ability to make more whenever and wherever…was incredibly empowering. This must be what Hobostripper feels like as she travels from club to club in her van.
3pm: Deposit cash in the bank. WTF was I thinking carrying all that cash around in my backpack? Pick up Real Estate Guide Books and Foreclosure lists.
4pm: Check into new hotel. This one has a pool! Read up on Vegas Real estate in pool lounge chair. Ignore pale hairy guys from somewhere cold taking pictures of me in my bikini w/their cell phones. Condos by the airport for 90K? Maybe I’ll splurge for a 130K one in Henderson. Or a really nice house with pool in Summerlin…wait the point here is cheap place to crash/business write off….not going to move here….focus….
6pm: watch the news, check email. All my classes are covered (phew!) This connection sux. I’m not trading much this week. Just letting my iron condor time decay. I have a bunch of puts, just waiting for a drop.
8pm: Guess I’ll get ready to go to work now. Not looking at the clock. There is no such thing as time in Vegas.
10pm: Clock in and hit the floor. Sell dances to pretty much everyone I ask. One trip to Venus room with Brad, a cute 25 year old from Minnesota. This is his first vacation in over a year of working 80hrs a week at Target. His best friend from high school is getting married tomorrow and he asked me to be his date at the wedding. My response, “Where’s dinner?” He didn’t know. No sale for Brad.
1am: Back on the main floor. Not as busy as the past two nights. As I make my rounds I realize that it’s the same guys, sitting in the same seats as three hours ago. I watch the door for an hour. No turnover. I hate Thursdays. In eight years I’ve had ONE kickass Thursday.
2am: Jacko the VIP host takes me to a table of Middle Eastern guys who just flew in from a friends’ wedding in the Caribbean. They immediately order champagne. I sit with Raj from Thailand for about 15 minutes. He is very polite and asks how how the club works. Fair enough, I’ve heard about those clubs in Thailand. After I make it very clear that I’m not making any money off of the drinks he keeps buying me, he buys one dance. As soon as I start my generic $20 table dance I realize that I’ve never danced for a guy in a turban. I’m very careful to not touch his head (isn’t that disrespectful, even if it is with my boobs?) Raj doesn’t give me any incentive to stay, so I’m outta there.
3am: DangerousDiva and I head to Cafe Delux for food. I’m surprised how busy it is with large groups of people in their mid twenties. A fight breaks out between a big black dude and a skinny asian kid. A fight…at the 24hr cafe in the Venetian. Tableside entertainment.
6am Jobs report bad, market up. I’m not even looking at my account. Turn off the lights and go to sleep.
Tags: exotic dancer, las vegas, strip club, stripper, stripperfriends, superstripper, treasures