I know that bitch from somewhere, what's her name? Oh yeah, Karma.

Runners up for the title of this post (all actual text messages I sent over the weekend):
1. Even the biggest dick in the world doesn't make up for boring sex.
2. Is it bad that the sex is so boring, I want to bring home a girl to make it more fun (also repeated out loud in a record store....oops).
3. So he tells me I seem like I'm more interested in the Cotton Bowl than having sex with him. I ask: It took you a quarter and a half to figure that out?
4. Even the prospect of giving a blow job in a cab didn't make me more into him.

New Year's. I go to meet this guy, who I hung out with in November under the influence of what could only be described as a week-long bender. During the alcohol induced fury (and still troubled over the actual and final break-up with the boy), I agree to spend New Year's with the world's worst choice of a booty call ever.

When I ran into him in November, I slept with him. I slept with him because he's friends with my ex, and I wanted him to go run his big mouth to our college friends about how hot I'd gotten since college (the ex broke up with me citing physical unattractiveness. I had a threesome with two lesbians to try to win him back. he broke up with me. douchebag, but whatever). Anyway, here's where I clearly went wrong. I should know better than to mess with karma.

So on Saturday, I drove down to the town where I went to college to meet him.


I guess I need to give more of the backstory. So I basically spend a week in DC sobering up only twice to go on interviews, and I ran into a college friend (see above). He gives the world's worst line (you have to sleep with me if our college team--we were at a bar watching the game--wins). We lost, and as I will soon learn, I should have kept him to the original deal. This guy tells me he has never had a girl swallow before. Woah, I am waaaaaay out of his league. Seriously, he hit the back of my head as I was giving him a blow job. I said "ow," and asked what that was all about, and he told me he was about to come. So. I'll know when it hits the back of my throat. No need to cause a potential concussion over it.

Well, the bender and the booty call gone horribly wrong continue for a week, finally commencing in a field out back of a REK concert. I'm a classy one. He was grossed out that some dude was watching. Hello, why have sex outside if you don't want to be watched? I go home after this, but not before promising to spend New Years together. Ugh, I should know better than to make life choices after challenging myself to a pitcher chugging contest.

Unfortunately, he's unrelenting, calling me daily to remind me of the New Years plans. He also calls and wants to talk dirty. His version of dirty includes the phrases "titty fuck" and "eat out." Ew. [On an unrelated note, I hate the phrase "eat out" and for more than just the obvious reasons. I hate it because I picture the sign on the restaurant by my old place in NE DC (by the Not-so-Safeway) that just had a neon sign that flashed "eat out" and advertised fried chicken, seafood, meat, and ice cream.] I'm afraid he's going to tell me he can't wait to get to second base next. He actually says, "I can't wait to hold you." That's not going to get me all hot on the phone, dude.

He wants me to talk dirty, too. He gets confused when I say something about wanting his cum on my face. He asks why I wouldn't just swallow it. Dude, get some porn. I hear Barely Legal XVII is on pay-per-view.

Ok, back to Saturday night. I pick him up. We find a hotel. Yeah, like a guy who's this big of a pussy can take me back to his parents' house. We have what can only be called the world's most boring sex. ever. Ugh, I'd rather clip my toenails than have sex this lame. After the sex, he tells me remind him not to "eat me out." Ugh. I hate that phrase (and he's bad at it anyway). I ask him why. He says that's gay. No dude, you're not getting fucked in the ass by another guy, that's fucking gay. Going down on a girl hours after you've cum in there is totally normal. I hate guys who won't kiss after a blow job (that's a pillar...a subject for another post). I tell him that I have half a mind to sit on his face right then, but I don't. I want to go have a drink and try to resurrect what may possibly become a fun evening if I either get drunk enough or pick up a girl.

We go out. We meet his friends. He calls me his girlfriend. I tell them about how he looked through my text messages after we had sex once. I say if that equals boyfriend, then I guess that's what he is. We leave his lame-o friends and head to a concert. I realize the ex is there too after I notice his name on the will call list (not the one who called me fat, sending me into a shame spriral of bad afterschool special like behavior, the one who thought I was hot sending me into a slightly more shameful spiral of bad afterschool special like behavior). I'm a total bitch and try to find the ex in hopes that I can ditch the lame guy. No luck. Lame guy pushes me into a dark corner. We leave. We go home. More lame sex.

It's 9 am. His phone is ringing incessantly. Damn thing wakes me up. Ugh, his mom. He has to go hang with his parents. He'll see me in a few hours. Phew, I'd rather shop with my friends than spend another second with him. It's about 4:30 on New Years Eve Day. I call him to say my friends I'm shopping with are going to get ready because they are 90 and have an early dinner reservation. No answer. Jackass. Finally I get ahold of him at twenty 'til six. He can't have dinner with me. He has to eat with his sister at home. Lame. I'm pissed. I don't even like this guy and he freaking stands me up. for his parents and socially awkward sister no less.

I decide this is the perfect opportunity to unleash the crazy I am so good at, and text him that I'll be back home before he's done with dinner with his parents. Then I realize, I make his life much more miserable if I stay there and refuse to sleep with him.

I get dressed as hot as humanly possible, and wait (and wait, and wait, and wait) for him. He finally meets me. I decide he deserves a good few hours of the crazy then no sex. I berate him for inviting me to see him then having the audacity to ditch me for his sister until that gets boring. Then I just stop talking. When he tried to touch me, I'd slap his hand and say "No touching." (thank you arrested development). Hehe, this goes on for another hour or so, in the cab downtown, at his buddy's bar, finally on to another bar.

I get bored of not talking. Still no touching, but at least I talk to the guy. We have some drinks. It's 11. He wants to go back to the hotel. I remind him no touching, and if we go back, I will be putting on my sweats and going to bed. He pulls out his dick in the cab to show me how hard I make it. I tell him to whack it in the cab for all I care.

We get back to the hotel, and I'm awesome at the no touching routine. It is surprisingly easy when I experience absolutely no physical attraction whatsoever for the guy. He's all trying to touch, and I'm getting more and more violent with the hand slapping. I fall asleep. Jackass wakes me up at midnight for a New Year's kiss. I tell him to shove it. I go back to sleep.

Unfortunately, when I wake up the next morning, he's still there. I decide out of something somewhere between a pity fuck and a hate fuck, I'll throw him a bone and sleep with him. He asks why I seem more into the Cotton Bowl than sex. I tell him it's because I am. I'm frankly shocked at how poorly Auburn is playing. He's doing this weird thing where he goes in once then pulls out. I ask him what he's doing. He says he's about to come. Fucker, then come. You're not doing me any favors by alternating in and out for 10 seconds. Jackass comes. I think, I should so plop right down on his face and let all the cum drip out on him, but i decide I don't want to hear the whining that will surely follow. I do realize one thing, boring sex isn't so bad in the morning. I'm not much of a morning person, and anything more lively would have just pissed me off.

I shower. I leave. I drive home. I put all of this behind me and think at least I can only have better sex in the New Year.

At least I learned some important life lessons:

1. Karma truly is a bitch.
2. Anything done for the sole purpose of spite and showing off for an ex is a truly bad idea.
3. This guy was blessed with a very large penis, but not given the skills to use it effectively. Someone is obviously looking out for the little guys.
4. I may be a little dirtier than your average guy.
5. Listen to my freaking friends. Everyone (even the ex) told me not to ever talk to this guy.

oh-seven

My new years resolution is to be better about keeping my blog, because with my chosen career path (back to the Hill), I'll need some supplemental income to pay back my loans. Yeah, I know it's so Washingtonianne, but I'm not sleeping with anyone for money (yet).

Back...continued....

$45 for my hair and make-up later, I'm ready. The hair guy was something. Notwithstanding the fact that he gave me what can only be classified as the worst stripper bump ever, I was feeling kinda hot in my glasses and school-girl outfit (yes, the school girl outfit is back--no drama this time though).

I head out to the stage for the first time and notice there are only two girls on the DJ's list. Um, three of us? That's a whole lot of stage. The DJ asks if I like Def Leopard. Really? Was that a joke? I use my keen negotiating skills to secure Sublime, Fall Out Boy, and Nine Inch Nails. Not bad when he wanted me dancing to quite possibly the most annoying stripper song ever. Pour some sweaty stripper on me.

It's my turn. stage. ah, scary. deer in the headlights. I can't see anything as the LED's a apparantly reflecting off my glasses. Apparently it was worse for my two spectators, they we're getting the reflection of the LED lights bounced back at them. Guess I'll take off the glasses and risk falling off stage. My friend comes up to tip me and lets me know I have the same nervous habits as a stripper as I do in Mock Trial. Guess that whole picture everyone naked thing doesn't really work for annoying mannerisms afterall.

There are two other guys there. Well, I'm here to hustle, so I guess I better get to it. I start talking to a guy. Turns out he owns another strip club, topless only, pussies (puns are funny). I dance for him. He's really creepy and touchy and tries to get my number the whole time. ew. I narrowly escape his bear hands and head to stage. again. ugh. Why are there only three girls working?

As soon as the horror that is my attempt at sexy on stage is over, I go over to the only other guy in the club that I don't know or hasn't tried to lick my stuff. Creepiest guy ever, as he turns out, tells me I have the prettiest peach he's ever seen. ew. I go to dance for him, and he asks me to take my shoes off so he can wait for it, LICK MY HEELS. ew. gross. Then he asks me what he can get for $200. ew. gross. Uh, 10 dances....

I run to the back and tell my story, and one of the other now 5 strippers tells me, yeah, he's creepy, he called her 8 times that day. 8 times? Uh, how about you're creepy for giving him your number. According to her, he bought the dance from me to make her jealous. seriously.

I look up to the stage and this guy is throwing $20's at the nastiest stripper I've ever seen. Turns out she's not so much a stripper as she takes him to the back and uh, well....I don't want to think about it.

Again, I get pulled aside and told that's pretty normal here. Uh, wait, I get it, this kinda like a Europe strip club. You know, front for a straight up brothel.

It hits me, oh, no, I'm working in a brothel. In America. In my hometown. No, seriously. Well after that, I'm out. It's 10 pm, and I don't care. I'm never going back. The only dancing this 3L is doing is in the Waffle House parking lot as fast as I can get there.

So there it is, reason #3 why I'm terrible at being a stripper, no happy endings from Sienna.

I'm back

So I finally quit stripping (first it was the blogging, then it all came to a crashing halt), finals, mock trial, it all got in the way. Actually, I'll be honest, I quit because (1) I'm really bad a being a stripper and (2) I just didn't really like it all that much. So...what possessed me to try it again...

Well....it all started Saturday night. You'll all remember my friend from last year. He's still around. Anyway, we decided to check out a new strip club because one of his favorite porn stars was going to be there. Yeah, I just wrote that. It was even weirder when I said it out loud to invite other friends. So, we go to the club. It's pretty empty, but we figure it's early. The girls are really nasty, but again, we figure it's early... Well, the place doesn't fill up, the girls don't get hotter, and the porn star doesn't show, but we get drunk. And the drunker I get the more I start to realize, hey, I'm the hottest girl in the room. I could bank tonight. I talk to the DJ, then to a manager, and apparently (unlike last time), they didn't want me to start immediately.

A few days of soul searching (or masterful shaving later), I go in at 4 (ew, daytime stripper) on Tuesday. I'm a big girl, and I drive myself!

I roll in at 4, and there are about 6 guys out on the floor (sadly, you'll learn, as I did, this is the busiest the club gets all night).

I head to the back, and there are two pretty cracked out loooking chunky girls. Cracked out stripper #1 sits down next to me and asks if I have a boyfriend. Ok, maybe she's a nice cracked out chunky stipper. Ok, I'll bite..no, cracked out chunky stripper, I don't have a boyfriend. She tells me good, because everyone around there is pregnant. Huh, what? I look around...all those strippers, there's a good reason why they are chunky. Ew, that's one's a good 6 months pregnant. Then, luckily, the conversation shifts from my relationship status to what and how much the pregnant strippers can drink. phew...

So at this point all I can see is dollar signs, these girls are my competition? Who cares that I can't dance? Who cares that I'll likely deer in headlights it on stage, I'm the only one working who isn't pregnant!

It's late, and I have to be at school at 6:30 am tomorrow (I know, ick), so I guess I'll finish this later.

Procedural History

You all remember how this all started, but I couldn't remember the password or log-in.