How I Have Been Spending My Time

During my last three weeks in Boston, I went to a to strip clubs a total of 5 times. A stripper actually told me, “It is nice to see you again”. This would be acceptable if:

1) I worked as a strip club bouncer/DJ;

2) I was researching a book or movie role;

3) I was over 70; or

4) I worked for vice.

As it is, none of these excuses apply to me. I just keep making the same mistakes over and over again. It has to be getting harder to believe me when I say that I hate strip clubs. But the beauty of writing columns is that I can channel my shame and hopefully learn lessons that I can share with all of you. Here are 5 things that I learned about strip clubs this month:

1) Do your research – This whole strip club odyssey started due to a guys’ night gone wrong. Dan, C.J., Lee (C.J.’s cousin), and I decided the best way to kick off the month of December was a road trip to Foxwoods. Ninety minutes in, our group was stuck for about $600. We were broke and more than a little depressed when we realized it was only 10:30, but we decided try to rally. If we couldn’t gamble anymore, we would try the other guys’ night out staple and head to a strip club. Once Lee called a club to assure it was open late enough (2:00 AM) and that the cover was low enough ($6!) we shot out of our funk and were on the road to Providence. With the low cover and the seedy location, we were expecting something spectacularly low class, but we were pleasantly surprised when we walked inside. The dancers were attractive, the place was clean, and I didn’t feel as if I would contract an STD just by sitting down. We got some drinks, and grabbed one of the few open tables. The first dancer was on the main stage dancing in her bikini. After the end of the song, she stayed on stage for a second song and continued to show off her impressive pole technique. The second song ended with her bikini still on, and a new dancer came to the stage. We looked around, horrified, and instantly realized that we had just paid a cover for a strip club where the dancers didn’t strip.

2) There is such a thing as too drunk – The following day, C.J., Dan, and I were still fuming over the failure of the previous night. After a brief flirtation with road tripping to Montreal’s famed Club SuperSexe, we decided that we would try out a local venue. We did some research (see, we learn) and found an appropriately seedy place (The Glass Slipper!) downtown. The only problem is that it was only 5:00 PM. Thinking that it would be a little sad to show up before dinner, we decided to pre-game for a little while before heading out. A “little while” turned into four beers, a few shots, and a shared 20-ounce water bottle of wine on the train. And that was before going to the bar to meet up with our friend Chantha. We eventually arrived at the strip club and were happy to find the strippers actually stripping. I would have been happier, though, if I had been sober enough to actually open my eyes. I tried to stick it out, but I wasn’t exactly enjoying myself. I guess I liked what I was watching, but probably would have gotten just as much pleasure out of going home to watch the McLaughlin Group.

3) Watch out for the magic hour – The next weekend, C.J., Dan, and I spent the early part of Friday evening drinking and talking about how much we hate strip clubs. Nothing really happens, they are a waste of money, they are actually kind of boring etc. From drinks 1-6, I firmly believe all of that. Unfortunately, between 6-9 drinks, all bets are off. This is where I tend to get into trouble. During that period, strip clubs now become bastions of male bonding, glorious Shangri-La’s of beautiful, misunderstood women waiting for the right man (re: Me) to go home with for the night. From drinks 6-9 I’m fired up, and nothing can convince me that the total failure of the previous ten strip club trips is in anyway related to how my next trip will turn out. If I can get past drink 9, I am usually only concerned with a) getting home as soon as possible; or b) hooking up with any girl who doesn’t recoil when I try to talk to her, before finally giving up and trying to get home as soon as possible.

4) Sometimes, it is just the start of the night – That same night that we were discussing how much we hated strip clubs, we ended the night at one again. Well, at least I thought we ended the night. After leaving the club, I ended up eating, watching Dan pay some guy $20 to “find us girls”, following this guy all around Chinatown for 40 minutes while listening to Dan periodically threaten him until we eventually let him lose us, meeting some girls, realizing the one I’m talking to is too drunk to stand without my help, getting offered a ride by a van full of Italian guys, catching a cab, eating again, catching another cab and arriving back at Dan’s place (a dungeon-like basement he was temporarily living in after being evicted by his previous roommates….wait for it…three Mormon girls). At the door, Dan turns around and tells me that he can’t find his keys. Thinking he is joking, I laugh. He is not joking. He calls Dani, waking her up at 4:00 in the morning and getting her to drive to pick us up so that we can crash at her place. When we get in the car, I tell Dani I love her “but not in a sexual way”. Three hours later, I wake up on Dani’s couch and try to pull myself together for a volunteer project that Dan and I have to be at by 9:00. Julia picks us up and we make a pit stop at Dunkin Donuts to try to refuel before spending the next four hours painting a community center. While in line, Dan leans back on a chair, and starts laughing hysterically. I give him an inquisitive look, until he pulls his keys out of his back pocket. He remembers putting them in his back pocket because he didn’t want to hurt the stripper when she was giving him a dance the night before. Considerate guy.

5) The right mixture can make a strip club fun – The night before I flew to Omaha for the holidays, I agreed to meet up with Julia and Dan for a few drinks in Allston. I would say that this decision was against my better judgment, but I’m not sure that I have ever shown that capacity. The night started off very quiet until Julia expressed interest in going to a strip club. Dan and I had been dragging our heels, but this idea definitely woke us up. We both paid lip service to the fact that we hated strip clubs, but it was apparent that taking a girl to her first strip club was too good of an opportunity to pass up. We decided that we needed to be much drunker before heading out. Over the next hour (and three drinks each) we bonded by discussing all manner of personal issues that wealthier people would gladly pay a therapist to listen to. Newly tight, we set out to look at some boobies. At the first club, Julia actually ran into her friend (heterosexual female) from college. In all of strip club history, how many times do you think that two straight female friends who had lost touch with each other have ended up bumping into each other at a strip club in a different city than they went to school in? 5? 10? I couldn’t get over how weird that was, although I probably should have just taken it as a sign that we need to hang out with Julia’s friends more often. After Dan “explored” the club, we decided that we would go next door to the more familiar Glass Slipper. Dan and I had another night out, but I think Julia had the most fun. She met a stripper (“We danced together!”) and even got to go backstage. It was definitely my favorite recent night out, but I’m hoping that it doesn’t lead me back there anytime soon. I don’t think what is left of my self-image can take it.