The first method is trial and error.  Unlike chain restaurants, department stores, and even call centers…when you get hired as an exotic dancer, there is NO formal sales training.  I remember when I was hired as a waitress at Cheesecake Factory.  I had to sit through an entire week of training videos and classes that explained how to upsell appetizers, specials, and premium liquor so  that a $40 check turned into a $100 check.  In the strip club, you are just thrown right into the mix of things.  If you have enough perseverance you will figure out what works, and what doesn’t work, and over time your stripper salary will increase.  I know firsthand how frustrating it is to try to make money this way!  Especially if you are impatient and want to make more money NOW!

The second method is to hunt around for free information.  If you are lucky, there may be a seasoned entertainer at your club who will take you under her wing and show you the ropes.  Don’t hold your breath though.  Especially in this economy where the customers are relatively scarse and the supply of dancers is high, most girls who know how to make money don’t want to share it.   There are some free online resources as well.  I am very active on two internet stripper forums: Stripperweb.com where I am a moderator and Exoticdancernet.com where I am a Charter Member.  Like anything, you get what you pay for.  Free information isn’t always GOOD information.  Always consider the source.  Any entertainer who has been in this business for five years or less probably doesn’t have the best advice.  In fact, many of the strippers I know who started dancing in 2005 when the economy was GREAT are either giving up and getting out of the business because they don’t know how to make money anymore using their “Wanna Dance?” method OR the smart ones are turning to method three.

The third method is to get formal sales training.  It is my vision that one day corporate strip club chains will enforce a week of  DancerWealth training before entertainers are allowed onto the floor, the same way Cheesecake Factory and other corporate restaurant chains train their staff.  Until that day, you can get the edge over your competition by having your own personal SuperStripper Coach!  For what you make on a BAD night ($99) you can learn all of my secrets of how to make more money every time you work!

Click here if you are ready to get started making MORE money TONIGHT!

I mean really make?

It seems this is a question a lot of laid off women are googling, as I get several hits a day from search engines on this topic alone.

My answer: anywhere from -$100 to +$2000.  It all depends on your skill level.  In my career, I have walked out negative $27 once.  That was because I started to get a migraine about 30 minutes into my shift.  I did two or three dances, and then had to leave.  My best night EVER was roughly $6600 (3 hours @ $400/hr plus a $5k chip from Ceasars) in 2004.  I haven’t come close to that ever again.

If you are new to dancing, or have been thinking about trying it for the first time.  Here is an assortment of old blogs that address this topic.

How long until I become a SuperStripper?

Comparative Salary Statistics-of Stripping vs a Normal Job

My own personal salary statistics from 1999-2007 before/after DancerWealth

And this post for all the women who are wondering “Am I thin/pretty/busty enough to be a stripper?”

Strippers and Self-Image

Flashback:The Beginning was originally posted in August 2007

I was asked the other night, “How on earth, did someone like you: a minister’s daughter, straight as an arrow A+ student…end up dancing.”

Well, it certainly wasn’t something that I planned. Nor was it a career highlighted by my high school guidance counselor. Although in my opinion, it should be.

Simple, I wanted to afford to eat.

Not kidding.

It was October 1999. I had just moved 3300 miles across the country to be with Mr Wrong. Six weeks after arriving in the armpit town of San Bernardino, CA I found out just how WRONG Mr Wrong was for me.

My whopping teacher’s salary just barely covered the necessities of rent, car, insurance. Even worse, my district paid me in one lump sum on the 1st of the month. Now what 23 year old actually knows how to budget??

So I began browsing the classifieds for a bartending job. I had worked in bars since I was 18. It had been the only way I knew to circumnavigate the 21 to enter rule. Never made sense to me: 18 to serve alcohol, 21 to drink it? Unfortunately, it’s tough to walk into an established place and tell them that you can only work the good weekend shifts because you have a “real” job.

Then I came across a well written ad: No nudity. Bikini Dancers needed. Spearmint Rhino Upland, CA.

Ok, what’s this about? For anyone not familiar with California liquor licensing, “topless” bars are topless onstage only. The topless zone is 6 feet from the tip rail for the 2nd song only. Most clubs even have this line marked out on the floor to avoid tickets from the contact police. All table dances are done fully clothed in bikinis. Sweet! I can do that! Topless for 3 minutes, the rest of the time fully clothed? I’m in!

So I drove 60 miles to Upland, CA. I figured an hour was a good enough buffer from the elementary school where I taught 5th grade Monday-Friday. I didn’t want to run into any parents or the creepy vice-principal for that matter.

“Hi,” I said to the doorgirl, “I think I’d like to work here. Who do I talk to about auditioning?”

She gave me the once over, turned around to the short redheaded guy behind her. “John, you wanna take this one, she passes.”

I pass? Pass what?

Two seconds later, I was looking down at the short redheaded guy in the foyer of the club. “Hi, I’m John, the general manager, have you ever danced before?”

“Honestly….ummmm….no I haven’t. But I do have a college degree.” I replied.

“Good for you! We need a smart one!” He smiled looking me up and down. I had seen more than one bad porno about the strip club manager “auditioning” new girls in the office and was ready to bolt out the door at the first sign of a scandal. To my relief, John was very professional. It was NOTHING like that.

“Do I need to audition?” I asked. “I brought a bikini, but it’s a regular beach bikini, not a stripper one.” OMG, did I actually say that sentence out loud?

“No, don’t worry about it. You don’t need to audition, I can tell that you’re fit just from your street clothes.” He said, handing me two business cards. “Go three stores down to the bikini shop, this card will get you 20% off your first purchase there. This is my card. Call me if you have any questions. You can start whenever you want.”

Wow…it was that easy?

So I went to the bikini shop and started trying on stripper clothes. The fitting rooms had a black light inside, so we could see just how florescent that neon pink gstring was.

I hate to admit it, but my first stripper costume was HIDEOUS! In the late 90s I was on a yellow kick. I drove a yellow Jeep Wrangler, I had a yellow cellphone, and of course, my yellow Lab. So, of course, I chose a neon yellow string bikini with butterfly appliques on the triangle top and the front of the gstring. For some reason I thought a short sleeve black robe would look good over top.

Wait, it gets worse…Unable to balance on standard issue 6 inch platform stilettos. I decided to instead wear 5 inch clunky chunky glittery black mary jane shoes from Hot Topic. What was I thinking?

My first night. God I was nervous!

Due to lovely SoCal traffic I showed up 30 minutes late. John wasn’t working that night, instead a big black guy named Manny was the manager on duty.

“Um, hi! Remember me from Wednesday?” I said to the door girl. She rolled her eyes, “Manny! New girl!”

“Can’t you see I’m busy ho!” He looks up from the solitaire screen. Then he turns his attention to me. “Girl, go get dressed and meet me here in costume in 10 minutes ok?”

“OK, where is the dressing room?” I asked.

“There ain’t no dressing room in this hole. The baf-room is over there.” He said motioning for me to walk around the corner.

OK. I walk into the bathroom. There were about 8 girls in various stages of undress. Some doing their makeup, others counting their cash. Suitcases and duffle bags were stacked up against the only available wall and under the dual sinks.

I put on my (ugh) neon yellow butterfly bikini, black robe, and hideous black glitter shoes and go out to meet Manny at the office.

“OK, here is your paperwork. Read it. Sign it. What’s your stage name going to be?” he asks.

Stage name. I had fun toying with names all week. Being a stripper is soooo cool, you can totally invent a new personality for yourself, which can be personified through various stage names. Samantha brings to mind a sultry vixen. Barbie, of course a bubbly blonde. Mercedes, a high maintenance bitch.

“Bailey” I decided, after my favorite spirit.

“Taken.”

“Ohhh…ummm…” my mind went blank. I was so set on Bailey that the other names just flew outta my head.

“I think you should be Angel since you’re so innocent.” Manny said. Angel. I like that. And I can tell guys my real name is Angela. They’ll never know!

“Angel it is.”

“All right then. Paperwork is done, you can go work now.” Manny said, turning back to the office.

Ummm, what? Go work. How. What? What do I do? Manny must have sensed my panic. He took one look at ashen face and gave me a pitiful smile. “How about I get one of the girls to show you around? OK?”

“Thank you.” I managed to squeek.

He grabbed the first girl who walked by. ”Mariah, will show you around.” he said.

“Uh, Mariah will show new girl around if Mariah gets a free house fee for doing Manny’s job so Manny can get back to playing solitaire.” the petite hispanic brunette quipped back. She winked at me. Phew, the last thing I want to do is end up on someone shit list my first night.

Manny nodded. Mariah took my hand and walked me into the showroom. She rattled off the dos and don’t of lap dances. She introduced me to Pam the bartender, who became my SoCal hairdresser.

Then she took me to the DJ booth to sign in. DJ Geeno’s eyes lit up. “Fresh meat for ya Geeno.” Mariah joked slipping him a $20. “Geeno counts your dances. On the books, he gets $1 per dance, the house gets $1 per dance, and the unwritten rule is that the manager get 50 cents per dance. But if you take care of him, he takes care of you.”

So I’m really only making $7.50 per lap dance. Plus the house fee, plus the security tip out. And the club runs 2- for-1 and 3-for-1 specials every half hour. Thats a lot of dances. I’m glad my clunky Hot Topic shoes are comfy.

At the end of the shift, I waited in line to pay the house the necessary fees.  “Do I have to do any sidework before I can leave?” I asked Manny.  He looked confused.  I had bartended and cocktail waitressed all through college and was accustomed to 45 minutes worth of sidework after the bar closed.  “Nope.”  He said with a grin.

I had about $120 left over….and I was psyched!  That was easy! I really only worked about 4 hours after getting over my initial jitteryness…and I didn’t have to carry 20 lb trays of sizzling fajitas for an 8 hour shift!

This new part time gig was going to work out just fine!  I can teach Monday-Friday, dance whenever I want…and it’s just until I pay off Visa…..

Money

Changed my profile song to fit my mood.

I made a lot of money today, and I haven’t even gone into work yet.  All I did was sit back and watch my stocks bounce off support.  I entered into a few debit spreads also.  Want a 92% return on your money in 6 weeks?  Check out AAPL.  Yep, the Ipod and Iphone maker.  I’ve made enough money on Apple Computers in the past year to buy all my friends an Ipod.  I trade several different accounts, one I do only high probability spread trades in.  So I bought the 160 AAPL call and sold the 165 AAPL call.  It cost me $240 and my maximum gain is $260 and the stock only has to move five dollars in six weeks!  It moved five dollars today alone!  Again, my problem is that I have to be patient for spread trades.  I want to make as much money as I can on every trade and it ruins me sometimes.  Thats why I only trade spreads in a particular account.  And I try to only look at it at the end of the day so my greed doesn’t convince me to alter the original trade.  I’ve had my a$$ handed to me whenever I do that.

So, back to my original topic: MONEY

I’ve gotten a few of my coworkers into my blog, which I’m very happy about.  Most entertainers don’t know a thing about money.  I mean, they know how to make money at work…but they don’t understand how to make their money work for them.  I know, it’s an old clique, but it’s so true.

Why is that?  Well, I have a theory.  Most people learn about money from their parents and their friends.  If you come from wealthy parents and associate with wealthy friends then the chances are…you’ll learn a great deal about the leverage of investing your money in real estate, stocks, etc.

However if you came from a lower to middle class background (like I did) you saw your parents working to make ends meet. Maybe you and your friends got minimum wage jobs when you were teenagers and maybe went to college in hopes of getting a job that pays better than minimum wage. Maybe you watched your parents blow their tax return on a TV set and live paycheck to paycheck and not put any money into investments.  If this is the case, then it’s not an earth shattering statement to say that your parents are not good role models for how to build and create wealth.

I love my mother with all my heart.  She taught me how to save money.  Good advice.  She also told me to put it into a bank savings account and never touch the stock market.  Not so good advice.  Bank Savings Accounts pay about 0.5% interest PER YEAR.  CDs are a little bit better at 5% a year.  If I continued to follow her advice I wouldn’t make that 92% return in 6 weeks on AAPL.

So, how do you learn about money?  Start reading.  There is a lot of free information on the internet.  I started with David Bach’s Automatic Millionaire plan 3 years ago www.finishrich.com Although I no longer use his methods, it was a fantastic starting point to help me build capital for my brokerage account.  I became a PhD student at www.investools.com a year and a half ago.  That is where I REALLY learned about the leverage of money.

For my money-rich but wealth challenged co-workers (this means YOU if you make $1000 a night but somehow can’t find rent money at the end of the month) the first step is to open up a bank account.  Not kidding, I know some of you don’t have a bank account.  Once you’ve done that open up a money market account.  I use the orange savings account at www.ingdirect.com Automatically, put 10-20% of everything you make into your savings account.  Once you have built that up to cover 6 months of living expenses, come talk to me about opening a retirement account.  Its called a SEP-IRA.

Oh, and yes if you open a bank account you will have to pay taxes.  I do, and so does most of the free world.  You will never get wealthy if you fly under the IRS radar.  You may be rich for a fleeting moment, but cash in hand burns up real quick by the end of the month.

 Thanks mainly to the propaganda of ugly, flat-chested, Barbie doll-hating feminists, a single question is being asked by more and more people upon seeing a well-endowed woman:

Are they real?

The controversy arises not because the woman’s breasts are discolored, lopsided, furry, hexagonal, or metallic, but because they are simply large (and/or well-rounded). One question: since when are plastic surgeons installing holograms? Ok, so silicone isn’t natural, but it exists for Christ’s sake. Fake breasts are real in the sense that they aren’t illusions or made out of tofu. They’re there, aren’t they?

But let’s ignore this illogic. Generally, what people mean is: are the breasts natural? In other words: did they grow on their own, or was there some kind of intervention by man? The answer: who cares? Since when is a cave better than a house? Or a donkey better than a Ferrari? Or wild berries better than dinner at a French restaurant? What makes something less valuable just because man created it? God dammit, do the breasts look like breasts?

No?

Ok, in that case, we have a problem. If you happen to be looking at a pair of breasts and notice something odd (like, for example, the breasts are looking back at you), you may have inadvertently stumbled upon the bad boob job.

The question is, how can you be sure? Were the breasts accidental freaks of nature – or was it worse? Were they the products of some sick practical joke? Or mad scientist? Or visiting surgeon from the University of Baghdad? Before you attempt to go near the breasts, you must be certain that the breasts are reliable. For your own safety, we now present: The ten benchmarks of real breasts you can trust:

1. They look like breasts.

The breasts should serve to make the woman look attractive as a woman. Not as an elephant or a space alien. Therefore, if you’re tempted to feed the breasts peanuts or to report them to the FBI, you may be dealing with a bad boob job.

1. They feel like breasts.

It’s hard enough to get a woman’s bra off in a hurry. The last thing you want to find are two objects resembling rotten grapefruits or broken light bulbs. Also keep your ears open for women who discuss their breasts using words like “prickly”, “jagged edges”, or “squishy”.

1. They’re attached to a woman.

Women have breasts, so it makes sense that women should be the ones who augment their breasts. Not men, not five-year-olds, not Fifi your pet bunny rabbit. A corollary of this point is that the breasts should be attached to the woman at all times. Beware of breasts seen jettisoned into outer space. What you thought was a woman is most likely a reptilian cyborg porn star.

1. They come in pairs.

Ever sit in a seedy bar late at night, smoke blurring your vision as you finish your last sip of bourbon, when suddenly a lone breast asks you to dance? If it hasn’t happened yet, one word of advice: dance. While your instinct might be to run, do whatever the breast says. Peaceful breasts always stick together.

1. They don’t rattle when shaken.

When you hear strange noises coming from a car’s engine, isn’t that a good sign not to have sex with the automobile? Of course. Similarly, strange noises coming from breasts are also a sign of danger. If the rattling comes at regular intervals, sounding more like a ticking sound, drop the breasts and immediately run for cover.

They don’t taste like metal.

6.      Getting friendly with an Eskimo woman shouldn’t entail getting your tongue frozen to her cleavage. Reliable breasts, both natural and artificial, have built-in mechanisms for dealing with extreme temperatures. Aluminum siding is not one of them.

1. When you squeeze them, they return to their original shape.

The ability to bounce back under extreme pressure is just as admirable in a woman’s breasts as it is in her character. Breasts with depressions, dents, or dimples can only mean one thing: they’re filled with sand or fiberglass and they’ve had at least one previous owner.

1. They rarely, if ever, excrete bright green fluids.

A bubbling, bright-green ooze is no more of a turn-on in the bedroom than it is in a nuclear power plant. Breasts which have had their safety-seals broken are not to be fooled with. Heck, if the breasts even have a safety seal I’d watch my step.

1. When their owner lies down, the breasts don’t remain standing.

It’s perfectly fine if part of the breasts are a bit stiff. However, if the breasts just refuse to make themselves comfortable, even in the face of a direct order, the breasts are simply not to be trusted.

1. The words “Made in China” are not stamped below the left nipple.

It’s astounding how many people inadvertently acquire sexual satisfaction at the expense of tens of thousands of Chinese political prisoners. It’s not only unethical to fondle a breast made in China, it’s downright risky. To be truly certain that a breast is of the highest quality, look for the “Made in the USA” label.

Once you’ve verified that a set of breasts have met these ten benchmarks, you are free to interact with them. This goes for all breasts, natural or not. Jesus Christ, if you can’t tell the difference, what do you care? Even if they are man-made, at least they’re being discreet about it.

So, what then is the proper response to a woman with unusually large, round, or perky breasts? Well, it ain’t “are they natural?” Instead, try a comment that shows her the respect she deserves. Like “thank you.”

June 16

So, Gino the day manager put signs up in the dressing room this week.

“I need lots of girls to work on Friday.  I am hosting a VIP Party starting at 6 pm.  Please be here and ready to work this lucrative party”

So, I carpool in with Jaynie the housemom.  I figure, even if this “VIP Party” is stupid like the last one….at least I can raid the buffet table.

So, I was right.  The VIP guests turned out to be the beverage distributers, the food service guys, the armor car guys who pick up the cash, and (this is the best) Gino’s friends!

Oh it gets better.

The buffet was set up in the pit by the back bar.  I didn’t eat much all day so I was STARVING around 6.  The guys didn’t show up til 6:45 no food til 7:30.  So I wait til the “VIP Guests” are done serving themselves…and they were all very courteous “Have some dinner, you need to eat!” 

I sit down at the bar to eat and get called to stage.  Great.  So I cover my food with my napkin (sign language to the bartender to NOT take my food away)  Of course, he dumps it.

So, I go and get another plate of food and sit back down.  Brian the bartender looks at me and says “I’m sorry, Avalon, but you’re not supposed to be eating from the buffet it’s for the VIP guests”

I ‘m holding my chicken wing midair, about to take a bite, as he reaches for my plate to clear it. 

Dude!  Do not take my food!  I smack his arm away.  “So you’re going to put it BACK on the buffet line?”  I ask him. 

“No, but I’ll get in trouble if Louie sees you eating it.”  Dude….do NOT throw away good food!

So I take my food over to a table in the back corner.  Louie, the general manager,  comes over and sweetly says “You’re eating all my profits Avalon”  Now….I like Louie, he’s a nice man, and very reasonable.

“Not really.  By my count…and I have records to prove this….I spent over 8 thousand dollars last year in this club on house fees and merchandise.  Gino’s friends and the liquor distributors haven’t spent a dime yet.  I think 8 grand covers the wholesale price of 3 chicken wings, a stuffed shell, and a few celery sticks…..don’t you??”

He nodded his head.  “I should know better than try to talk numbers with you.”

uh huh.

June 10

Boston people are so cool.

The Red Sox were playing the Dbacks this weekend.  I was totally expecting the average “Phoenix in June” crowd this weekend.  But WOW!  Am I glad I was wrong!

Apparently it’s next to impossible to to get tickets to a Red Sox game at Fenway Park.  So what do all those Boston fans with cash burning in their bank accounts do??  Fly to Phoenix, snap up some of the posh resort’s off-season rates, and hit the strip club after the game!

Christie’s was MAD crazy!!!!  I love when outta town guys come into the club.  Since Phoenix lapdance prices (a whopping $10) lag the current national average ($20) these tourists are in heaven.  Especially when I give them the opportunity to go to VIP for “only $20″ a song.  How cheap!  In their hometown VIP is 3 for $100!

So, what did Avalon do?  One by one I just plucked them off the floor and walked them upstairs.  The glow-in-the-blacklight fuschia dress helped to attract the eye to the tall busty blonde (OK, maybe it was the boobs, not the dress) who was “only” doing dances upstairs.  I had them lining up at the bottom of the staircase waiting for me to get done, so they could be next!  Cosmo had to tell them to sit down!

Being the complete dork that I am, this makes me think back to Macroeconomics 101.  The strip club is a perfect example of price theory.  When the supply of hot dancers is low (key word here is HOT) and the demand of wealthy customers is high…Avalon’s lapdance price increases. 

Now, I would NEVER rip anyone off.  Or “acci-purposely” charge for 5 dances when I only did 4.  Or make false promises about what happens in VIP.  That is just bad karma. 

What I WILL do is only dance upstairs in VIP for $20 a song.  If someone only wants to pay $10, I tell them to come back on a Tuesday night in July.  This one guy chuckled and said “You’re a quite a businesswoman.”

“I just look dumb” I winked and led him upstairs.