$$$$$$ heh.

I arrived at the club on Friday night determined to reach my $500 goal. I haven’t reached that goal without the aid of One Hundred Dollar Bill Guy in months.
This guy drives his bright orange Lamborghini Murcielago or hires a limo for his buddies and himself to the club once a month. Handing out Hundred Dollar bills to his favorite dancers, he is always the superstar of the evening. The customers look at him like he is a freak show and the trail of dancers behind him grows with each visit. Before my five week hiatus I was among the higher echelon of dancers in his following. I was able to hold his attention by conversation about cars and business and keep him drinking enough Patron to make him feel warm and fuzzy. But, since my hiatus, I have lost my rank. Other dancers have shown him their virtues and now I’m stuck at the back of the pack with the rest of them. I knew it was bound to happen eventually. Men grow tired of being played with like cat toys and move on to more promising or exciting ventures. But I still had this one happily peeling off hundred dollar bills and sliding them in my garter. Damn it all.
Trying to keep to my $500 goal I drew dollar signs on the mirror in front of me with my favorite lip liner and tried focusing on positive things and enjoying the presence of my favoritest girls. Too bad that focusing on positive things meant thinking of all the negative things I wasn't supposed to be thinking of. I’m determined to find that inner peace I once had when I first started. I was able to stay in my proverbial box and keep my close friends close and the rest of them out of my consciousness. That way I didn’t soak up all their negativity.
The night started and flew by and ended before I knew it. Dancing, talking, drinking and dancing some more. Trying to stay positive and exude good energy was tiring. Trying to get over my fear of approaching complete strangers without the support of alcohol is useless. After all was said and done… I made $160. Fuck it, Saturday will be better.
Saturday started a bit differently because I worked the NASA awards party before I went to the club. I felt terrible for not being able to hang out all day like I normally would but they understood that I’m working two jobs. Even if they don’t approve completely of my second one.
Still feeling the high of the NASA party, walking into the dressing room was stressful. Drifting to the back of the room to my seat, I’m forced to hear all of the bickering and resentful comments between the dancers as a I pass. Each of them bitching about their lives or the club or both. I finally came to my seat and was determined to wash all that negativity off before I started my night. Eventually it did work. Helped by some Midol, and orange Rockstar and a shot of Patron, I took the night by the balls and danced and danced and smiled and felt great! By the end of the night my feet hurt so much I could barely walk …..$220 short of my goal I drove home and fell asleep next to my husband on the couch. Small steps are far better than no steps at all. Next weekend will be better.