Thursday, March 16th, 2017
Vagina: the inside parts
Vulva: the outside parts
Vagina: the inside parts
Vulva: the outside parts
I am so grateful for the bouncers with which I work.
If you know what it’s like to work in a sexually charged space with strangers that are oftentimes inebriated and unpredictable, you appreciate the presence of a calm, rational security expert who excels in conflict resolution.
Specifically, my coworkers Rick Johnson and Adam Weyeneth know that our roles as adult-entertainers do not mean that we are deserving of harassment or harm. Thank.You.
Shutting closet doors and closing shower curtains is my favorite method of tidying up. Schrodinger’s mess. It’s not there if you can’t see it.
If you’re curious what strippers do in their "off" time, here’s a typical Saturday for me:- goes through social media messages, texts
I think that the Day Without a Woman has it’s parallels to the Day Without a Mexican; it’s base purpose is to point out how vital these groups of people are to our nation’s workforce and to society.
However, only some people have the privilege of being able to shirk their work duties, forfeit potential income, and thumb their nose at the establishment and at their employer.
I am not angry at anyone who chooses to participate in tomorrow’s protest, but I ask that protestors understand why plenty other women will clock in as usual.
It’s not that we want to, it’s that some of us really don’t get to make that kind of choice.
"Why do you smell like syrup?"
"Oh, I have a perfume made in that scent."
"That's a brilliant idea, because I always get a boner at the brunch table."
Boyfriend refuses the addition of pineapple on my side of the oven pizza.
I threaten elimination of a sex act for the rest of our relationship
He is currently slicing and placing pineapple on my side of the oven pizza.
True story. Ladies and gentlemen, stop thinking that strippers are hell-bent on disrupting your home life. We have our own lives. New episode every Friday; let's talk stripper-hate. UnzippedPDX.com, Listen on iTunes, Soundcloud and StitcherApp. Email your sex and dating Qs to Fuck@unzippedpdx.com
A moment of silence for all of the words that will be abused and overused during the POTUS speech.
I got to witness the truest love last night when I was was giving a pair of betrothed poly people a handful of private dances. They kissed as I tugged on his beard and stroked her hair.
She turned to smile brightly in the dark red room and exclaimed, "I get to marry this man tomorrow!"
I see a lot of couples, and it's always interesting to digest the dynamic between two strangers in a relationship. But these two were so mutually calm and in sync with each other, I was honored to be near to that kind of intimacy, and I have no doubts about their future happiness.
Congratulations, S and A.
I just got to pull my sweater over my head and be The Great Cornholio, onstage. That’s what happens when your audience is a boisterous group of thirty-year-olds.
Watch "Paris is Burning", on Netflix. It’s a 1987 film about Harlem drag. It’s pretty amazing how incredibly oppressed people will find ways to express themselves. Also, now I see how Madonna ripped off "vogue-ing" from Black queer and trans people.
That thing when a newbie customer says,
"I’ll give you a dollar for every pull-up you can do",
and you get to smirk over your shoulder and grin,
"You sure about that?"
...Good times had by all.
It’s so surreal to have a strip club patron gift you a pin that contains the hashtag that you started. #yesastripper is a response to the whorephobic #notastripper, and I’m glad that the professional pole community has spoken so loudly. Check out the stripper pins and merch on Jacqthestripper.com.
Last week, a man came in to tell me how much he hates the way that I smell, (the syrup scent) and I do remember him because he did this the last time:
He bought four dances without any coercion, and throughout, kept telling me how ridiculous/silly/absurd/crazy/weird I am for smelling like vanilla/syrup/waffles/pancakes/breakfast/Canada.
There are a dozen ways, to span fifteen minutes, while deflecting pointless criticism in a sing-song voice, and with a smile and a few winks. After fifteen minutes, I start repeating the script. I thanked him, gave him a hug, he laughed and left. It is a stripper thing, to be an object of desire while simultaneously critiqued. I have no negative feelings about this, but it’s amazing how common "negging" is.
It’s becoming more difficult to be flippantly perverse due to the severity of the political climate.
However, I think that it is important to be vocal about our sexual proclivities and to talk about those of us who proudly live on the fuckery peripheries, because sexual freedom is integral to social freedom.
The woman who pushed past me in the coffee line and dropped her spoon on the floor (I hate littering) is now talking loudly to others about how she just moved to Portland from St Louis and is "very disappointed" in "the politics of people and the riots". My flight is delayed, I’m scheduled to work in two hours, and I’m thinking that this is a good time to complain on Facebook.
Do you think Willy Nelson’s braids hit people in the face when he fucks them?
My iPhone always autocorrects "erections" to "elections", and I don’t even want to think about elections for a while, so this is doubly annoying.
I didn’t cry on Election night, I didn’t even cry on Inauguration Day.
These executive orders are killing me though.
1/3 of men have concerns about premature ejaculation, according to my lecturer*. So, dudes, if you do, you’re not alone. There should be some comfort in this information, and that’s why I’m posting here.
*Clinical Sexuality Educator, Paul R. Nelson, ISEE.
I really don’t want to become a politician but a bitch might have to.
To clarify; last night I attended a fundraiser, and watched Rep. Earl Blumenauer speak, and these words still ring in my ears,
"We need more women in politics. When women enter into the political sphere, the game changes. When Nancy Pelosi became Speaker, it changed Obama for the better. He had some wins and losses, but he was better for listening to her...
Did you know that Gov. Kate Brown, our Governor, is the only current Democrat and female Governor in all of our fifty states? The only one. In the coming years, we will need more women in politics. Join the PTA, join a board, become a representative to your district, find out who your reps are. We will need more women in politics, to fight our President for the next four years."
Here’s the thing, we can wear pussy hats, wear feminism chants on t-shirts, sell or post our sexy photos with pride, but if we aren’t writing, educating, or leading, we aren’t getting elbow deep in the dirty work that has to be done to protect the peoples who are most threatened by POTUS: women, minorities, LGBTQ people, sex workers, and the working class.
Donate a little money to an organization doing good work, or support your friend’s progressive work, at the very least. The future is female? Show me.
While it might be tempting to drink oneself into oblivion, I’m going to keep my brain as polished as possible for the next four years, because living in Dystopia with a hangover seems like two types of misery.
It's five days into the new year and I haven't written "2016" on anything, so I consider myself highly successful, thus far.
So you want to do a complete life overhaul? That's great! Here's a tip, backed by hundreds of academic studies, interviews and research, in a rad book that's helped me for the last couple of years:
- Make small changes to your daily habits, one at a time.
- Once that small change becomes a habit, you can move to the next goal.
*If you attempt too many changes at once, you disrupt and frustrate your daily cycles, and that is why so many people burn out so quickly*
"At one point, we all consciously decided how much to eat and what to focus on when we got to the office, how often to have a drink or when to go for a jog. Then we stopped making a choice, and the behavior became automatic. It's a natural consequence of our neurology... you can rebuild those patterns whichever way you choose." - The Power of Habit, Charles Duhigg.
Sers, if you can read this book, great. If not, make a list of goals, and tackle them one by one. You can do it.
California might finally vote to allow law enforcement to treat child "prostitution" as what it actually is: trafficking.
The age of consent is 18, and since children legally can't consent to sell sex, and because of SB1322, they will no longer be arrested and prosecuted, as they have been.
This could be a huge victory, as it will save money that is wasted on further criminalizing minors who are either trying to live independently, or are under pimp control.
It will allow law enforcement to focus on pursuing adult traffickers and enslavers. Thank you, California Democrats.
Ya’ll love me despite my typos, thank youuuuuuuu.
This will piss somebody off but I put kale on pizza today and it was gooooood.
My body is screaming at me because I danced so hard, but last night was a gift of many gracious visitors to Lucky Devil. Thank you.
If you ever see a "prevent rape" video that begins by saying that rapists target women with ponytails, don’t reblog or share that garbage.
This POS has been viral for ten years, and it spreads false info for the sake of ad-clicks. UGH. And please don’t send it to me via social media, I will delete you.
You guys, I am in BJ prep-mode, level 9000. I have a hair tie on my wrist. I have chapstick in my bra. I’m actually wearing a bra. My face is washed. I put on extra mascara in case he wants to smear my eyes and fuck up my face. I have water by the bed. My hair is wet and wavy. I even brushed my teeth. I. Am. Ready.
...Tell me about your prep rituals, for marathon sex or whatever. Email Fuck@unzippedpdx.com.
The credit union teller asked my daughter what she wants for Christmas. She said, "I want a dark blue remote control car with analog controllers. Mommy wants money."
We all had a good laugh. But really.
My current boyfriend is younger than me: I just sent him a photo from my 2005 Suicidegirls days, and it’s confirmed that he saw me naked about a decade before we met IRL. I feel some role play coming on.
"Mommy, what are you DOING?" Bird saw me quickly slide a tampon between my legs, toss the plastic into the trash can, and stand.
"I"m putting a tampon into my vagina to soak up the blood that comes out of my vagina every month. When this happens, it’s called a period. Most adult ladies get their periods, it means they can have babies."
... She lets me finish the sentence before laughing and toddling away.
These conversations are easy if you keep them simple. It’s getting them dressed, fed, brushed and out the door by 7:30 a.m that’s difficult.
Some kid just called me a cissexist on IG because I used the phrase, "people with vaginas," and I want to tell these children to stop using Tumblr more than their frontal lobes.
The "#YesAStripper" art show runs until January 6th at Champagne Room Gallery, 5300 SE Foster Rd. You can buy a copy of the book I published, "Strange Times: Tales from American Strippers", for $10.
My boyfriend on threesomes: "If I wanted to disappoint two people at the same time, I’d go to dinner with my parents."
There is a 90% chance that I will be going back to school to earn degrees that I can use after my stripper knees explode,
and this means I will 100% have less time to respond to emails, plz forgive me...
...anyway, I think that I would make a great sex therapist.
What’s the title of your autobiography?
Mine would be, "Sweaty Girls Eating Cheese: The Inspiration I Found in the Dressing Room."
There are about 26 different faiths under the umbrella of Christianity...
...and I’ve had so many knock on my door in the last few months, that it’s about goddamn time that I get a "No Solicitors"placard.
Every time that I kick my daughter’s bath toys to the side before I urinate in the shower, I think, "I’m such a good parent."
I just learned that I can’t comfortably masturbate in my new office chair, and I wonder if that’s a legitimate comment for a reviews thread.
Quotes of the Week: People are Losing Their Minds Edition
"That guy just told me my ass is too flat to spend $20."
"Death seems nice, right about now."
"My woman mowed the lawn and then mailed me her sweaty panties."
"Please don’t disrespect my co-workers, and everyone will have a better time."
"Is he harassing you?"
"This supermoon looks like all the other supermoons."
"I’ll get the bouncer."
"Slap me and tell me I’m you’re girlfriend."
"If a truck comes crashing through this wall, do I get a discount?"
"We all just got out, she was my celly, and he was his celly, can we get a dance?"
"This is my husband. You look good on top of him."
"You don’t work here, you’re too pretty."
"I’m sorry about my comment last week, I brought you some books from your wishlist to apologize."
"Can I find out where I can buy a pepper spray from a business that doesn’t support Trump?"
"Is that guy bothering you?"
"Can you just cuddle me?"
"Did I cross a boundary?"
"Somebody called him a "ch*nk", in Portland. He’s lived here all his life, and this is new."
"The Indians aren’t using the roads for their horses, so why do they care where they drill?"
"Harassment has skyrocketed in the server industry, too."
"All of my trans clients are suicidal, because of this election."
"It won’t always be like this. Keep telling yourself that."
"Are you due for your period also?"
"I love you." ... "..I love you too."
Today in the holiday aisles of Target, our four year-old proudly announced that she’s going to get me an "adult toy" for my stocking.
That was a crowd pleaser.
Friends, Can we please stop suggesting to other women that we carry knives?
There has been a huge increase in sexual assault against my peers in the last four days, but nobody should be using a knife unless they are properly trained in wielding one.
I only knife-trained for about a year under Justin Norton (RIP, buddy), but I don’t even carry one, because:
It’s really easy to disarm a smaller person with a knife, especially if your assailant has a longer reach (longer arms/legs) and can simply punch your arm, in which case it’s reflexive to drop what you’re holding,
Now they can use the knife on you.
Please please please carry spray, or use your keys if you feel like you need a concealed weapon.
Women, poor people, disabled people, trans people, fat people, Black people, Brown people: specifically Muslims and Mexicans, gay and queer people&mdashbasically anyone that #TP has slandered:
This is our chance to get together and work together.
My weekly therapy appointment begins in thirty minutes and I think she and I will be checking our cell phones throughout.
Trump is Hitler 2016. I live in an industrial area and with blue collar working class peoples, mostly white and Latino. I see a lot of work trucks with Trump/Pence stickers (and Caucasian drivers), and for the last month I held this out the car window in traffic. Usually I receive thumbs-ups, or honks of what seems like affirmation from these other white people. The problem with TP supporters is that they aren’t all "bad", but that their cultural ignorance was lassoed and steered toward equating economic problems with Mexicans and Muslims. I voted for Hillz because there’s too much at stake for a protest vote. Please do the same.
The next time some dOOd asks me what I’m doing after work, I’m going to say, "Eating brussel sprouts in the bathtub", because that’s what I’m doing now.
I just told the coffee shop kid to "humor me [my jokes] and I’ll tip you better."
He said, "that sounds good to me!"
"Men are pussies", is a statement that reinforces sexism by
1) reiterating the notion that weakness isn’t allowed in males, and
2) because the slang use of the word "pussy", which is always used derogatorily, equates [traditional] femininity with negativity.
If you give a shit about feminism and gender equality*, please stop using "pussy" to mean "bad/weak/uncool".
*and if you truly hate people simply because of their gender identity, let’s have a conversation about that too.
My extremely sensitive sense of smell makes sex/life really stressful sometimes.
Judy* was peeing in the dressing room toilet, and from across the room I sniffed twice, and asked if she drinks a lot of kombucha.
John* was cuddling me and I could smell bananas through his skin. "I ate two today!"
Tyler* once showed up for a fuck date, and before I even hugged him I determined that he reeked of hummus and I basically screamed at him, sorry dude.
Steven* gets annoyed when I can sense the stomach acid in his words from across the room, I always know that, "You haven’t eaten enough today."
I can’t chew gum or eat any candy that isn’t fairly natural, because aspartame makes my jaw ache.
If this is my super power, I would like to return it.
On Sunday at twerk I had a really nice conversation with a forty something man from Utah, who was in town for a work meeting. His industry is oil, he has had sex with two women in his life, one of which is his Jamaican-born wife who, "goes to church a lot". He is voting for Trump, and he has never had a blowjob.
"I’m probably really repressed, sexually. Oh well. I don’t want to be rude, but do you know of any way that I could procure one?"
I actually wanted to be able to point the guy in the right direction; and since people are a product of their own environments, I felt more bad for him than anything else. Poor fella is probably gonna die of heart disease before he gets a mouth on his peen.
Happy International Fisting Day! Vaginas are quite flexible if you know how to communicate with ’em.
I’m happily tucked in the corner of Little Bird Bistro, and studying:
- two young married couples,
- one elderly married couple, the style of her ring and their dynamic suggests that they’ve been wed about a decade
- one newly partnered couple, together less than a year because they are very easily sexually excited by the other, especially after two drinks, and they seem eager to reassure the other person’s emotions. no rings either.
- one married woman hitting on her male companion
- two women who look like sisters or cousins, discussing something traumatic
It’s fun to play this game, although I rarely know if I’m correct.
The Weeknd has like five different songs about strippers and sex workers being sad and obsessed with him, and it’s like, we get it dude, you’re insecure.
He’s standing, and I’m sitting at his post. The tall bar-stool has carved a groove in the wall from years of bored bouncers leaning into and flopping upon it.
To the right of the barstool, the front door faces the dairy factory and the parking lot. To the left, sits the small bar and bartender, and straight ahead of that chair, is the stage.
The good bouncers remain here for much of the shift, moving mostly to assist drunk people with the nearby ATM, gather trash bags from the kitchen, or watch the stage to catch patrons who are misbehaving.
Andrew* is a good bouncer, and everyone agrees on this. "Good working with you tonight, darlin’, see you next week I hope."
The girls in the dressing room bat their eyes and put a hand to their chests when they consider what it might be like if he wasn’t so married.
Handsome never had much of an effect on me, but Andrew is a good bouncer, and so I like sitting next to him, and I like working with him.
Tonight, as always, his empty coffee cup from the local drive-thru is nearby, out of sight from the crowd. We talk about our kids. Sometimes I’ll talk about dating, if he asks.
I ask him about his woman. I met her once, she was pleasant and pretty. His wife and my brain share a similar affliction. He can tell me about her mental health without saying much.
Tonight I am unwell. I am slowly crawling toward a panic attack and I know it and I suspect that everyone knows it, and the chair again pushes into the wall as I shift my weight to the other side of my person.
"Are you doin’ okay?"
I am not doing okay. I’m thinking of the men who crawled inside of me, or carved out slices of what they thought would be useful for their selves. I’m touching my wrists, and wondering if I can find inches of skin on my body that any man will feed. And instead I tell Andrew a truth, because I know that he will not repeat it, and that he will understand.
- - - -
The room is moving, but we are not. I see Andrew and I see myself in the opposite mirror, straight ahead. His skin is covered, dressed in black, and I know that a bulletproof vest hides under the buttons on his torso. My skin is mostly exposed and thin, sheer fabric covers my sex organs. And my self is propped on the chair that is quietly being carved into the wall. If the chair does not move and the wall does not change, the hole will become bigger.
I see his head turn to look at me, and I hear him say, "I’ll never hurt you, and you know that I love you, okay Elle?"
I know what he means, and there is relief when my woman’s brain absorbs the truth that he isn’t trying to fuck me, and it’s a momentary bandage. So I laugh. And I agree, "We have the perfect relationship, don’t we?" And I love him too, in the only way that I can. So I get up and move because he is an ancillary character, and because that chair isn’t going anywhere either.
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Happy Indigenous Peoples Day.
Flu season is stressful when I’m sexually active, cuz I wake up and can’t tell if I’m getting a sore throat, or if I legit rammed too much D in my mouf the day earlier. I KNOW I’M NOT ALONE IN THIS.
I wish that there was Facebook in the 1930s because I would have been really interested to see the public argument in support of Hitler.
Your self worth is not determined by how other people treat you.
Buster Ross says that I'm "still hot even though I'm old now and we can start working on a new website, punkmilfs.net".
I think that's the sweetest way that someone could have joked on ageism, sexism, while wishing me well and referring to me as a punk.
He’s a lawyer from Alaska. Or so he’s told me, once, when I asked. I believe him. Because otherwise I have no story to build around this stranger.
He has shoulder-length hair and heavy eyebrows. He speaks simply and confidently. He sits still and watches the room. He wants to smell and to be touched. The other girls leave him alone, because he does not look friendly. And they know he is not there for them.
I’m fond of his presence. He’s easy to dance for, and I feel safe with this human man. On my list of clients, he’s near the top. Most of his clients are poor alcoholics that beat their wives and each other. I wonder if he hates them.
I asked if he had been married once. He didn’t want to talk about it. He’s handsome, in an odd, hard manner. I like his boots. They are laced, brown, formal and yet worn.
Sometimes he gets hard. Sometimes he buries his nose into my hair, and inhales deeply, gripping the couch. I would fuck him. Probably. I’m not going to, and we both understand that. But my close, sweaty touch gives him something to visit.
"Do you think that you are more cynical, or optimistic?"
The question caught me; he was asking something more specific than that. But I don’t lie to my clients unless I dislike them. And so, I considered the question, and responded, "I think that I say cynical things, but I try to think optimistically, so that I don’t become utterly depressed."
He was silent.
"What do you think? What about you?"
He shook his head, "I think I’m a hopeless romantic."
Outside of the door, somewhere in the bar, a glass shattered. He was blinking, staring ahead at the opposite wall. And for once, I didn’t say anything. I took a breath and reached up to stroke his hair. "Me too", I would have said. But nobody ever believes me, when I say it. I hope he is okay.
THIS JUST IN:
Blue balls isn’t going to kill you, or affect your self-esteem. And besides, the male orgasm typically isn’t even that difficult to come by.
I just had a blood draw for my life insurance policy, and the woman taking my sample asked me what I do for work...
When I told her "stripper", she smiled and recalled the time she had ventured into a SE Portland strip club:
"I had wanted to be a stripper since I was sixteen, and then when I turned eighteen I went to audition. I was wearing an Eeyore crop top. I was basically still a kid. I looked around and realized it wasn’t for me. But that pole stuff is really impressive."
The woman is about thirty, like me, and our daughters are close in age. We chatted a bit more, and she told me that the hospice facility in which she also works "is severely understaffed and people have seizures because they aren’t being given their medicine. I hate working there, it puts my license at risk. But, when I need an extra bit of money, I do."
I loved this interaction, because it reminded me how many spaces aren’t well-managed, and that different people will find different jobs suitable for their needs.
AND I didn’t detect any bitterness from her regarding my chosen profession, she had just discovered that it wasn’t one that she would choose.
It was a nice conversation. I wanted to share it with ya’ll.
So, in the animal kingdom, we call it "presenting" when a beast makes it known that they want to mate, by assuming a stance or giving off a scent, or preening, whatever.
And in the human animal kingdom, we call it "presentable" when we get dressed up, put makeup on, whatever.
SO that makes me think that to look "presentable" is to look "fuckable". Yes?
I’ll know that gender equality has been achieved once I can scratch my crotch in public with the same impunity as dudes who be grabbin’ their sacks in the middle of the grocery store.
You know that feeling when you take your first sip of coffee, and you immediately think, "Oh yeah, this will make me shit my pants"?
Man with wife: "Hey look at that, show me your tattoos."
Me: "Oh, no thank you."
Man: "Come on, let me see your art."
Me: "Nah, thanks though."
Man: "What’s that there?" (Touches my arm)
Me: "Show me your penis."
(Wife still doesn’t say anything, but doesn’t seem outraged at this)
Me: "Come on, it’s art."
Man: "No, it’s not the same."
Me: "Why not? Penises can totally be art."
Man: "No, it’s more of a shriveled up mushroom at this point."
Me: "Well, this was a fun conversation. Have a nice day."
(Wife is smiling, I’m wondering how she felt about this interaction.)
So, I’m back on Tinder. I actually like that app because I’m able to connect with people that I deem similar in values, based on a few moments of scrutinizing the information that they’ve put forth, via pics and words. However, there are a lot of dealbreakers. It’s fine for people to have preferences, don’t ever forget that.
I swiped left because...
...you’re making a blue steel face
...you’re holding a fish, no I don’t like fishing
...you cut your ex out of the picture
...your child looks like a brat
-I think you were sitting on the toilet in your profile selfie
...we have too many mutual friends
...you are sitting on the toilet in your profile selfie, "ironically"
...you look like you’re about to explode with pent-up rage and that scares me
...all of your phrases! end in! exclamation marks!
...there are more emojis than words
-there are no words
...you wrote a poem or quoted a dead man
...you have a studio picture where it looks like you’re getting a blowjob, like, literally you have a woman’s head facing your groin and her arm is reaching up your chest, and you don’t even do porn.
If you can’t handle me at my lazy missionary, you don’t deserve me at my marathon face-fuck.
"Mommy, how did I fit through your vagina? Vagina holes are very small."
"Vagina holes ARE very small, but luckily they can stretch for babies to come out. But you were an extra big baby, so they cut my tummy and pulled you out that way. Then they sewed me up and later I tattooed over the scar."
*blows farts on my hand*
YOU GUYS I’M A FASCIST AND IT’S ONLY NOON
Small penis jokes are body-shaming and transphobic, stop making them.
How do you talk to you children about marijuana?
"Hey honey, mommy is going to smoke her medicine [CBD] because her body hurts. It’s not for toddlers, okay?"
"Okay mommy, like coffee will make me sick too. And peanuts make me sick too."
Wow, that was fucking easy.
Yeah guy in coffee shop who hears me on the phone talking about a former chlamydia treatment (with my life insurance company) while I’m crawling under the table to jerry-rig the laptop charger to the wall with the broken stool, and eating a cold breakie burrito with my other hand, and flipping through multiple tabs, I see you too. Don’t act like you’re not impressed. I FINALLY GOT IT TO STAY IN THE WALL THOUGH.
The man in line behind me at the coffee shop was visibly nervous; he’s a strip club semi-regular, and this morning he was accompanied by a well dressed woman.
We ignored each other, and I’m sure he will bring it up when I see him at the club.
Don’t worry, I will never "out" you.
My AutoCorrect changes "Slutwalk" to "sidewalk" and "butt walk", which are two very important aspects of the event.
This year’s date TBA soon!!
Oh and I’m a little late to this but I want everyone in the #BernieOrBust and #JillStein camps to think long and hard about what the word "bust" could actually mean for this country.
Voting with your conscience is bullshit, if I was going to do that, I would vote for Indiana Jones cause he seems like a great guy...but he’s not a viable option.
So, since y’all are determined to split the vote; should we schedule the deportations of brown and Black people now or later?
I am really beginning to hate going to the hardware store.
I was pulling twenties out of my wallet when the female cashier jokingly asked if I was "spending all of my husband’s money".
I calmly told her that "no, this is mine", but simultaneously I was eye-punching her into the previous century.
Every time a stranger-client tells me, "Your boyfriend is so lucky to have you", I want to text my exes and say SEE SEE I TOLD YOU SO.
Shout out to all of the sex workers in Cleveland right now, I hope that the Republicans are decent clients.
I’m watching the news and I’m so glad that my daughter can sleep through all of my swearing
I’m still dealing with the golden glitter in my stripper bag so the mints that I’m chewing are tainted. My breath will be fresh and my poop will be sparkly.
I’m pretty sure that male feminists are better at sex because they view their partner’s pleasure as equal, so they actually do more than just shudder out some splooge and roll over.
You guys I just found the Bible verse which forbids tattoos.
Leviticus 19:28: " Ye shall not make any cuttings in your flesh for the dead, nor print any marks upon you."
Hmm, where shall I put this on my body?
I woke up to news and video of Alton Sterling being shot while he lay on the ground. I watched the video, and everyone should too. Last week when I was at work a (stranger) white man resisted arrest for ten full minutes, he had been drunkenly knocking at my door, and my housemate called 911. We didn't know him, but when we called dispatch later for an update, they informed us that the man had been released to family. Should he have been shot? Of course not. Was he safer from that because of his race? Probably.
Happy Independence Day to those of you who continue the fight for liberties, rather than just rest on laurels.
The podcast is up! Give a listen to UnzippedPDX.com, or just click on the "Listen" tab above. Please send hatemail or questions to firstname.lastname@example.org.
Summer is here and it’s that time of year when I’m extra fearful of blemishes on my butt BECAUSE MOSQUITOS WILL RUIN MY HUSTLE.
One of my favorite clients just brought me gifts; the book "Shrill", by Lindy West, and a mini field notes pad, so that I might, "take notes on my customers". Well, it IS a jungle out there.
When I come home from work, I always ask my dog if he had a nice night, because even though he doesn’t have much to say, I get the feeling he appreciates me asking.
Customer Quotes of the Week:
"You have baby feet."
"Don’t tell my boyfriend that I bought you this weed, he will tease me."
"You are pretty hot for someone who is about to go onstage... I guess that was kind of insulting."
"I read your thing about customers, so what do you think of me?"
"Oh, my god."
"I filed for divorce today. I have a seven-year-old and I’m in my 40s, I feel like I’m starting over."
"I would like to make small talk with you."
"I’m dealing with some mental illness, and until I tackle those things, you help me to forget them." That man spent an hour with me.
I don’t even know how to be so grateful and humbled at the same time. This job is fucking hard, and I still love it despite that. The strangers who make themselves vulnerable with me are the ones that leave the deepest impressions.
The new dancer from Olympia told that me my tattoos look "vintage" and then rubbed my pubic hair with her fingers. I wriggled away, as she laughed and walked to the bar. I stood in my heeled boots, stunned, wondering just how stripper-crazy she was. Minutes later she was encouraging a customer to lick her nipples at the bar. This is a no-no in Portland, unless the rules have suddenly changed over night. Sigh. I really wasn’t feeling like dealing with that kind of competition, this evening. My question: can we just decriminalize the sale of sex already, so that the full-service gals and the full-service seeking customers can hang out in the same brick and mortar? I get to be selfish, once in a while. I’m not sure how to sell a dance for $20 or $30, when Olympia is giving out handies for free.
I have pole burn on my right, inner labia. That is all.
My mom is visiting and we don’t usually talk about things such as this, but she’s reading her book by the fire, and I’m tapping away at some ethical click bait, so I figure I’d ask her;
"Hey mom, so, I’m writing this thing on sex tips, and you know when guys go straight to your nipples, and totally ignore your underboob?"
"Ugh, YES. (throws her head back, spectacles still on her nose) God, I hate that. It’s like, you might as well have a blow-up-doll if you’re going to skip the foreplay."
I feel like we just bonded.
Well, I'm marching in a giant vagina for Pride, aka the Wunder Womb. Whatever shall I wear?
Is it ironic that I’m having a hard time writing about why
we need to continue our conversations about
how we raise young men and women,
rather than just policing young women,
and my brain isn’t working, and I’m wanting to go for a jog,
but I hate jogging because I have been harassed while jogging
so many times?
I’m supporting Bernie Sanders until he tells me to quit. The convention is in July.
FDR won the Dem nomination during a contested convention.
If we accept defeat, we’ve definitely already lost.
And hey, if Berns is truly out after that, then there’s still plenty of time to rally with HRC against Trump.
"F_____ why did you sign a petition trying to get me fired?"
Oh, her face twisted up, she didn’t like this question.
I had asked in the dressing room, with a neutral person present, because I’m so sick of these Mean Girl strippers and their accusations, all made in order to dominate the schedule.
In a nasal whine, "Because you’re mean to me!"
I took a deep breath, "When have I ever been mean to you?"
She slammed the door, I exhaled and turned to the other stripper, who was stretched out on the lineoleum floor, "I’m sorry you had to be present for that."
Later, the bouncer pulled me aside, "F_____ said you attacked her in the dressing room."
Okay. And the video/audio showed that I did not.
I wonder how people like this live happily with their Self, and the truth is, I don’t believe that that they do.
88 degrees Farenheit indoors and I’m sat on a yoga mat.
Two fans are blowing fast, my daughter is munching grapes in her underwear.
The neighbor is running a skill saw, and I’ll be painting over olive walls pretty soon.
It’s quiet otherwise. It’s my night off.
I let the man pull gently on my nipples in the downtown club last Thursday; management knows that I’m not going to let anyone penetrate me.
Yeah right, as if I need another reason to get a yeast infection.
The dog is looking for squirrels in the back yard.
I enjoy these quiet nights. My brain needs to rest.
I put garden shears on my Amazon wishlist because I like people to be aroused by my domesticity.Friday, June 3, 2016
I just rubbed a "Make America Great Again" hat allllll over my butthole. Stomped on it. Buttholed it again. The bachelor party seemed pleased that the hat had finally been given the attention it deserved.
I had stepped out of my car and was walking up the street for half a block when a man across at Doug Fir called out to me that I am "really pretty when I smile".
I turned to say look and then he tripped on the curb and his two friends started laughing.
The bouncer across the street at Trio Lounge saw it too and started laughing.
He raises his hands as he looks to the heavens and cries "This is my life, oh my god, this is ALWAYS my life, you guys."
So that was cute. I love Burnside.
Thank you to the Human Sexuality class at Portland Community College that just sat through 90 minutes of discussion and presentation by me, about sex work, stripping, consent, and misogyny.
I stepped out of the car at the gas station to throw something in the trash and two men at opposite ends of the parking lot decided to shout similar things from their windows, regarding my body, at the same time.
I continued with my activity and acted as if I did not hear either one, but peripherally I could see that both of them might have realized the absurdity of the entire thing.
At least, as much as men who shout things at women, can.