My stage name is Kat and I’ve danced at around 30 clubs in the Portland area, a handful that have gone into oblivion forever, and a few in other places. This is where I weigh in and give my $1 worth (more polite than $.02) on anything in the media having to do with stripping and strip club culture.
It’s an interesting time right now with no shortage of things to make fun of, what with teenagers and celebrities (Sigourney Weaver!?) dabbling in pole dancing and strippers winning Oscars. I also write personal anecdotes when I’m feeling inspired to give perfect strangers TMI and ensure that I’ll never date again.
all material © katstories.katstories at gmail dot com
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I’m not sure what this “stripper code of silence” they’re referring to is. Is there a stripper omerta, and should I be scared now? Not having read it yet, I would guess that the best thing about this book is the cover. It’s so old school that you would not guess it came out last month. It reminds me of Ministry’s good album.
The thing about Cathie’s is that it is also a porn store in addition to being a stripper store. It’s mostly stripper gear with bachelor party and novelty crap in the middle, sex toys on the opposite wall from the hoisery and wigs area, and a separate DVD room. My favorite thing at Cathie’s is the wall of shame behind the counter. And then there’s the list of banned phone numbers.
I learned from bartending at the strip club that phone masturbators like to call strip clubs because it happened semi-regularly. It seemed so lame that someone would want to call a strip club and jerk off. If I were a phone masturbator, I’d just as soon call a 1-900 number. If I were really into the thrill of calling random people and phone raping them, I would pick a place more random. How fun can it be to ask questions and breathe heavily to the bartender at a strip club? We’re much more likely to put it together and slam the phone on you faster than someone working at say, Kinko’s or Baskin Robbins.
Anyway, phone masturbators also like to call Cathie’s. I guess it’s also sexy to harrass the cashier at a porn store. I first noticed the banned phone list when I was in line to buy some new shoes with a friend. I mentioned that those people must be pretty pathetic to get their kicks that way and a light bulb went off in her head.
“Let’s call one of them!”, she shouted.
“Yes! Ok, let’s do it! Their numbers are right there.”
The girl at the counter got visibly excited and urged us to go ahead. We giddily studied the list of offenders to decide which hunter was about to become the hunted. It really felt like justice would be served and the phone perv was going to get a taste of his own medicine.
“Oh god, type star sixty-nine first!” I warned her.
She punched one of the numbers in and whispered, “It’s ringing!”
The cashier and I stared at her with nervous anticipation as we waited for the creep to pick up. I was holding my breath.
The string of obscenities that came out of her mouth was incredible, and I wish to god I could remember it verbatim. The thing that really stuck with me was her yelling, “I’m going to fuck your pisshole!” a few times before finally hanging up on the guy. The Cathie’s girl and I sighed with laughter and showered her with praises for her bravery and foul mouth.
“Pisshole! Where did that come from?” I asked.
“I don’t even know! It just came out! That just felt so …organic!”
This is our local stripper supply store, Cathie’s, which used to be THE store in Portland. I remember how cool I felt the first time I shopped there, especially since all I was wearing as a new girl was old lingerie and party skank clothes.
Now there are a few other boutiques that specialize in stripper clothes, as well as some great local seamstresses. My all-time favorite is a woman whose sister is a dancer. She is awesome and I have been wearing her clothes for years. If you really want her contact info, email me. The “it” seamstress in Portland is Pistolita LaMuerta, with her line, AmyElizabeth Couture—check it out.
PS. The Dragnet leg warmers almost look okay on sexy Pocahontas.
Whoa, usually pole dance mishap videos don’t end with actual bloodshed.
Okay okay okay!
How about “I Would Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That*)” by Meat Loaf for Casa Diablo?
Ooh, and “Who Let The Dogs Out” by Baha Men for [insert any club that fired you here].
“Racist Friend” by The Specials for Rose City Strip.
I better stop before I go too far.
*eat meat, dairy, eggs, wear fur, leather or feathers
(photo via Gawker) Reporters have been taking advantage of the countless punny headline opportunities, letting the world know that the truck hit a rut, put on the breaks, stopped rolling, etc. I miss it already. I feel like something inside me parked forever.
I hope the three and a half minutes this poor girl spent on my blog were helpful for her.
I tried to look for information on her actual site, but stopped looking after I watched her rub a strawberry on her clit. Anyway, she signed last January with a company that books porn stars as feature dancers, so maybe she’ll be coming to a city near you. Then you can find out whether her boob job has a lazy nipple in person. My club doesn’t book feature dancers (it’s kind of a dying trend), but I pray that Stars will book her. Little Tina and Crystal Ashley feature danced there recently, and I feel like she’s probably on par with them.
This story reminds me of a really great stripper rumor that I have accepted as the truth. A few years ago (2006?) there was a rumor that Tonya Harding had contacted the owner of The Viewpoint about employment opportunities. My friend who worked there heard it from the manager who heard it from the owner, so it’s not that far removed. It makes about as much sense as her pursuing a boxing career, recording an album, or leaking sex tapes— she’s broke as a joke. She’s always just kind of around Portland and Vancouver, and everyone I know has a Tonya sighting story. For example, my friend who used to work at Wendy’s drive-thru said she frequented Wendy’s a lot and was a total bitch. Anyway, it’s disappointing that she didn’t follow through with starting a stripping career, because I’d love to see what a woman who can do a triple axle would do on stage.
Happy upcoming Thanksgiving everybody. I’m going to be in San Francisco at my brother’s mom’s ex-boyfriend’s family’s house. Don’t worry about it. Thanksgiving is special to me, not because it is a time to give thanks or any of that crap, but because it was the first holiday I that I stripped and I learned a lot about men that day. It was my second week ever stripping and I was already so excited about my newfound financial stability (hello rent in one shift!) that I wasn’t ready to take Thursday off just because it was Thanksgiving. I was also just curious about what it would be like so I signed up to work during the day. I expected a bunch of sad saps with no family and nothing better to do. (That’s more the Christmas crowd, actually.)
I was surprised that all the men who came in not only had families that they were ditching, but most of them were pretending to be at the supermarket. I had to admit that it was a pretty decent alibi. If I were a wife, it wouldn’t cross my mind that my husband was gawking at 20 year-old strippers instead of patiently standing in line with a last minute carton of heavy cream.
Of course when asked how their Thanksgivings were going, they readily confessed to me that they were lying about being at the store, proud of their secret acts of subversion. Some of them vented about how much they hated in-laws, or just said they couldn’t stand their families in general, like they had been driven against their will to seek refuge at the strip club. Whether they were feeling naughty, or looking for quick escapism, getting their money was effortless.
I guess what I learned is that all men are liars and that you should never turn your back on them, not even for a minute. Just kidding. I learned that holidays are stressful for almost everyone, and that strippers provide a pleasant distraction during life’s more difficult times.
