I moved back to Ohio two weeks ago. I’m still trying to decide if it’s for the best, as I’ve been saying since I decided to move.

First of all, I almost lost my mind looking for an apartment that I could actually rent. Because I’m a dancer, I have no proof of income. I’m also 22 years old and have very little credit. Almost every person I talked with needs both or a consigner. I’ve completed two applications (costing 70 dollars in total), looked at 6 properties, and I’ve been online looking for weeks.

After all of this work, I found the smallest studio apartment in ohio and I was able to sign the lease a few days ago!! I’m so excited to be able to move in and start working regularly again. I did go into a club I’ve worked at before on Friday and was disappointed in how much I walked out with. Out of the 400 dollars I would have made in VIP rooms, I received 200. Dances are 2 for $40. The club takes 10 per dance… so I made $10 a dance. Despite working my ass off, I walked out with much less than I would have in Daytona. There are other clubs in the area, so it looks like I’ll be club hopping until I find the one.

Hell I might even get a job that doesn’t require me to shave my ass and allows me to show off my intellect.


P.s. I changed my name to Jane in some sort of identity crisis.

Big-ass-lifted-ass-truck week

Daytona hosts plenty of trashy events, but this week topped the charts with truck week. Honestly, I don’t even know what the official title is. In short, people drive their obnoxious lifted, lit up, and most of all loud trucks to Daytona beach from wherever the fuck. 

Many people don’t know this, but Daytona is actually pretty small. Beachside (where almost every event is held) is no more than a small town during off-season. So, take an ungodly amount of trucks, each measuring twice the size of a normal vehicle and stack them on top of eachother in a span of 5 miles. Fuck me, right?  What should have taken me 3 minutes to WALK took me 20 minutes to DRIVE (to the place I get wings after work) so that is where my anger is stemming from. 

All of that aside, I had a pretty lucrative night. 


I Fought With My Manager and Made 20 Dollars.

I’m pissed ya’ll.

I woke up at 5:30 am to finally get my scuba certification at Devil’s Den yesterday morning; I usually go to sleep around that time.  My sister and I drove 3 hours total to do our final instructed dive.  I’m so relieved that the classes are over, ecstatic to dive more.  I hadn’t been able to work for more than a week as my boyfriend was in town and I’ve had scuba classes in the morning on the past two weekends, so naturally I feel broke.  I also miss my strippers.

I decided to push through scuba, not nap, get ready for work, and try to make the money I spent this week.  The country 500 is going on in Daytona so I thought the club would get busyyyyyy (plus everyone was telling me how much they made on Saturday).  OH I forgot it was Memorial Day weekend too. I waited in the back for about 30 minutes and finished the bottle I brought in.  I thought maybe if I moved to the floor, even though we only had one customer, more people would walk in and actually stay.  So there I am, sitting on a bandana with my back arched for a nice view for the next person who walks in to see. No catch though.

Once I finally did get one dance down, the customer didn’t want any more, but I broke the seal which usually mens I’ll make some money.  No, I walk out and the new manager is the new VIP attendant and he charges em for two dances (I have to pay 5 dollars every song I’m back there.) Of course I argue and he’s just as much as a dick as I would expect so I end up giving him the money because he is now wasting my time.  After a mediocre night, I sit him down and start to talk to him, which becomes an argument, which became us both yelling.  He said that other girls tell him I don’t pay for my dances, which isn’t true.  How unprofessional. He just wouldn’t budge so I told him to walk back in the VIP room every song that I’m back there to ensure he’s not lying.

I ended up staying awake for 24 hours so I could work, only to make only 20 dollars and lose sleep over my new ignorant manager.


P.S. During our argument, he told me that he is only supposed to walk by the booths if he hears a girl screaming for help which disgusts me.  I’ve been through plenty of VIP attendants and they always walk through the “hallway” just past every booth every 4 or so songs.



So, last night was pretty bland.  I’ve been telling myself to works many nights as I can and save as much money as I can for my next big goal. See, it’s still a mystery as to why the job is so exhausting, but here I am taking the night off to relax.  Is it a stripper thing to have to take a R+R break more than once a week?  Maybe I’m lazy.  Other dancers I work with say they do the same thing but I can’t imagine half of the girls I work with soaking in Epsom salt two times a week and doing self-care journal entries as needed.

My next big goal is to save 15,000 to put down on an RV to live in.  When I say it out loud, it sounds even crazier than the idea on ‘paper’.  First, I’ll just live months at a time at parks until I have the hang of it, then I’ll start moving around a little more.  The plan’s obviously still in the very beginning phase but I know that I can make it work somehow.  From here, I just need to force myself to go into work as much as healthily possible.

I think it’s pretty clear that my mind has been scattered today (at least for how little is actually on my plate). I need something exciting to happen at work or in life asap to wake me up in my consciousness. I also need about 12 grand.

Looking Back pt. 1

Almost everything has changed since I started dancing.  Do you ever look back at yourself in High school and cringe a little?  Relatable.  I try not to look back at the old, baby shiva; How I used to talk, walk, drink, dress, and most importantly dance.

I wore regular strap-up heels for the first two weeks, and I wouldn’t believe any of the other dancers when they told me dancer heels are 200% more comfortable. Those were my first shoes and I was walking tall, never mind the deformities they gave my feet, and that my legs looked like sausages by halftime of my shift. I am one of the dancers that nags others into investing in Pleasers. Now I can barely wear heels unless they’re several inches with a large platform.  How did I ever do that? Adrenaline? Pussy Power? Hope for more money? We were making a ton of money… which to this day doesn’t make much sense for every new girl to make bank stumbling around being sweet to everyone, smiling and making eye contact with men every which way. I’ll get back to this.

I started dancing with my friend kitty who moved to Florida shortly after I did. She and I would only go up on stage together and try to fling our bodies around on a pole/ shake our asses on all fours (which we had been practicing for a couple of weeks before we started dancing).  I can’t fucking stand when two girls have to go on stage together, come on. I do try to give the benefit of the doubt for the first week or so usually, though.  Now, considering that we just started dancing for IKEA money, I tell myself to spare the image of Kitty and I practically seizing out on the floor of the stage. We didn’t mean any harm which is more than I can say for some new girls I meet.

Yes, IKEA money and we would go back to waitressing… who ever thought that out?  We both would walk out with at least 600 dollars a night for the first few weeks. Why would we ever go back to waitressing? Dancing was the absolute shit, I got drunk on the job, danced on a rotation of about 10 other girls, got paid 25 dollars per private dance lasting 3.5 minutes, and got to hang out with other hot-ass girls all night. That starter- stripper glow never made sense to me; it’s a known fact that new dancers make more money.  Maybe its because they’re not jaded yet, or maybe its because there is a dark side to dancing and they just haven’t seen it yet.

To be continued