So you got a stripper's phone number, huh? Called her up and chattedabout this and that and had a nice little conversation with her,huh? What's her name? Cinnamon? Going out with her for lunch onSaturday, eh? Very Nice. Here are a few tips because datinga stripper is a hazardous affair and the only thing you're goingto get out of this insane ride are bragging rights for the restof your life. This article is based on information gleaned frommy brief stay in Stripperville.
First of all, you've got to have a destination in mind before youembark on this venture. What do you want from the Stripper? A fewfun evenings out on the town with a little hottie on your arm? Sex?Free passes to the Titty Bar where you met her? Everlasting truelove? Handjob? Look walking into this without a goal is certainmeans for failure, because she operates on her own terms and ifyou let her manipulate you and lead the show, you're sunk. She meets50 guys a night who are potential dates, so she's just playing theodds with you. She's thinking she just might meet someonewho can handle her, but no one can. Trust me. No one can handleher. You'll never change her or pull her out of Stripperville. Rememberthat and keep your eyes on the prize.
Several points to consider:
1. You're not Special.
You're one of 18 guys she's juggling right now, and one of a hundredwho witness her naked glory every night. It's her job tomake guys feel like they're the only one she's interestedin. She gets paid handsomely for that skill. That sultry stare she'sgiving you across the dinner table with those piercing green eyesis the same look that forces 75 men-a-night to fumble for theirwallets and jam fistfuls of green into her G-string even thoughthey're six months behind on child support.
2. She makes more money than you. Get used to it.
Keep in mind that she pulls down more than most corporate attorneys(who also represent a large portion of her clientele). She's ripping2-5K a week tax-free, and you shouldn't expect her to pay for anything.It's not in her nature. Guys fawn all over her every single nightand offer her stacks of crisp Benjamins in an effort to get theirknobs slobbered on in the parking lot behind the club (somethingshe'll claim she's never done, but the other girls at the club have right she's done it at least once).
3. If you get emotionally involved with this girl, you're infor a hurricane of pain.
Your future with this chick: broken dates, shattered windows, holespunched in doors, a slew of ex-boyfriends and husbands, a thousand"friends" calling all the time, an encyclopedia of restrainingorders she has out on said exes and a couple customers who stalkedher for six months. Her apartment is littered with soggy G-stringsand cheap 8-inch heeled shoes, along with empty tubes of body glitter,mascara, prescription drugs, zit cream, Aqua Net and Polaroid picturesof her and her "friends" engaged in some drinking anddancing on St. Patrick's Day last year. The Polaroid pictures ofher and her stripper friends getting nasty for the entirebar are still circulating around town because one of the guys shedated last month stole them out of her nightstand when he sensedthe end was near and he wasn't going to be getting any more CinnamonLove.
3. She has more guy friends than you had all throughout highschool and college, collectively.
Sometimes they'll just drop in when you two are hanging out andyou're thinking it might get romantic. The guy friend will ask her right in front of you if she wants to go to HappyHour at the Knick Knack Paddy Whack Lounge and she'll look at youwith bright eyes and say, "Yeah let's go to Happy Hourwith Tim here it'll be fun!" And you, still grippingon to that glimmer of hope for some pussy, will say yes and you'llspend the next three hours in a simmering rage while you quaff watered-downBud Light drafts, because she's the most popular girl in the barand every person with a penis in there is looking to hop on theStripper Wagon that is blazing through Stripperville at a very unsafespeed.
All of those "guy friends" started out just like you,chief. They saw the Promised Titty Land and thought they could getthere, too. Once they tired of the bullshit and drama, or she foundsomeone else, they were relegated to "friends." They could'vebought a fucking sailboat with all the money they blew onyoung Cinnamon, and now they hang on to some last vestige of hope,thinking that she may just get drunk enough some night and let themput their spit on the slit. You guys could all get together andswap the exact same stories about wasted nights, full-blown disappointment,and confused, desperate whack-off sessions when you all found outthat dating a stripper is no different than trying to debate Nietzschewith a Dalmation.
4. Her life is a flurry of activity selected at random.
This stimulates her sub-par self-esteem. At 10am she will be rocketingdown the freeway at 130mph on the back of some guy's crotch rocket.By 1pm she's already at some different guy's house, swimming nakedin the pool with him and his Great Dane named Robo. By 5pm she'sdoing "X" at some other guy's house, and from thereshe goes home for the five-minute shower and gets ready for work.
5. She'll blow you off for three dates in a row.
When you keep calling, she knows she has you. That Saturday nightdinner and special room you've secured at the fucking Ritz willbe vaporized after she tells you she's going to Mexico with someof her "friends." Her whimsical trip to Mexico will foreverafter be known as Cabo Wabo Orgy 2002, and you'll likely come acrosssome digital pix of her fellating two guys on the beach in Cabowhile you're scanning some amateur porn site on the Net.
It's a crazy affair, for sure, but just remember these do's anddon'ts and you'll be fine:
DON'T ever call her and not announce your name. Her phonerings more than all of the lines at the New York Times combined.Don't put her in the precarious position of trying to guess yourname. "Is it Steve? Rick? Mike? Dave? Javier? Justin? Michael?Chris? Matt? Juan? Adam? Alex? Roberto? Ed? Brian? Eugene? Tim?"She'll make it quite clear that she has many suitors, which excitesher to no end, and puts you in a bottle of bourbon all alone by9pm that night. Try to sound upbeat: "Hi Cinnamon, this isGreg, I was just walking through Tiffany's, looking at a $900 sterling-silverashtray and thought of you." (She smokes. They all smoke. She'dgush over an ashtray from Tiffany's. Don't buy it, though. Makeher think you would've bought it for her, if only there wasa rose engraved on it.)
DON'T ask her about her fucking tattoos unless you wantto look like one of her customers.
DON'T go see her at her job unless it's absolutely necessary.A necessity would be getting her condo key so you can go feed hercat. If you get to that point, FYI, you're now one of her "friends,"and you can wrap up the sexual fantasies you have of her by beatingoff right on her pillow after you throw the cat some Meow Mix.
DON'T try to keep up with her. Don't skip work to spendthe day with her. She works nights and you work days. Keep yourjob. Her days are spent at tanning booths, Frederick's of Hollywoodand chic outdoor cafés where her and her stripper "friends"eat poached salmon salads with dressing on the side.
DO carry lots of hundreds in a money clip. Make sure shesees you strip off the bills when the dinner check comes. Or betteryet, whip out the Corporate Amex and toss it on the table like you'refolding a bad poker hand. Clasp your hands behind your head andlean back into your chair after you make the Amex toss, as if tosay, "See that? Unlimited credit, baby."
DO kiss her on the cheek when she shows up at your placefor the nice dinner you're going to cook her, and knock her fishnetsoff with your ability to handle the cuisine and wine. At some earlypoint in the evening though, you're going to have to find her cellphone in her purse and steal the battery out of it, because thatthing will ring incessantly and she will eventually find somethingor someone better to do. Pull the battery or she's goingto get some call at midnight, when you've got the Miles Davis playinglightly in the background, and the candles illuminating the roomin a soft glow and you think you're about to "storm the beach."This call will undoubtedly be from one of her "friends"who is going to an after-hours party at some country bar and allof the sudden she'll squeal with delight and jot down the addresson her hand and say to you, "Let's go Two-Stepping at the CountryBunker with John and Kevin!"
DO remember this: strippers are more fucked up than TheWho was during their 1973 U.K. "Quadrophenia" Tour. They'rea bad lot to hang out with, because there's so much freedom andmoney in Stripperville. They've got it all and they don't need youor anyone else. All they need is their Xanax and Raspberry Stolion the rocks and their job. Yeah the job. That's what fuelsthe lifestyle and you're never going to pry her from it. Don't evensuggest it.
If your goal from the aforementioned list is "sex," youneed to understand that it's going to take at least fivedates. At least. Figure $250 per date. Compound that and it's anice little used Hobie Cat or a decent house payment. While thatfine body, devoid of tan lines, might fuel you to the fifth date,I'd recommend looking into escort services in your area. With anescort, you're getting what you want right off the bat, and it'lllikely cost you half of what Cinnamon is charging.
Good luck in Stripperville. It'll be a short stay, but somethingyou'll talk about for years to come.