I’m not the least bit tired. Or exploited. Or sad about making $3,000 in less than thirty hours this week. 

I think I will celebrate my week with chocolate cupcakes and a lovely run on soft singletrack and pine-needle trails at the swamp. And gluten-free beer. And collecting an armload of dandelions for a batch of dandelion flower cookies.

Director: Paul Verhoeven

Writer: Joe Eszterhas

What a strange movie.  I had never seen it before and it is currently on HBO Go.  Clearly they were trying to make a serious movie but goddamn this has some of the strangest dialogue in a movie.  Also it has the feel that a lot was left out on the cutting room floor but the movie is 130 minutes long.  How does one manage that?  To feel slight and bloated at the same time.

Hello, my accidental readers!

So, I had an idea and decided to take action. I used to be a entertainer for a very long time- 10 years to be accurate. I wore all the fabulous garments and had a chance to speak to a wide array of people, from every background possible. In different languages,that is.

When I say “an entertainer”, you might be curious,right?

Yes, I was a dancer, my tools were a bright smile, the shiny pole to hold onto, tacky plastic heels and lots of costume jewellery.Now, many people still have preconceptions about “the strippers”, it is okay.Even the most judged of us have that trait,we also judge others.It’s human nature.

So let’s get to the point. I retired, after dancing for a year in Montreal,Canada (no,I don’t speak French). Before going to Canada I wanted to create some costumes for myself,since it’s highly important for a dancer to stand out from the crowd. Depending on a club, there can be up to 200 girls working on an average night. Hustling for customers to spend,while competing with the most gorgeous girls from around the world can be a challenge.

So on the floor of my living room, I cut out samples- (messed up quite a few times)….gathering insipration from my past outfits,from what I had seen on others, I put together 4 long gowns and 5 different outfits. For a complete startup, having had no set of skills or training, I’d say my costumes came out pretty striking. Well, I only say so, because of the feedback I got.

So, after returning from my year-long business trip, I pulled my guts together and decided to start a business of my own.Scary? Hell yes!

I went on and rented a space-made a mistake, it wasn’t the kind of building I could’ve set my fancy office into. Oh well, a lot of money badly spent.My first big lesson- think carefully before deciding!

Then I got lucky and found another room, this time fabulous, absolutely fabulous. I am set on the second floor,above the headquarters of a bank in my town.The space is 67,2 m2 and everything is so bright and modern here.

There’s so much more to it, when you get a room,you’ll have to make it ready for business. Plus the materials and machines….It is an investment, you only spend money while earning nothing.And it can take months! For me, it actually took 2 months to be able to say: Now I can hire people!

Oh, and the hiring process….I bet every enterpreneour understands me here, it is the trickiest.

Very few are up for the challenge and of course the risk to work in a start-up business.

I have lots of respect for the people who can see what I see-the vision I have.My wish to pay them back for that trust gives me more will to march on and try my best.

Now it sounds like whining, hahaa, don’t get me wrong please.I absolutely love the feeling of doing something of my own. Everything I do, every effort-doesn’t feel like a negative thing.Instead, I finally be confident about what my job is.

So, there will be many more posts about my endeavor, sure, it could end in a crash or I might have moderate success-I believe in the best. I hope I can share the experience with the world,and maybe inspire others to jump out there and go crazy with it.

Till’ then!

Disclaimer:
I do not claim to be a sex educator nor that I know what I’m talking about- I only can go on what I know from my own experiences.
Note-everyone likes the same things.

I have had a few requests, one from a really good friend who had her own Bad Sex and is ready for some good – no great sex (Get em Girl!), so I guess this is a “tips” sort of post.

Here we go….(some of these I may have touched on in previous posts- so sorry if its redundant).

1- Don’t be afraid to make a move.
(It doesn’t have to be the first, but if you’re kissing and you want more- grab that cock, rub him down, unbutton your blouse. Guys hold back a lot because of us females, they think they may come off too aggressive if it’s too soon. Who defines soon?! If it feels good go win it).

2- Kisses! (Everyone likes kisses. They can be used anywhere-lips, neck, back, thighs, hips, penis… Explore your guy with your lips and the tip of your tongue. Trust me, your vagina will be salivating when you feel his body move and react to those sensitive parts that never get touched. For me, my neck gets me every time!! Even just kissing his back down to his butt will get him going, he’ll roll over and you’ll have a semi-erect or super ready cock!!
I use to rub peppermint oil on my lips and kiss his lips and neck when I’m on my way out – the peppermint oil will leave a cool sensation once I’m gone.
I also like to put my lips close to his as if I’m about to kiss him and just barely open my mouth and tease his lips with my tongue. Same thing on his neck or ears).

3- Blowjob… (Yes, suck his dick. It’s not that hard nor is it a big deal. If he can go down on you, you can suck some penis. How do you give a good BJ?! Absolutely NO TEETH! Cup those lips around your teeth and don’t let go, you can “grip” tighter using your teeth this way. Use some suction, let you mouth make those noises! Get as much of him in your mouth as you can, and if you can’t throw your hand around that baby and start stoking, using circular motions is good too. Some guys are into ice, some aren’t so just watch it there. Warm sensations are always good. If you’ve been sipping coffee or tea, take him in your mouth, that insta-warm sensation will make him want more. I’m not into the whipped cream and stuff, but if you need to sweeten up his cock to get it in your mouth do it. The peppermint works here too, just don’t use too much.
Use you tongue to play with the tip. You’ll know when you’ve hit a speed he likes or are doing something right, he’ll squirm or breathe different, sigh or something- you’ll know. If you don’t want it in your mouth – don’t be bitchy about it just say you want to see his cum… You can say on your tits or wherever if that’s your thing. Suck him when he’s soft, suck him and wake him up, suck him after he’s cum… Just suck him! On a side note anytime “swallowing” comes up I instantly think “Drink Bitch” – I know it’s horrible).

4- Handjob (Sometimes a little tuggin’ is necessary- like on the couch watching a movie that isn’t what everyone made it out to be. I like to do it to get him almost there and stop- he’ll want to ravage you for sure. Some guys like it dry, rough, soft, loose, sloppy, tight… Just depends, my experience is wet and sloppy, lose and flirty. Try lube or spit on it- some guys love a gal spitting on their dick and stroking it- I don’t know- they do. Again, just be receptive to his “signals”.)

5- Sext (You don’t have to send naked pics of yourself. You can simply send anything that will remind him of a time you too were together or your panties or anything to get the juices flowing. Take a pic of your panties before putting them on in the morning and randomly send them to him during the day if you know you’ll be with him later. Send him a text saying you’re frisky, or wet or anything. Lopez calls them “flash cards” I use to sneak off to the bathroom when we worked together and send him a semi nude pic while he was in a meeting or If we had “breakfast” I would send him something like “I still can’t get this morning out of my head”. Have fun, play a little).

6- Find your inner stripper (Some guys are really into strip teases and/or lap dances. If your guy is one- do it! You don’t have to get fancy- not even any music. If he’s watching something on tv walk behind him and toss your top or bra on his chest and walk in front of him… You’ll catch his interest for sure. My fav stripper move is the guy sitting with his legs apart and you sit right on his package and grind – super good sex position too, just add penetration).

7- Initiate and Direct (Married, committed, grey area, whatever the case, don’t let him always initiate. So go, go, get ya sum! Sometimes when we are both naked I will mount him, but not let him penetrate, just sit near my salivating vagina – feeling how wet I am and will kiss and tease him- he will move his hands to touch and I will throw them down “Who said you could touch?” If there’s a new position or something he’s doing that feels good- talk to him- direct him!!)

8- Moan! (If it feels good let him know. I always say, moaning is like sexual applause. I’m not telling you to fake it… That’s just not constructive for anyone.)

9- Get into it… (Try to make your body roll while you’re riding his cock. Don’t worry about how you’ll look, just do it. Flip around when you’re in top too- a small change in how your hips sit can be oh so more pleasurable. I like to go 1/2 reverse, like his hip bone ends up directly on my clit and the angle he hits me inside is just yum).

10- Wear something sexy (If you feel sexy by wearing a corset under your a jacket at dinner, or with sexy panties or no panties or a negligee then do it because when you feel sexy, you’re more confident and he senses that and wants to fuck confidence every time).

55… Be natural, if you think of it- try it! What’s the worst that will happen? I would rather be labeled as a freak than a dead fuck any day

*Make it about him (the more you please him the more it will come back to him pleasing you- “do work”)

I am about to graduate and go out into the real world. Actually, I’m going to have to move back to Nashville. Move back in with my parents. Start looking for a job. All that real, grown up shit.

At this point in time, I’m not actually sure I am going to graduate as I’m miserably failing this Advanced Grammar class. Not because it was wicked tough, no. It’s because I elected to take a 9am class on Mon-Wed-Fridays. And because I party. Hard. So, as a result, I rarely make the class and when I do, I tend to nod off in the back and refuse to take notes when in a waking state. The class was boring as a still fuck and very complicated to a simple mind like my own. We’ll see how many grammatical errors are made in this written story, just to show you how much of a fuck I gave.

Anywho, this isn’t gonna stop me from throwing myself one helluva graduation party, even if graduation isn’t a possibility. I come up with this grand idea for a party (probably while daydreaming in the grammar class) involving keg beer and strippers. I titled it: Kegs N Legs.

Getting a keg was easy enough. My two roommates and I ponied up the cash and got a deposit and maybe someone even had a keg to turn in. Doesn’t matter. It was easy and could be done day of the party.

Now, the strippers had to be secured and for whatever reason I was rich in college even though I only made about $3.00 over minimum wage. Probably because my only expenses were rent and utilities and my diet consisted of cheap beer, whiskey, and cigarettes. Oh, and grilled cheese and ramen noodles. You know where I’m coming from.

I go to the local strip club called Tattle Tales one afternoon to rent flesh for the party. Allow me to explain this gentleman’s establishment.

The city is Bowling Green located in the southeast portion of the state of Kentucky. There is not a Hooters restaurant in B.G. as there is some old city ordinance against it. Needless to say, there is a serious problem of an ordinance regarding titty bars.  This ordinance prohibits full nudity in ANY business operation in town. Well, that’s fair enough, to a degree. I love pussy, sure. Would I mind looking at pussy shake its thang on a stage to some rap music? Of course not, but throw a g-string over it and I’ll gladly look at titties all goddamn day. One of my monikers is Tittie Roosevelt, naturally. However, In B.G. nudity includes the exposure of female nipples.

Yes. There do exist strip clubs throughout the U.S. requiring these ladies of the brass pillar to hide their lovely and not so lovely nipples with pasties and/or tassels. I know, right? Pasties over a nipple?  It’s like those Kroger stickers they used to hand out pasted right over the bullseye of your most valued targets. Goddamn pasties. It’s no surprise that your first and only visit to T.T.’s will be short lived and almost forgettable if it weren’t the worst fucking tease of a strip club, which in turn is a tease itself. I don’t go to strip clubs to imagine what’s behind a woman’s clothing. No, I pay upfront and then take out large amounts in small bills for them to cut to the goddamn chase and show me because I’m impatient and I fucking love titties and pussy, especially while gliding on a pole or picking up dollars from the floor with their ass cheeks or pussy lips. Its demeaning and crude, but I work hard so I play hard. I don’t pay admission to guess what’s behind a solid white sticker smack dab in the middle of a boob.

Furthermore, liquor and beer cannot be sold in the same “room” as a strip club. Another dumbass ordinance of B.G. This is like the same moronic rule where liquor stores can’t sell beer under the same roof. Or some shit like that. Luckily, the dollar dancer joint’s owners found a loophole by creating a separate “room” that has to be accessed from outside that suffices as a bar. Same roof, different entrances, paper thin walls, one sells pasty clad strippers, the other sells watered down beer and saturated spirits. The main problem is you cannot bring your drinks from one palce to the other. It’s a mindfuck and a wash. What’s the point of looking at ass if you can’t get drunk and if you’re sober, who in Universe wants to look at half assed covered up tits. Whatever.

I walk into the strip club part of the business and ask for a manager. They tell me to go the bar room. Naturally, he would be there because he probably hates looking at pasties too and I admonish myself briefly for not thinking of this. I walk outside and 5ft later I’m walking into the bar room.

It is a small attempt at a bar and while they do have old style square tv monitors up displaying the dancers, its too pixilated to give a damn. There are approximately 3 lounge tables and then the depressing black stained bar with well whiskey and vodkas on shelves. There is an old man drinking a Budweiser standing at one of the loungers, looking longingly at one of the screens. And there is a fat chick at the far end of the 12ft bar, cornering herself, also looking at one of the monitors.

I don’t immediately notice this woman. I’m too busy admiring the cheapness of the place whilst also trying to locate the barkeep and manager to care. But something gives me pause. Something makes me take interest.

This woman is not a stripper, no. She’s dressed in a hippie T and tattered jeans. She’s drinking what looks like the fanciest drink served in this place and she has no interest in anything but the goings on of what the monitors dispatch.

Then it hits me. It’s my goddamn Advanced Grammar teacher.

Things click quick.

I don’t remember her name and won’t pretend to. But here is what I did.

“Miss So and So, how are you?”

She looks at me in disbelief. She has no idea who I am and why should she? But I press on.

“I didn’t know you frequent Tattle Tales! Crazy we’ve never run into one another before!”

She is in shock. I had only been there a few times and for all I know this is her first visit, but the look on her face told me otherwise.

“I’m not Miss So and So,” she defends.

HAHAHAHA yeah goddamn right. I might not show up often, but I don’t forget a face. I play along because this opportunity isn’t really about her. It’s about me.

“Oh? My apologies. You look like my Advanced Grammar teacher. I take her class on M-W-F at 9am everyday and while I might not show up often, I am doing REALLY well in that class.”

She doesn’t say a word. Mouth gaping. I reiterate.

“My name is Zack Greenfield and I am in Advanced Grammar in room 109 in Cherry Hall every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at 9 in the morning.”

She cant believe what is transpiring. Behind a curtain enters our skank bartender. I push on.

“I don’t show up often and might be FAILING that class, but I’m very SMART and thought I would share this with you. I’m sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”

She doesn’t offer a name, but does offer her hand. Which had to be out of courtesy because my hand is ready for shaking as I’ve placed it inches in front of her. She takes it.

“Again. My name is Zack Greenfield. Advanced Grammar. 9am. Maybe I’ll see you around but I have a feeling I won’t have to.”

With that, I pay the barkeep for Miss So and So’s drink and pay ahead for another before asking the chick where I might find the manager. The barkeep points to the right southeast corner of the bar and I find a door and knock and am introduced to a subpar human being who ushers me into an office that is smaller than a bathroom stall.

A few weeks later.

The roomies and I tidy up the place. We have a front living room with a plush red wrap-around couch with a plush red perfect rotating circle coke table. There is a lame aquarium on a sidewall accentuating the room, furthering the eighties feel.  We also took out the trash and sprayed febreeze.

People start showing up and we tap the keg and it is normal as normal is for us.

Then, the strippers show up and I had been anxious because I didn’t know what I was gonna get, as it was all at the Tattle Tales manager’s discretion. He didn’t know who would be available and so on.

I answer the door and there is a petite black chick and a petite dark haired chick who is tatted up. Cool. This will be interesting, I think.

I escort them to the living room and show them the living room where they will be performing. They ask to see my room, since I am the contact and they need to hide their purses and whatnots.

I take them to my room and close the door and they undress and ask if it is okay if they do coke in my bathroom. I’m fine with this, but I’d like a bump and they tell me it’’ll be extra and my nativity causes them laughter and they say Sure, im good and we three enter my small bathroom and we each do one line and it is weak but enough to garner excitement and I feel a little like pimping so I order the girls into the living room and they enthusiastically follow obey and exit the bathroom naked. We have a pep talk in my bedroom and they make out with each other for a second before departing into the house.

I was more or less playing host and don’t know much of the goings on for the entirety of the two hours they were there. I do know the chicks at the party got most of the fun with titties in the face and it was all very grand. A keg and naked chicks dancing all around. There was a bodyguard there, too, but he didn’t seem to give a good goddanm. And any time the chicks wanted to pep up, they found me and took me to the bathroom to refreshen. Good times.

Cut to me and my two roommates at the only diner open at 3m. We’ve ordered a variety of shit and we’re too fucked up to remember, but we each received a glass of water, orange juice, and mt. dew. So be it.

About 5 seconds after the food hits our table, in walks the goddamn strippers.

The black stripper is in front and instantly recognizes me. She squeals.
“Oh My Goddamn Look It’s That Motherfucker Right There!!” She screams to the staff and us three at our table. She runs over to us and gets in my lap and grinds me, hard, saying shit like “Yeah, motherfucker, I known you wanted it” and “I’d have given you a free piece cause you such a cute white boy.”

There are 3 of us, so the non-driver roommate and I play PRS for who sits shotgun and who sits in the bed of the pickup. I win.

We live about 1 ½ miles from the diner,., so we feel invincible .I’m sitting shotgun and our other roommate is riding in the bed of this pickup. We make it safely back to our neighborhood, but about two houses down, I realize my roommate, our driver, has fallen asleep and we veer off the road. It’s slow motion at this point as we’re flying towards a chain-link fence. I have time to think and my thoughts aren’t morbid or fatalistic, but humorous and I think I start laughing as I’m trying to wake up my roommate.

It’s too late though and we roll through this fence into the next yard, creating deep rivets into the well manicured grass. The collision wakes the driver and I’m laughing and he’s all, Oh Shit and we come to a stop in our yard, directly in front of our house. We get out and see that we’ve dragged the fence across down and it lays in shambles across the extent lawns. We know we can’t fix this tonight, so we go back inside the house to find the house a wreck, smelling of keg beer and strippers and I fall asleep with glitter on my face.

I feel like I’ve got this split-personality thing going on, especially this week. 

I spent Monday enjoying bone-hunting in my yard with a pal, eventually digging with bare hands and sticks in a mound of dirt left behind by foxes. We found nearly an entire skeleton of an opossum that likely was eaten last year, and pulled what remaining rotted tissue there was from the bones. We found a dead bird, eyeless but still movable, and speculated. I spent Tuesday sweating up a storm, running on the singletrack at the swamp, leaping in fear when I saw a beaver for the second time in my life. Fuckin’ beaver, man, interrupting my zoning out and picking my way through the roots and loose rock. Yesterday, Wednesday, I put the spine and skull of that opossum back together on my kitchen table, proudly posting my little archaeological dig photos on Instagram and Facebook. 

I spend my days getting dirty and sweaty and learning and playing and thinking and running happily under the pines and through the creeks. I spend my nights hairless and perfectly shaved, with straightened hair and examining myself for tan lines in a mirror, and being a polite, legs-crossed kind of girl.

I don’t actually remember which girl I used to be, before I danced. I’m dynamic, of course, but was I the kind of girl who would have plucked stray pubic hair stubble? Was I the kind of girl who loved the day-old baby ducks from the very-hidden trails, or would I have overlooked this little bit of spring? Who was I? What the hell will I be like when I quit?

One thing’s for sure: I’ll still be running around naked as often as possible.

Sunday, I spent the evening at a casino with The Geneticist. I always love his company, and he’d brought me Frangelico. After the Valentine’s fiasco and my intentionally-annoying staying up all night, he’d gotten two rooms this time. I left my dogs with my pal, and headed two hours from home. Dinner was classy, as usual, and my steak was enormous, as usual. Ribeye, my favorite.

Three Card Poker is “our” game of chance, and neither of us did well. I’d asked him a few times if he wanted to change tables or games, or just enjoy a movie upstairs, and he firmly sat, losing hundreds on the gamble of coming back from the initial losses. It sucks for me, because he always gives me the winnings or the remains of what chips we wind up with — and he’d gambled them away instead of trying at blackjack or craps. I don’t gamble on my own, without clients, because losing doesn’t make me happy and the games’ odds are in the casino’s favor. 

He didn’t linger upstairs afterward, and went to bed shortly, tired and likely disappointed in losing. He promised he’d see me the next day in the club, and we said our goodnights. 

I spent the whole night dreaming about working a bachelor party in a gymnasium. The stage was the kind they use for elementary-school kids’ plays and choirs, and the poles were beautiful and sticky and fit my hands perfectly; spinning poles. The lighting was awesome, and I looked like hot shit — a million dollars! — and all of the party attendants were throwing twenties at me instead of death-gripping their dollars. I had a blast, in my dream, working this party, and I was a goddamned star.

I woke up, in a hotel bed, realizing I’d worked the night for real at the casino, spent my dream life working, and had a two-hour drive home before I’d spend another (real) nine hours working at the club. Damnit. 

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.”

He never showed, but the Indian Guy has started talking to me. After four years, he now has something to say, other than that his weekend was “good” and he is “good” in response to my questions. Now, he’s been gossiping about this married female coworker of his who is sleeping with another coworker. Monday, I finally gave him my best bit of advice on this matter: quit being so fucking nosy. Now that he’s started talking to me…I wish he’d just shut up! I liked it when he didn’t have a million questions about whether her intimate, extramarital relations with another man were acceptable and why.

I danced with a Turkish man who had the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen — wide, dark, curious, pure, kind.

Aaaaand…I have to go back to work. I’m exhausted. Soon, I’ll get my Epic Road Trip Vacation Across the Country, and so soon, I’ll have a few weeks off as a reward for having paid my taxes (on time!). For now, it’s back to shaving my pussy and grinding on old dudes for cash to make it happen…

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So you thought you could get the best of me, didn’t you?  You thought you could not only take my hope for a better future – but my stories of the past and use it for your own gain.  You thought you could dismiss me and marginalize me.  You thought that you finished me off when I stumbled out of the sex industry – cold and alone and afraid that I would never be able to live a normal life.   You thought I would believe that no one could ever love me and that I didn’t deserve anything better than the cesspool of shame you left me in.  You thought that I was one more notch on your belt and that the label of prostitution and sex trafficking would be enough to make me hide for the rest of my life.  You thought you had damaged me enough that I would be useless.  And you turned your back on me.

But while you weren’t looking – while you were busy trapping and demoralizing the younger men and women you find so attractive – I got better.  And I got stronger.  And I became fearless.  What you didn’t count on was the fact that while you tried to convince people that I wasn’t a “real” victim, you were also making me believe I wasn’t a victim.  And instead of making me feel worse – it made me feel better.  Suddenly I realized that if I was still standing…I was a SURVIVOR of sex trafficking…not a victim!  And now that I was standing…I thought I could help someone else.

And you laughed and turned your back on me  to feed on the souls of others.  You preyed on the weak and the poor.  You didn’t discriminate against race, religion or political affiliation.  Your wanton lust for flesh took you to the far corners of the earth and you convinced some that prostitution should be legal and it was a victimless crime and that the people that provided such services truly loved it…you took “free will” and turned it against the human race.  You became powerful and blurred the lines so that many couldn’t see that this was nothing more than a new version of slave trading.  And you became complacent that what you had created was beyond our ability to “fix” and that you could continue to gobble up lives with abandon.

And I got stronger and so did the others that had come before me.  We are finding our voice and you can’t shut us up and you can’t shut us out.    You may have taken on the mantle of “help” to try and deceive us into thinking that someone else could tell our stories and would let us in their club and have a seat at their table.  Because you know the insidious nature of the this disease you created and the fear that is never far beneath the surface of any survivor of sex trafficking, you thought we would let them hide our pain and our grief with their bluster.  You made them complicit with your defiance of all that is right by asking us to wait in the corner and trot us out when they needed a show.  It was like they became the new pimp.  The new well-meaning kinder gentler pimp.  But still a pimp.

Look out Human Sex Trafficking.  You have become fat and bloated and are wallowing in a sea of ignorance.  And I am here to take you out.

You should know I’m not alone.  All those souls you turned your back on over the years?  They stand with me.  And what you never counted on is that I am NOT a victim of your game of torture and dehumanization.  I am a SURVIVOR.  I am a FIGHTER.  I am a THRIVER.  I am an OVERCOMER.

And I am done with you.

Twitter: @TheKittiKouture

Keeping them barely alive, making them yearn for more, allowing them to live in the fantasy without ever fulfilling the fantasy completely keeps men emotionally most available and long term relationships develop. There is not much difference when it comes to this fact, whether you apply it to the regular life or the fantasy world of the strip club. However, without my strip club experiences and insights that my customers share with me, I would have never come to this fascinating discovery.

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Or watch http://vimeo.com/user16450653

So I went to Sonic right. I ordered some food for me and my dad. I paid with my card in that card reader and everything. In my mind it made a “bee boop” sound when I inserted the card. Like my work badge does. “Bee Boop.” Don’t judge me. Anyway. I’m waiting for the food and the condiment person walks by with her tray and asks me if I needed anything. “Naw…” I reply. I didn’t even get smart with her or anything because I knew she didn’t know I haven’t received my food yet. All she sees in a handsome young mane playing with his phone chilling in the car. Yeah she wanted me, but that’s neither here nor there. About 3 minutes later out came the food with the carhop. She hands me my milkshake, my Coney, and my bag of goodies. She then hands me my receipt and asks “Do you need anything else?” “No, I think I have everything. Thank you!” I reply. Now this is where it got awkward. She just stands there. She was just looking all pitiful as if she wanted me to tip her. So I did the logical thing. I started up the car, put it in reverse, waved, and pulled off. Yep I sure did.

Here’s my logic. In order to get me to tip you gotta go above and beyond the call of duty to get me to tip. All she did was brought me my food! I could understand if she was on roller skates, thick, and cute. She was just cute. That’s it. At least the carhops on roller skates at least turn in circle, a dance routine on them skates or something. This broad just brought me food out and wanted a tip! She didn’t even COOK the food! Hell she didn’t even take my order! I know she didn’t take my order ‘because that chick was talking to the car next to me! But she has the nerve to stand there like she earned a tip. Naw… That like going to the mall and giving a woman a tip just ‘cause she can walk in heels and smiled at me. That’s like going to the club and buying a woman drink ‘because she looks good and we made eye contact. Naw…first of all I’ve never been that dude to buy a gal a drink in the club. Not ‘because I’m broke. Not because it’s beneath me. But for two GOOD reasons: 1. I refuse to buy a gal a drink or two, then she gets drunk and goes home to #him and breaks him off some womb. So that’s this second reason is so important. Because 2. If I buy you a drink…we go together. I’m sorry I don’t make the rules…but back to my focus.

She did absolutely nothing to earn my money. Hell strippers work off tips too! And just getting naked isn’t gonna do it. We’re in strip club/ shake junt so ALL THE DANCERS are naked. So right there they gotta earn my money. Make something clap, twerk the pole, do some tricks or something! And that’s just for a few dollars. Soooooo if I make them show me something extravagant to earn a tip…why in the hell would this poor unguided soul feel like I should tip her? She wasn’t even on roller skates. Hell the condiment chick did more me than gal did. But she wanted a tip…nigga please.

Anyhow…what do y’all think? Should I have tipped her? I mean it’s not like she did anything. The order was slick a to-go order and lord knows I don’t tip them! I mean had she been thick, cute, and on roller skates doing a dance routine….shiiiiid I ain’t even gonna lie, yeah I would’ve tipped. I mean at least she did more than just bring the food. Damn that last sentence was slick sexist. My bad. I blame rap videos for me expecting that. My bad. On second thought, no. It’s my money! If you want it then do something above the call of duty and earn it! But anyway, what do y’all think?

Leave a comment with your thoughts.
I’m finna go do something productive
Y’all be easy
Two fingers and I’m out…
Theo has left the building.

What you can do to help
-Vinegar rinses
-Dandruff shampoos
-Clarifying rinses and shampoos
-Hot water
-Lemon
-Bking soda
-Dish soap
-Tide

Note:All of these things I have tried and work for me.

Also: I finally found my camera which means I will be uploading new hairstyles soon!
I am sorry for the inactivity, I have been super busy the past couple days but I promise you, there will be more from me this week!
Thank you all so much for viewing, commenting, following, liking, and any other form of feedback you give me!
It truly does mean the world.

LANCASTER (CBSLA.com) — An underground strip club allegedly operating inside of a cab company building in Lancaster has been shut down by law enforcement following an undercover investigation.

Six people were arrested after a raid on the unlicensed bar authorities say was operating in the basement of Southland Yellow Cab on the 42000 block of 6th Street East.

Los Angeles County Sheriff’s Department Deputies moved in after receiving several complaints alleging strippers were dancing for tips at the establishment.

The complaints also alleged narcotics, gambling and prostitution were present and that alcohol was being served without a license.

Sheriff Deputies and Alcoholic Beverage Control Agents went undercover and found a full bar, makeshift stripper poles and a DJ booth inside the venue, which resembled a nightclub.

On April 27, deputies were already inside when Vice and ABC Agents orchestrated the raid.

Priscilla Darlene Hill, 19, Alfred Xenios Pico, 41, Juan Carlos Munoz, 33, and Larry Adam Lee, 36, were arrested for selling alcohol without a license, a misdemeanor. Hill also faces a charge of minor in possession of alcohol.  All were cited and released.

Two patrons were also arrested on unrelated charges.

A man claiming to be in the process of buying Southland Yellow Cab says the company is being  falsely accused. The man told  KCAL9′s Cristy Fajardo by phone the strip club was operating in a space belonging to an industrial complex in the same area and not the cab company.

However, law enforcement says cab drivers played a role in recruiting customers.

A Facebook page hints at what allegedly went on inside, including listings for parties, after-hours drink offers and pictures of bikini-clad girls.

“The taxi cab drivers basically told patrons from other businesses that if they wanted to continue the party after-hours that they could come to this location and do so there,” ABC’s Brad Beach told Fajardo.

Beach said he has never seen such an operation in his tenure with the bureau and agents are taking the case seriously.

“It’s very uncommon. It’s the first time I’ve heard about it in my career,” he said.

The Sheriff’s Department says the investigation is ongoing. Southland Yellow Cab’s license remains active.

Official Facebook page of Anshu Christa Jacobson

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This is a reality video that was shot for the official fan website of Anshu Christa Jacobson. I hope that you enjoy the video!
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Thank you all for your wonderful support!
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Soke Anshu Christa Jacobson
Headmistress of the Budo Ryu
School of the Warrior Way

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1. You’re considered a unique species of person that even comes with it’s own nomenclature: Midget.
2. Rocking the school girl act in the bedroom isn’t sexually appealing, because you actually look like one.
3. Those romantic dates at the amusement parks that’re featured in the movies are a bummer because you’re too short to be permitted on any of the rollercoasters.
3. Sex becomes tedious when your boyfriend has to bend so low in order for your legs to reach his shoulders that he displaces a vertebral bone.

4. You could be pregnant but would still have to shop for clothes in the children’s section. Best case scenario: you’re promoted to the teenager’s section.
5. Your children will begin belittling and disrespecting you once they grow taller than you, which is probably just six years after they are born.
Not because you married Michael Jordan, but because you’re -that- short.
7. Your pudgy fingers look like stubs, so imagine what your stubs would look like!
8. Every boyfriend you have is perceived by the public as a pedophile, and eventually begins to believe it himself.

9. You have to work twice as hard to be taken half as seriously at your place of employment. Unless you’re Edna, from the Incredibles.
10. You fit in a suitcase without any inconvenience, and that makes it easier to be kidnapped.

If you are a stripper, well, congratulations on your choice.

Otherwise, brides, let me let you into a secret. You probably don’t need to work for tips on your wedding day. I’ll admit weddings are expensive but it’s just not classy to be begging for those $1 notes on the “best day of your life.”

Sure, buy the shoes and use them to pay off your debts. That will make everything better.

Or you could just not buy these fucking monstrosities?

Case closed.

I don’t mean in a loud voice like someone is talking to you, but you get this feeling from doll as to what would look best or work well with your doll.  You may have started making a sweet little country girl and end up with a sexy singer, you just never know.  I don’t know how many patterns I have started working on and was going to try to make it like the picture, but she had other plans of what she wanted to be.  When this happens just go with it.  You can end up with some of the nicest surprises.

Be sure to keep checking back and see what my next project is.  I would like to make an older, heavier stripper to show what Flo is going to look like in a few years.  Till next time…