No Water After 9 PM

HAPPY NEW YEAR: She's Ba-aack!

2011-01-01T14:15:00.000-08:00

HAPPY NEW YEAR, EVERYONE!

No, this is not a joke. Yes, I am actually updating my bartending blog. Amazing, right?

It all started, as do a lot of things these days with a tweet (Chris Brown, Raz B... I'm looking at you). A friend of mine from college announced he was throwing a New Year's Eve party and needed a bartender. Never one to look past an opportunity, I replied (essentially), "I be dat." No hesitation.

Mind you, I haven't stepped behind a bar since July 2009. I've never served 150 people at once. And the private parties I'd done before this one have been considerably smaller. Honestly, I was a little nervous as the day approached, but being a bartender is part of who I am. You don't forget what comes naturally. And I aint neva scared of savage crowds banging their cups on the bar demanding, "WE WANT DRINK! WE WANT DRINK!"

The key to being a good bartender, I think, isn't in how you mix the drinks. I mean, that's definitely important, but I think the key to it all is entertaining people. Everybody just wants to have a good time, man. You gotta, you know, bedazzle them with choreographed routines of bottle flipping and twirling and shit! ...Okay I lied. I can't actually do this:

...But a little witty banter, eye winking, sparkly smiling, and dancing goes a long way. I do my best to keep customers very well entertained whenever I'm back there, and I have a great time doing it.

Since I was a child, I've enjoyed performing, and the way I see it: the bar is my stage, the customers are my audience, and the drinks come secondary. I'm no mixologist, but I am a damn good bartender. And I love that.

I mean, I love it so much my customers love that I love it.

So yeah! Yeah... all that being said: Deena Behind the Bar is BACK IN FULL EFFECT!

Since I just can't seem to stay away from the liquor, I'm going on the hunt for a bar gig... again. I like large nightclubs, strip clubs, and concert venues. If you hear of anything let me know. I also do private parties. Hit me on Twitter at @ohDeena!

PS: I know I usually have very candid stories about the crazy things that happen to me behind the bar, but if you want specifics on NYE, you're just going to have to ask me directly, lol.

PPS: My other blog, http://marginalwisdom.wordpress.com/ is still active, I promise. You should dig around on there too.

This Past Week in Brooklyn

2009-08-30T23:57:00.000-07:00

I've been up to a lot a bit this past week:

On the Job Hunt

I called about 50 different places in Brooklyn and the LES, looking for work. Out of those 40, maybe 4 were actively hiring. After calling these places one day, I then spent the next day hoofing it around town, dropping off resumes and filling out applications (from 10 am to 11 pm!). I learned some key things through this exhausting exercise though: 1. comedy clubs are a cool place to bartend and I think I'd really like it, 2. all even avenues in NY run north, and 3. the fact that I went to bartending school actually makes my resume look worse. Bartending school isn't really looked upon as an institution of prestige where you learn how to do everything the right way. It's frowned upon as a two-bit scam where they teach you the quick-n-dirty way how to mix drinks for people who don't know the difference between a cocktail and a cockatoo.

I learned that bit from the bartender and manager at my apprenticeship. No, I didn't come away from my recent bit of hunting with a job (Aside: how did the owner of this bar tell me I had a sexy picture and that he'd definitely be calling me, but never call. I'ma come back 'n shoot your bar up, playin' wit my unstable emotions like that! I got rent to pay, don't get my hopes up!), but I did get an apprenticeship at this really cool, new old-school cocktail bar in Brooklyn. It's chill because the first thing the manager did when he met me was offer me weed (which, incidentally, I don't smoke). It's old-school because they're real masters of the cocktail. I mean, this place is among the .01% of bars around the world that make all their own syrups. This bar is so high class that KETEL ONE, COINTREAU and HENNESSEY are rail liquors. Your typical rail liquors are like... Velicoff (vodka), Ronrigo (rum), Montezuma (triple sec), Odesse (gin), and Bols (triple sec).

I spent my first day straining pecan milk into pecan paste and pecan syrup. ...And sampling drinks and interacting with the customers, of course. And let me just say, that after having a REAL cocktail... I don't think I can drink anywhere else. Oh, I can drink a Jack+Cran, but not a cocktail. Nah. I gotta have a REAL cocktail, homes. Yep, I'm becoming a snob (and for good reason). I've learned a lot through observation and listening too. I like this.

On the Home Front

So, the apprenticeship is great, but I have bills. And my living expenses require about $1,100 to flow out of my checking account each month. I need money. I really, really hate asking my mother for it, even though I have no choice right now. But it's killing me because I know she's got so many responsibilities and such and I hate being another burden. Until an opportunity opens up, Mommy is it for me though. I just gotta keep hustling, keep looking... especially at places around colleges or where a lot of college kids will go. They typically need more staff around this time of year.

Other than the bills though, I'm loving my home life. My roommates are great. I love my neighborhood. And even though Brooklyn smells like dog shit and garbage, I love it too. My room is coming together nicely... although living on the basement floor does have its drawbacks, chiefly: 1) the buggos and 2) the fact that I suffocated an alive-thing (which I think was a mouse) in my trashcan. I don't eat or allow food in my room because I don't want to attract any alive-things. My dumbass threw a muffin paper in the trashcan. All I can say is: at least the alive-thing couldn't crawl back out and I was able to kill it without seeing it by tying the trash up. Ugh. I'm so not made for that type of thing.

On the School Front

OMG. So. I start Parsons tomorrow and I'm SO excited/nervous. I can't wait to actually learn things I'm interested. And! I've already met someone in my program... she lives right above me, actually. I can't wait to meet people who are as excited by fabric as I am. I'm nervous about the learning curve and all that, but honestly... I'm just so ready.

Lesson of the Day:

(Quoted from the manager at the bar where I apprentice)

"Hesitation is death. That split second where you're deciding which way to swerve is what gets you killed. Just go with your instincts."

Grind Time

2009-08-24T13:33:00.000-07:00

It seems like I'm always coming back from flitting off somewhere; I've got location ADD or something.

Anyway, I returned from a brief (weekend) trip back home to Maryland yesterday. I go back every 6-8 weeks to get my lovely mouth bling tightened and tuned and such. I love what the braces are doing to my teeth (my smile is THIS close to perfect now! 10 out of 10 [okay, 4 out of 4] dentists agree that my teeth themselves are pretty, so having them straightened will be even more awesome), however I can't wait until June, October at the latest, when they come off!

While I was down home, I listened to my 11 year old niece play the piano (beautiful!) and gave my soon-to-be 14 year old niece some advice about high school. (Eyes well up). I remember when I helped teach her how to read, and now she's going to high school! High school! I want to be as available for her as possible since I'm here and my sister's a single parent. I want to be the cool aunt who makes her prom dress and helps her fill out her college applications. (I definitely made sure to tell her to study, study, study for the PSAT because that's how I got my scholarship which paid for my undergrad career in its ENTIRETY).

After enjoying certain DMV delights, like LEDO'S PIZZA!, for the first time in ages and DC Chillin' with my fam, I stepped out on the town with some friends from Howard and my Bowie Crew.

We ended up going to Grand Central in Adams Morgan. I definitely recommend it. You can walk in dressed chill, enjoy movies such as Finding Nemo (yes, "I shall call you My Squishy and you shall be mine," Finding Nemo) on the flat screens downstairs, and dance around like you haven't got a care in the word (i.e. jumping the "invisible rope". And after it's all over you can engage in some playful banter with the entirely too pressed cops outside and grab a JUMBO (and I mean JUMBO) slice from next door. #GoodNights happen here.

Going to Adams Morgan definitely made me miss DC 40x more than I've been missing it. I haven't really had time to miss DC since I've been back so frequently, and I actually like New York now, but going out on the town just made my heart ache a bit when it was over. I have to have a residence in DC/MD when I get successful (no, I will not put up a link to the Drake + Trey Songz jont because I'm so tired of hearing Drake everywhere I turn). When I become rich enough so that taking a shuttle flight between DC and NY is nothing, I will do it. DC really has my heart and I can't deny it.

But now I'm back in New York, still searching for a job that will allow me to pay my rent. My tuition is being paid for by my mother (this semester/year, at least), but I've got to cover my rent and bills myself. I can't let her do that too. I need something to pan out with the quickness, too. I really want to keep the bartending job, but being a real estate agent or apartment shower person or whatever is lookin' kind of attractive too. We'll see who hits me back (if they hit me back) first.

Just had orientation for school and the theme seems to be: you THINK you know what you're getting into but you have absolutely NO idea. This is a fashion hazing process. In the words of Shane Sparks, "I'm not trying to scare you, I'm just trying to prepare you." ...Too late. I'm scared.

PS... Shane is SUCH a hater!

Growl. I'm Hunting Again.

2009-08-20T20:44:00.000-07:00

So, I'm on the job hunt again.

Going on open calls, hitting up random bars, calling places, etc.

I'm realistic, yet optimistic.

Just went to another bikini-themed restaurant/club. I really hope I get this one; it's not as much money per week, but I really, really liked the atmosphere. All of the employees seemed to like each other, the managers I spoke with were nice and completely un-hood. The entire vibe of the place was relaxed and friendly. Me likey.

I'm getting tired of running around, but that's the hustle.

School starts in two weeks, as well. Eep! Orientation next week. Eep! I'm SO scared/excited. Can't wait.

WTF!? >=|

2009-08-19T11:57:00.001-07:00

Attention: I wrote these lyrics with the intention of copyrighting and recording them. They are MY intellectual property. Anyone who poaches will feel the wrath of my father, who happens to be an entertainment lawyer.

WTF!? >=|

He must really think he’s cute
With his li’l
LOL smiley face
LOL smiley face
(Funny shit, yo)

(Chorus)
Shorty just text me,
say he wanna sex me
LOL smiley face,
WTF angry face
Wants me to send a twit pic
Thinks he gonna get this,
OMG, I’m ROTFLMAO

Ain’t gonna fake; nah, I can’t lie ya’ll
He turned my head; SNAP! Caught my eye, ya’ll.
This boy was chisel-chisel, cut-cut, FINE ya’ll
And I was like: get ‘im, thought he shoulda been mine, ya’ll
But he was That Dude. Bragged about his strokin’-mandigo.
Winked at all the girls and talked that nasty boy lingo
In class he sat behind me; used to pull my ponytail
I flirted back (couldn’t help myself) so he tried to get a piece of tail
But when it came down to it/couldn’t get around to it
For all his braggin, he was bluffin/never touched the muffin (Uhhh…)
I’m confused, can’t figure out the deal
Come to find out he was on the DL…

(Chorus)

Can’t believe he thinks I don’t know,
That he likes it a little homo
Shorty sending twit pics
sayin come and get this
LOL smiley face
SMH womp face.

Now, this one, I met club-hoppin in the summertime
I was poppin, he was clockin like I’d really give him my time
He wouldn’t lemme ‘lone, grabbed me when I tried to walk away
Kept repeating, “you’re so beautiful,” like that was gonna make me stay.
When I told him, “get some better game,” he pulled out his frat card
Please. That wouldn’t impress me even if it was a Black Card.
I tried to leave again, but he wouldn’t move out the way
I gave him my number just to get him out my face
Now it’s a year later and he’s still tryna hit me up
Gettin’ familiar like we been talkin’, gettin’ up and stuff
Tryna horse-and-carraige this…
How did I encourage this?
I aint said one word to ‘im
You would think I put that good on ‘im.

(Chorus)

Can’t believe he thinks I don’t know,
That he’s a lot-a bit psycho
Shorty sending twit pics
sayin come and get this
LOL smiley face
SMH womp face.

[ALTERNATE verse 3]

Just broke up, but I wasn’t on the rebound;
I wasn’t lost, and I wasn’t tryna be found.
But I had excess energy, you know what I mean
So I played the field, I was always on the scene.
Hittin’ dudes up, 2 am, “where are you?”
Hittin’ dudes up, 4 am, “where are you?”
Most of ‘em were cool and knew I didn’t want forever
Some started trippin, thought I wanted to be together
Started getting possessive
So I got progressive
On to the next one
Case-closed, done son!
But he didn’t take the hint, and he’s still callin me
LOL OMG, what an exercise in futility.

(Chorus)

Can’t believe he thinks I don’t know,
That he’s delusional
Shorty sending twit pics
sayin come and get this
LOL smiley face
SMH womp face.

Original "LOL =)" - Trey Songz feat. Gucci Mane and Soulja Boy

Howard Does the Hamptons

2009-08-16T19:18:00.000-07:00

I just got back from the Hamptons (Sag Harbor & East Hampton to be specific) after spending the weekend with some of my friends from college. You would think 11 people (yes, 11 adults) in one house would be problematic, but it wasn't. I mean sure, my first choice for sleeping arrangements is never going to be on a narrow couch, literally tangled up with someone else, and cold showers aren't exactly my favorite, but it was all good. No drama vacations, FTW!

We were supposed to leave sometime around 2:30 on Friday, however, we didn't leave until about 7. The friend we were staying with texted us twice to tell us, "ya'll some niggas," about our lateness, but I'm saying... one of my roommates didn't even get back from work until about 5:45! And I had to pre-mix drinks for the weekend (Gatorade bottles full of margarita, cherry splash margarita, and whiskey + cranberry)! When we finally made it to Sag Harbor, it was pitch black outside, and there weren't any street lights. I've never, ever, in my life seen the stars look that beautiful. I never realized there were that many of them. It took my breath away.

Right then I decided that, one day, I must get a summer home in the Hamptons for myself.

So anyway, we make our way inside and the night begins with Kings, the greatest drinking/card game ev-aaar! I got to make up three of the rules of the game =) Note: you should fear me when I get to make up rules in Kings. I made everyone talk in a British accent and decreed that whenever they had to take a drink, you had to drink for five seconds, minimum. 1-Mississippi style. I definitely ended up gettin myself done with my personal margarita mix and that 5-second rule. One of my friends also ended up incapacitating himself for the rest of the night because he took prescription meds and chased it with alcohol (not immediately afterwards, but close enough). Before he started drinking, we asked him, "are you sure you can drink after taking that?"

"Yeah, I asked my doctor and he cleared me," he assured us.

Hours later, just as the door swung open to let in the last car of people, one of my friends called out, "he's throwing up! He's throwing up!"

I looked to my right and wasted no time in leaping 10 feet across the room. But you know something? A sign of growing up is when, after an incident like that, the whole crew pitches in to take care of the sickling and clean up, even finding cleaning materials that the host didn't even know he had. We ended up putting the sickling outside with a bottle of water until he was finished and continued chillin. By the time we were all ready to go to sleep (at about 4 am), he ended up dancing and singing in the hallway in his boxers. He wasn't drunk.

Saturday, we went around town (when I get money... shopping in the Hamptons is so necessary) and two of us made it on the camera for Real Housewives of NY (whether or not they make it past the cutting room floor is still up in the air) and then we went to the beach. After going to Miami last week, I think I can make the call:

The Hamptons vs. Miami:

Miami has better water (clear and warm); the Hamptons has better sand (soft and sculptable).
Miami is more relaxed about things like clothing; the Hamptons has a more relaxing atmosphere.
Miami is packed with activity; the Hamptons makes you forget everything but how beautiful the night sky and the endless ocean are.

All-in-all... I'd rather build a summer home in the Hamptons. It's a place that makes you feel like you're on the edge of the world... so peaceful.

After the beach we headed out to main shopping/eating district in Sag Harbor. Two of the guys and one of my roommates and I ate at this BOMB Mediterranean restaurant. If you haven't tried moussaka... do so, post-haste. While nursing moderate cases of the Itis, we walked down to the docks, looked up at the stars again, and fantasized about the yachts. Now, I've been on a yacht before and I didn't exactly enjoy the experience (I get nervous when I'm too far away from terra firma), but man... if I had the money... Fuck the fear, I'd get myself a yacht!

We were going to make a bonfire, but some of us chilled back at the house while others searched for a party at Pink Elephant, however they were having a private event and the only entry was the purchase of a table... for $1,500. Welcome to the Hamptons =). Pah-ty done.

Clubbin was a bust, but honestly... I wouldn't go to the Hamptons to club anyway. I'd go to get away from all that. And it's definitely on my list of places to Ctrl+Alt+Delete.

Private beach in Sag Harbor

This Has Nothing to do with Alcohol

2009-08-13T23:31:00.000-07:00

Um, yeah... so... this post has nothing to do with alcohol. At all. I apologize in advance, but I still think I might have something worthwhile to say.

I'm sitting here packing for my weekend trip to the Hamptons with a still as yet unspecified number of my friends, and I just got to thinking...

(Well, I didn't just get to thinking. I was actually talking about relationships with the woman who has a nonprofit across the street from me, and thinking about the words my grandmother said to me from beyond. [Yes, the deceased do speak, if you're willing to listen.]).

Man, I've learned a lot of good lessons from all the relationship drama I've been through. And man, I don't know how I want to handle them going forward... 'cause man... man... my world-view has been tainted and I don't know what's right or wrong anymore.

I'm too nice to be a proper heartbreaker (I'm more aloof and oblivious than cold and cruel) and too self-absorbed to be a proper sweetheart. I used to be a real sweetie, though. I was THE Ride-or-Die Chick. THE Make-Dinner-for-You-on-a-Whim Chick. The Kiss-You-Anyway-When-You're-Sick-'Cause-I-Even-Love-Your-Germs Chick. When my boyfriend (at the time) and I offended our friends by arriving late to a get-together after we said we'd be an hour (hey... some things take longer than an hour if you're doin it right), after he tried to greet his best friend, his friend said, "Nah, sahn. I don't fucks with you!" My immediate reply was, "that's okay, 'cause I do!" That's the kind of girl I was.

It wasn't having my heart broken by the stereotypical "Bad Guy" that changed me though. I mean, I did have my heart broken, but he wasn't a bad guy... he was a scared, confused guy. It wasn't even a brief encounter with a violent, possessive guy. The straw that broke the camel's back (besides age) was a nice guy. That's right. The "Nice Guy" was the one who made me say "to hell with it."

And thus began my string of flings (which I'm winding down from. It's boring and I either want something REAL good, something REAL fun, or nothing at all).

How did this happen? He was too nice. He was too cautious. He was... rather condescending, actually. He pushed me away right when things started taking off only to later explain that he was trying to figure out who was real and who wasn't... and then came back. (They ALWAYS come back.). Too late, not interested... at all. The worst thing you can do to me is doubt my realness.

I feel like I'm at another turning point in how I view men and relationships. I know what I ultimately want in that regard: a husband I don't secretly/not-so-secretly hate and three adorable kids, but not anytime soon. There are a lot of changes I need to go through and experiences I need to have before I'm ready to seriously think about any of that.

I've done the steady girlfriend thing. I've done the "I'm going to focus on me" thing. I've done the "let's just play it by ear" thing. I've done the "we're just friends, but we go out on dates" thing. I've done the chick-on-the-side thing (don't judge me). I've done the playette thing. I've done the "it's 3 am, where you at?" thing. (Sounds like I've done a lot of things. Pause.).

I guess what I'm ready for now is the next thing. And I know what I want that next thing to be, but I have the feeling that what I'm going to get is going to surprise me. It always does.

BONUS! QUOTES from MY MOMMY:

After my first breakup:

"Niggas come and go, but mama will always love you."

"If I see him on the street, I'm going to push him into oncoming traffic. Just kidding!"

After my encounter with scary, violent, crazy man:

Mom: "He had a little dick, didn't he?"

Me: "Mom! ...Yes."

Mom: *Cackles* "See? Mama always knows! Five-minute, squiggly dick."

...My mother is a dentist with an expansive vocabulary and normally speaks with impeccable grammar (though she does have a potty mouth in private). Even after 22 years of her being my mother, I'm still shocked when she says such things.

Back In Black... No Really... I'm Burnt.

2009-08-11T19:44:00.001-07:00

So, I returned from Miami on Sunday... chilled at my parents' place until Monday evening, when I arrived back in New York, minus (-) my phone charger and an unspecified amount of my checking account, plus (+) a skin cancer-worthy tan and some lessons learned:

-If it doesn't feel right, it isn't right. Alright, so I already knew this one, but intuition is one of those "easily-ignored-because-they're-so-abstract" things. The trip to Miami was for my high school best friend's birthday, and when it was planned, it included four people: me, her, and two of her other besties (one of whom is also one of mine). Eventually, more people were added... people I either didn't know, didn't really care too much for, or hadn't talked to in ages. I didn't really feel right going; I had a feeling I wasn't going to be able to enjoy myself, but I went anyway because it was for my friend's birthday. Lesson rephrased: don't commit yourself to something you know you can't actually do in the interest of keeping up appearances. My line of thinking went something like this: if I don't go, I'm a bad friend AND I'll look petty and immature because I'm not going because I don't want to be around the other guests.

But you know what? I've discovered that real maturity is making decisions based upon what you know you're capable of, and real friendship isn't based upon appearances. I would've better served my friend by coming down to MD to see her off for her trip/welcome her back and giving her a gift then. Instead, I was visibly Miserable-In-Miami and felt like I'd essentially wasted my money on a vacation that wasn't very relaxing at all.

I knew I wasn't going to enjoy the trip before we even took off. When, in the airport, my high school bestie introduced her college bestie to one of the girls I didn't know with, "and this is my best friend, ____," and didn't even bother to introduce me. And then said girl I didn't know copped an attitude with me when I questioned her suggestion that we take shots on the plane. Bad omens.

Do you know how frustrating it is to try to be nice to and sociable with someone who does nothing but stare at you? (Except when she wasn't around her core group... when she was outnumbered by "the original trip people" she was fine). ...And for the record, the reason I've even been on-the-outs with this person (none of which matters anymore), was firstly because I was angry at her and couldn't fake politeness, and secondly because she wrote me a highly contradictory apology which I couldn't accept for all of its contradictions and hurtful insinuations. I don't know what reason she has to stare at me. To not flip out at rude-ass, pretentious little bitches (TWO of them!) who can't at least do the fake "we're all girlfriends!" thing? To feel like a freaking camper, shuttled into group activities that I had nothing to do with? To have plans made and NO ONE tells you what the hell is going on? I just didn't have a good time. Thus, I have learned:

-Do what YOU want. Alright, so you've got to take other people into account sometimes, but you can't be of any good use to anyone else if you're not happy. It shows. My other friend told me that, "the best day I've had so far on this trip is the day I spent by myself." And you know? I wish I'd spent a day waking up early and eating breakfast by myself, going swimming and tanning on the beach by myself, going back to eat and read my book by myself, then maybe take a nap and meeting up with everyone else later. If I'd felt like I'd had some modicum of control or choice in the whole trip, I think it wouldn't have been so bad for me. To the extent that you're able, always make sure what you're doing is what you want... otherwise you'll be bitter.

It wasn't all bad, though... I enjoyed playing volleyball in the water with 3 cute Italian guys. (Which has cemented my decision to go to Italy next summer). The water was nice. There were some good moments. I've also learned that wine makes me EXTREMELY giggly (or maybe just the fact that I drank a whole bottle?). I picked up an addiction to a television show called Bones (I just watched three straight episodes tonight, in fact). I learned some valuable lessons, the last of which being:

If I ever want to get my mother to affect a pained, worried expression and moan, "oh, my poor baby doesn't know how to take care of herself!" all I have to do is get a sunburn.

...Yes, she actually did say that in response to me getting a sunburn. My mom's a special lady. I love her.

My Gameplan for This Week:

-Figure out how I'm going to pay for fashion school.

-Finish this marketing package for my producer friend.

-Finish this business plan and case for donations for my family's non-profit.

-Go to my sewing class and figure out exactly how I'm going to volunteer there.

-Go to The Hamptons with an unspecified group of people in an unspecified location by an unspecified means of transportation and have a completely undignified amount of fun!

Alright, you asked for it...

2009-07-31T12:30:00.000-07:00

So, I'm going to continue blogging even though I'm not behind a bar right now. I decided to spend the rest of my summer being a fake socialite, hopping from one social engagement to the next. But really, you know, this is all field research: how am I supposed to know where I want to bartend if I don't go clubbin?

That's my story and I'm stickin to it.

In any case, my shenanigans will still be posted here. So! To begin:

I really love my building; my neighbors are extra cool. The guys that live across the hall invited us out to go to this (free!) party in the Village. Up until now, my partying has been limited to Chelsea, so this was my first Village night. The Village = Adams Morgan on speed. I can definitely see myself bar hopping around until 5 am.

The club we went to was kind of empty, but the DJ was NICE, and we had fun watching the white people dance. Now, all white people are not physically incapable of dancing. I've been on dance teams with plenty of white people, and they have proven that generalization to be false. HOWEVER, I have never seen a black person dance quite like this:

Yes. It was that bad. I'm not one to ruin anyone else's fun, but sometimes you just wonder: does this person realize that NO ONE else is moving like Gumby?

The roomies and I also found THE pre-game bar. 5 shots of ANYTHING for $10. That's just reckless. (And I love it). So the game plan whenever drinks are in order is to go there, get nice, then go to the club (where entry may be free, but drinks will cost a grip).

The story of the night, though, is the Afrocentric Puerto Rican construction worker-cowboy-hippie rapper/storyteller that provided us with subway entertainment on the way home. So, we're at the W 4th St. station, talking, waiting on the A train (which is taking FOREVER)... all of a sudden, our conversation is overpowered by loud banging and ~~screaming~~ rapping. We observe a short, stubby sort of fellow with sleepy eyes and plastic figurine mini fan necklace (which he was using as a mic), ripping his vocal cords to give us his message:

"You SICK wit' it; you ACT wit' it! Africa! Africa! Ooooo whatcha gonna do? Ooooo whatcha gonna do?"

He was so loud, we had to join in with our dancing, backup singing and beat-boxing. When he finished his song, one of my roomies entreated him to keep going.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why not?" she countered.

He continued. ...Even onto the train (when it finally came), where the rhymes got even more ridiculous: "We all gon' win, we all gon' win; we can't lose. Touchdown! Goal! Ooooh, whatcha gonna do? Ooooh, who you gonna call? Africa! Africa!" So, of course, we're all laughing and dancing along... until he gets to his second song:

"They all gon' laugh at you! They all gon' laugh at you!"

Everyone stopped laughing. We didn't know whether or not we should expect the next line to be:

"And then you get your revenge!" Complete with him going on a crazed attack on his fellow subway riders with his mini-fan.

Thankfully, he didn't. He did, however, tell my roomie, "I like you," and told her that he wanted to fall asleep on the train and wake up with her on his lap. He even made up a rap about it:

"Satin, silk lingerie with lace in the middle! I just wanna see you skeet! It's animal instinct! You just get inside and uuuunh!"

Good times.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

"I rep Brooklyn; Bed-Stuy... I rep Coney Island... Madison Square Garden... Midtown... Jamaica, Queens... I rep the Boogie Down too... I can't remember where it is, but I rep that shit. Canada too: I been to Buffalo."

-the same Afrocentric Puerto Rican construction worker-cowboy-hippie rapper/storyteller

...Sir. Buffalo is NOT in Canada!

Sayonara Sunday

2009-07-13T20:25:00.000-07:00

That's right, I'm saying goodnight and goodbye to the bikini bar. (I'm horribly fickle, I know.). Reasons why:

1. I can't hide my attitude problem with my boss. I refuse to be ordered around like a dog. I'm just not doing it, and I don't respect anyone who does it to me. You tell me, "go talk to them," and I will answer, "alright, already!" I know it's rude. I know I'm the employee here. But I don't consider that a real job and I'm not going to defer to such behavior. Accordingly, my boss doesn't like me.

ASIDE: I don't know when I got like this, but I'm a lot less close-lipped than I used to be. I used to take everything with a smile, but now I'm more "nice when I deem the cause worthy". I... I... I think I'm becoming a bitch. (Only when it's deserved, of course!).

2. The customers get on my nerves. After I reply, "no, I'm a bartender, not a prostitute," after you ask me to go with you tonight, do not ask me, "why not?" ...Excuse me? These perverts.

ASIDE: I feel like I've got a pretty good handle on who I am and who I'm not; where I belong and where I don't. I can chill in an environment I don't belong in for a minute, but I know it's not the place for me. I feel like as long as you know who you are, it doesn't matter where you are, you can't get lost.

So, for all my family members who may be out there, reading all of my crazy tales: don't worry about me. Of course, I don't know everything about who I am, but I know who I'm not.

3. I made my rent money! Consequently, I have no further use for that place.

4. Boss Man took me off schedule (because he doesn't like me), which works perfectly for me because I didn't want to come back next week anyway. Hel-lo free time!

This other bar wants to hire me to dance (salsa, merengue, etc.) with customers and bartend, but I want to work at a club, where the main focus isn't the bar. It's more my speed.

I like really fast-paced places where I can keep my conversations with customers short and sweet, where I'm always moving so the night goes by quickly, where I don't have to work 5 frickin days a week. ...Where there isn't a chance for customers to get perverted with me.

So... bigger clubs, here I come. I've got some NYC bartending experience under my belt: my resume has had its butt shots. Let's go.

Before I left the bikini bar, I had the proper send off though. We gave a Cablevision customer service rep (I actually think he might've been one of the ones I got loud and indignant with... whoops), the night of his life: five girls dancing for him at once. He tipped us $20 each. And another guy tipped me $20 just because I looked Dominican and he said I would fit right in in his country.

Again: RENT MADE!

CHILL TIME shall commence once again. Time to make a list of dance clubs and concert halls, etc.

I'm living in NYC: life comes at you fast.

Smack-a-Ho Saturday

2009-07-12T03:56:00.000-07:00

Seriously, Mexico almost got herself smacked by the rest of us at varying points throughout the night. I'm not a violent person, I'm not a rude person, and I won't call you on your transgressions until they get to the point where I can't just shrug them off. ...This trick pushed me to the point where I couldn't contain myself and pulled the, "oh no she DIDN'T!" face in front of customers and had to turn and walk away.

Reasons Why A Ho Almost Got Smacked:

1. You have been working at this jont for the longest time (4 weeks). Congratulations! That means: you have been working at this jont for four weeks. It doesn't mean you can give orders. It doesn't mean the rest of us want (or need) to hear your "helpful hints". And it certainly doesn't mean you're an expert bartender. So keep your running commentary to yourself!!

EXAMPLE: There was an incident where the New New Girl (just started today because Drunkie got fired) had a guy who gave her a $10 bill and said he gave her a $20. Boss Man ended up giving the man his $10 back because he "didn't want to argue over $10." At the end of the night, when Boss Man informed her that her drawer was short by $10, she reminded him of this incident. It was an A-and-B conversation... so why did Mexico chime in with:

"To avoid that you should just put the money on top of the register before you ring it in."

OMFG! NO ONE ASKED YOU!

As New New Girl put it this morning when we were riding the train home, "you know how they say most cops were once those kids who everybody bullied and then they grew up and got guns and now they think they run everything? Yeah, well, that was probably her. She was probably the nerdy kid who got picked on, and now Boss Man gave her some little bit of props 'cause she's been here the longest and she took it and ran with it."

2. Never, ever, ever, is it acceptable to jump across someone while they're engaged in conversation. And it's beyond rude to do it twice. Next time I'm able to predict that shit before you do it, I'm sticking my hand out in the vicinity of your throat and choppin yo' ass "on accident".

I was smiling, laughing, talking to a customer and this trick LEAPS across me and leans on the bar to talk to someone else. And then she lost her balance... so she did it AGAIN! Was she raised by wolves or something? Where they do that at?

Ho... you bout to get smacked.

3. It's understood that we're all hustlers behind the bar, however, you do not step in on someone else's hustle. It's obvious this trick doesn't have an understanding of hood rules: everyone has their own hustle... and you don't interfere with what isn't yours.

Trick, if I'm talking to a customer, don't lean in and ask him if he wants something else to drink. I GOT IT.

And it's not just like I'm being passive and she's being aggressive and I need to get on her level; no. She has done it to everyone at the bar. New New Girl was standing all the way at the far end of the bar and Mexico literally runs from the other side, butts in, and asks the guy what he wants.

She did that to me the other day, and tried that mess again today, but I remembered what the guy had been drinking and had it waiting for him before he sat down. And then I asked what his friend wanted. +$12 to me, trick. (We get paid off of sales commission too... that's why she's so pressed.). She managed to do that a couple of times to New New Girl, who turned to me and said, "man, I told Boss Man about her. She's a toe-stepper; yeah, well I bite bitches."

4. Don't send me off on errands so my back is turned to the bar and you can scoop new customers coming in, or refill more glasses.

I know she doesn't have short-term memory loss, so why would she ask me if I had change three times in the span of 30 minutes to an hour? The last time she asked me, I finally had to say:

"No! This is the third time you've asked me that. Go ask Boss Man to open the change box."

Ho, you 'bout to get smacked. It was no surprise that she made more than $250 in sales and got her 10% commission while the rest of us were stuck 5%. I've got no problem with my co-workers making their money; as long as they do it respectfully.

Reasons Why My Boss Deserves to Get Smacked:

1. Don't ask me why I'm "constantly leaning against the counter". If everyone appears to be entertained: their cups are full, they're engaged in conversation, or they're watching the dancing going on... I'm not about to jump in and interrupt the merry-making. It's funny how he's always watching me when I have downtime, but never when I'm talking, making a drink, or taking an order.

2. Don't shine a flashlight in my eye to get my attention. This aint COPS.

3. Don't tell me I made a mistake when I didn't... 'cause I will correct you; boss or not. I, ever so responsibly, informed him that I accidentally input six cents instead of six dollars into the register. This man's response was, "again?"

I replied, "no. I only did it once."

He goes: "no. You did it twice; I corrected it. I'll show you the tape."

So, later, when he shows me the tape, it shows that I input 6 cents ONCE and he corrected for it with 6 dollars ONCE.

"Yeah, like I said," I nodded.

Special People Make the World Go 'Round

I gotta give a shout out to the characters who made the night worth getting out of bed for:

New New Girl, who is certifiably crazy. She's loud, dances non-stop, and says the most outrageous things.

Are You High, Sir? The customer who I really think was high. He was moving in slow motion, nothing seemed to faze him, and he had this one dance move: arms raised in the "Victory!" position, index fingers pointed, moving as few muscles as possible while bobbing along with the music (in slow motion, still). He kept everyone laughing and imitating him.

The A Train Companions, these two guys who sat and talked with New Girl and I until we got off the train. They were cute and nice. And! Dude said he liked Raheem, Wale and Tabi Bonney! =)

Tip Jar: Married white men tip really well and they're easily impressed. You don't have to work hard for them at all: you can even just stand there and smile... they've never seen anything quite like you before.

...Fa'realz? Friday

2009-07-11T12:01:00.000-07:00

Let me begin by saying that working the crazy hours I work will leave you without a sense of date or time. And judging by how empty the bar was last night, I don't think anyone else knew it was Friday either. We even got a new bartender (I like her, she's cool) to bring the total up to five for the night. Turns out that was unnecessary. Fa'realz?

...A Wig? Fa'realz?

Yeah. I had to go out and buy a lace front wig because I absolutely refuse to put heat on my hair everyday. Do you know what kind of damage that does? My hair is my most prized possession (okay, not really... but it's close), it's the essence of my being; I can't let that kind of harm come to it. I like the wig; it takes all the effort out of doing my hair and protects it from damage, all in one. I might just wear it everywhere. ...Sike.

Fa'Realz, Yo... Everything Is Not About the Hustle!

Bartenders are hustlers; they're entrepreneurial. However, your customers should not get a sense of this, because then they won't come back. I understand trying to get your money, but people don't like to feel worked over and taken advantage of. I understand trying to sell $250 worth of liquor so you can get your 10% commission, but respect your other bartenders' hustle while you do it. The bartender who's been there the longest (4 weeks), let's call her Mexico, because that's where her family's from, seems to think she works the bar alone. When one bartender is talking to a customer, you do not go up to the customer and ask them if they want something else to drink. (Especially when it's the new bartender and she hasn't had that many sales yet). I mean, look... if you lose a sale today, you'll get one tomorrow. My boss at the strip club had to tell the cocktail waitresses: respect each other's hustle-- you might have to work the dead section tonight, but the next night will make up for it. Don't be ruled by the hustle.

You Have NO Authority Here... Fa'Realz.

Mexico was being generally annoying otherwise, too, though. If you're standing "in her way" whatever she deems that to be, she'll shoo you over with her hands (something I HATE). And she spent the whole night giving directions to the rest of us for no reason. New Girl and I were cracking up about it this morning as we rode the train home. (Yes! I have someone to ride the train with!). Some people just like to give directions, down to the way you put the tip money in the tip jar. It really pisses me off (I have a problem with anyone putting me in a position of inferiority, actually), and I'll get curt or go silent with anyone who does it. So... shut up, please? Tha-anks!

Fa'Reals? You Gonna Play Good Cop/Bad Cop Like That?

A bunch of off-duty cops came in today. And being cops, you would think they would (a) know the rules, and (b) obey them. So sir, you should know better than to ask to, "take all the girls out to breakfast." Nope. Not gonna happen.

And then this guy tried to play Good Cop/Bad Cop with me. His friend was a little mouthy, but he was funny (he gave his name as Eddie Spaghetti, lol), so it was okay. Dude who tried to play Good Cop turned to me and was like, "I think my friend wants more than... I think he wants more than... just... look out for yourself, okay?" And then he kissed my hand.

I think you want "more than". I'm not stupid; don't do me.

I don't know why he tried to pull that, considering he had just told me earlier, "you're a pretty girl, but I can see you've got a tough mind; keep that mentality wherever you go." It was in the context of talking about traveling abroad. I really, really want to study abroad in Italy and France, and he told me that Milan was The GHETTO and Paris sucked. (My father has told me before that Paris is the pits, as well).

"You know, you think because you're from New York that you know what's what; that you're hard, that you've seen everything... but let me tell you: you aint seen nothin. Man, Europe is bad, man. And Milan? Milan is the worst ghetto ever. Paris... it sucks... I been everywhere: Italy... Rome, Florence, Venice, Milan... been to Russia, Morocco, south of France... There aint nowhere like America."

Duly noted. I still want to take that two week drawing course in France though.

Fa'Realz? You Gon' Go Off Like That? I Aint the One.

Like I said: I have a problem with anyone putting me in a position of inferiority. And definitely don't curse at me. My father wouldn't talk to me that way (okay... well... depends on what I did to make him angry). I feel like the owner of the bar was just upset because it was dead on a Friday and he was losing out on money, but don't take that shit out on us. And he had a problem with one of the bartenders who let a customer touch her. So... why did he yell at all of us about it? That right there is why he can't keep a consistent staff. That right there is why I'm working for 3 weeks: long enough to pay my rent and expenses and that's it.

And then, he got attitudinal with the New Girl for being nice to a customer. The man had spent two rounds of $70 with her on drinks; he was drunk. She offered him a glass of water from the tap.

Boss Man came over to her and said, "what did you just do?"

"Well, he was drunk, so I gave him a glass of water."

"No. He gets a bottle of water: $6. Do me a favor and don't give away anything for free in here."

...The man has already given you $140. Are you really that pressed over $6 that you'll charge a man who's drunk off his ass for it instead of just looking out for him? Fa'realz? Not cool.

End of the Night Foolishness:

So, the New Girl and I are riding the shuttle bus to the train and a drunk old man get on and starts dancing on the bus, knocking the poles with his cane.

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down so I can move the bus," the bus driver said.

"Okay," Drunk Old Man nods and then goes up front to pay with his Metro Card.

"No, you don't have to pay, just sit down, please."

"No! I have to pay!"

The bus driver sighs and allows the man to pay. (He really didn't have to, it was a shuttle bus). It's in your best interest not to argue with drunk people though.

"Alright, now, can you sit down?"

"Okay, I love you." He sits down. "I love you."

(I think it's funny how drunk people seem to think saying "I love you" makes all of your foolishness better.).

Got Me Workin Day and Night

2009-07-10T11:25:00.000-07:00

So, let me begin by saying that although I work a hard job, I'm glad for it because it allows me to live in relative comfort without having to ask my parents for money... and that's really all I want. It would be understandable if I did; I'm still a student-- but I don't want to. And it's not even about my pride; it's more of a, "I don't want to be another line item on a list of burdens," thing. Plus, you get to regulate what you spend it on when you earned it. No one gets to ask me questions about what I'm spending my money on, including...

Sewing classes! (I had my first one yesterday before work.). There's a place RIGHT ACROSS THE STREET FROM ME that offers sewing and knitting classes and I'm currently enrolled in beginners sewing. I didn't want to come into Parsons that far behind, so I decided to find some sewing classes and lower my learning curve. The BEST thing about this place: the owner offered to let it be my "home away from home" while I'm at Parsons... letting me use the fabric, the mannequins, cut and drape fabric, use their library (and they themselves) as a resource... I'm SO thankful. AND it's a non-profit that uses donated fabrics to sew clothing for women who are living in shelters after fleeing domestic abuse situations. All-in-all: greatness.

So that's why I put up with THIS:

Every Bar Has A Drunkie

When you work in a place where it's part of your hustle to get people to buy you shots and bottles of beer, if you don't have some modicum of self-control... you're going to get drunk. And usually, the people for which this is a problem don't even know how DRUNK they're acting. They maintain: "yeah, I can take whatever-whatever for the whole night and be fine!" ...No, sweetie, you're not fine. You're drunk. My boss had to take this girl aside and tell her to stop drinking, that her sales had dipped significantly, and that she had to take a break. Not a good look.

Quirks and Jerks

Some customers have fun quirks, and some are jerks. We'll examine a few:

Quirks: The customer who nicknamed me Jameson after he discovered that that's the only thing I really like to take shots of. I like that so much I just might use that as my bartending name instead of Nikki. It's cool!

Jerks: The guy who said to me, "te amo! Te amo! $500!" ("I love you! I love you! $500!). First of all, if you love me that much, the least you could do is offer to pay my full rent amount, which is $716. It's more acceptable to pay off my worries for the month though, which will run you about $1,200. Second of all, I am not a prostitute. Third of all, if you have to pay for sex, something that is abundant for free, you need to reevaluate your life. Jerk. And just for that, you get the Sleazeball Skeeza of the Night award.

Quirks: The artistic guy who came in and sketched all of us. It was cool. (They weren't really detailed sketches or anything... no resemblance to be found; otherwise I would've demanded that security confiscate the papers, lol).

Jerks: Those pesky Domincan dudes, Los Chicos Guapos, who came back in with a friend in order to get at me. This fool said something to me in Spanish that I didn't understand, so I turned to his friend and said, "what did he say?" His friend translated, "we're fucking tonight." ...Excuse me? I didn't get that memo. And I certainly didn't agree to that. I shook my head, "no, no, no." Then the other friend kept asking me for my number and I just finally had to say, "look. I don't speak Spanish; he doesn't speak English. What does he need my number for?" To which he replies, "call a hotel." OH-MY-FREAKIN-GAWD: NOOOOOOOOOOO. How many freakin times do I have to freakin say NO!? After they figured out they wouldn't be getting any from me, they left. Ugh... Sleazeball Skeezas.

Quirks: My Slovakian friend who, after asking my name and what it meant (peace), said, "that's fitting because men feel at peace when they look into your face." Aw! That's sweet! Corny, but sweet! Now, he started to get a little jerkish when he got drunk, he got a little too touchy-feely (don't play with my hair please), but I gave him a pass.

The BEST Customers EVER

With all of that being said, there are the type of customers that I really, really like to serve. Yes, they are the ones who spend the most money, but they're also the ones that have the most fun. These guys were dancing around, singing, rapping along to the music, laughing... having a good time. Bartending can feel like you're a hostess at the best party ever (or like another guest if you really get into it) when you've got customers like that. I feel like they must have spent over like $250 in the bar (I mean, one of the guys tipped me with a $20 bill for starters), and they stayed until close, dancing and clapping to Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'. It was fun. I didn't even feel like I was working.

ASIDE: And from what I can tell so far: something else I've discovered is that it's not native New Yorkers who harbor disdain for other, smaller cities... it's the transplant New Yorkers who seem to think that nowhere else is worth anything. And I think I've discovered why the New York accent is so nasal. Since I moved here, I've been having problems adjusting to the air quality. I literally feel like I can't breathe some days it's so bad. I end up talking through my nose. I sound just like a native New Yorker. Bingo! Theory: the nasal New York accent is caused by all the crap in the air that stops up your nose.

An Unpopular Opinion

So of course, what everyone is talking about now is the Steve McNair murder-suicide case. And I work at a bar... our job is to be social and talk. At the end of the night, as we were counting up our tips, one of the bartenders raised a point that would probably be an unpopular opinion:

"They keep saying that girl was crazy, but you know, I don't think so. Have you ever had your heart broken, I mean... really... broken. Like you thought this person loved you, thought you were going to grow together, be together, thought you were going to have his kids, thought he loved you... And then they break your heart. You'd feel like takin' 'em out to."

I thought about it. Yes, I've had my heart broken really, really badly. I felt like taking myself out just because it hurt so much and I didn't know how to get it to stop hurting. (It's an odd and horrible feeling... like wanting to jump outside of your skin because everything hurts and you can't take a pill for it, you can't put a bandaid on it, you can't take a shot... you just want everything to stop because you feel so empty and sick and there's no end in sight.). I felt like making him hurt so bad he'd feel like he was losing his mind. I wanted him to feel nothing but pain, just like I felt pain...

But the dividing line between crazy and sane is feeling all of those things, being able to put life in perspective, and not doing anything destructive.

Just Your Average Wednesday

2009-07-09T11:01:00.000-07:00

You would think Wednesdays at a bar would be rather dull, but they're not. At all.

More Self Discovery

I have discovered more things about myself: 1. I have an attitude "problem", and 2. I drink like a real champ up against seasoned veterans (white guys who work for the federal government).

On Discovery 1: so, I thought my outfit for work was cute: a bright yellow bikini top and little boxer short-shorts. I had my hair up in a side bun with a swoosh falling over my eye. I did look cute, but my boss told me that my shorts weren't appealing and said, "you're not going to work with that bun are you?" I said nothing, and turned to do his bidding. Kind of rude of me. Then, as I was taking out bobby pins, I said to one of the other bartenders, "this is ridiculous. I look good no matter what I'm wearing or how my hair is." Eep. Pretty Girl Syndrome: thinking you can get away with whatever you want because you're attractive. <--Not attractive.

On Discovery 2: there were these two older white men, standing towards the back of the bar. They finally came over and sat at the end towards the middle of the night. "You finally got tired of standing around and decided to sit down, huh?" I winked.

"I've been coming here for little over a year and I always stand over to the side," he answered.

"Intimidated by the bar?" I flirted.

Because I called him out about standing away from the action, he challenged me to go shot for shot with him, my choice. ...So of course I chose Jameson. No one thinks the little girl with bright eyes and a big smile can down the whiskey without a problem. This guy takes his shot and pulls the most twisted face; I'm standing there, still smiling. We do two more and I'm still standing with my equilibrium intact; he's slurring his words and heavily leaning on the bar for support. <-- You don't want it with me at a bar, son! Oh! And his friend said my boxers were cute. Humph!

I'm getting more and more mercenary too, but it's only in the bar. That same drunk white guy had a stack of singles beside his drink. The other bartender came over to him to ask him if he wanted anything else to drink and he shook his head and looked at the stack of money, "I don't know whose money this is though. It's not mine; it must be yours."

She started to shake her head, but I grabbed it and said, "take it, girl! He said it must be yours!"

...Yeah. 'Cause we all split tips at the end of the night. You better take that money.

Why I Can't Date Outside of My (American) Culture

I can date outside of my race; I can't date outside of the American culture. It's been my experience and observation that men of other cultures are more controlling and don't let their women have any independence; everything is done on their terms. I'm an American woman: I don't play those games.

We had a new bartender come in today, but she left after like an hour. Why did she leave? Her boyfriend came in and gave her the Macho Man Stare. Her boyfriend came in, said nothing to her... just stood against the back wall and looked over at her, maybe once, as she was standing by the register... and within minutes, she was out of her bikini, into her street clothes, and out of the bar, into his car. Her boyfriend, not even her husband.

I'll be damned if some man I'm not even in a secure relationship with dictates what I do with me life; controls me with a look. You must be outta your mind, sir. And she had been talking earlier about how when she used to strip, she used to pull in $1,300 a week, but he made her stop. ...Again: if you're clearly capable of supporting yourself, why are you allowing anyone to take that away from you?

Hood Girl Logic

So of course, one of the other bartenders reprises this at the end of the night and adds her own Tales From the Hood anecdote on the end of it:

"That's why my mother told me: leave a man with a wet ass and an empty wallet."

I'm not entirely sure what the wet ass part means. I was thinking the catchphrase means something like, "clean him up and clean him out," or "turn him out and clean him out." Whatever.

One of the bartenders is a suburban girl like me, and also like me, she just laughs at the way the other two say things. Sometimes I'll chime in with my own Hood Girl Logic too though.

One was talking to a customer about penis size by race. "Man, I can't mess with no Puerto Ricans, they all got little dicks."

"Well, you messed with the wrong Puerto Ricans, then," the customer said.

"Yeah, you can't go by race," I shook my head. "I messed with a dark, chocolate dude and his jont was like..." (I pulled a face and put my thumb and index finger about two inches apart). <--True story. I was The Most upset. You wonder why I never called you back? Look down. What's that? You don't see anything? Exactly.

Tongue Twister

So, I'm serving this guy, and out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of a lot of silver in his mouth.

"Wait a minute. What is going on in your mouth?" I asked.

He stuck out his tongue, and lo and behold: not one, not two, but THREE tongue rings were inside. Curiosity warred with disgust. I'm sure tongue rings have their uses, but I'm really not turned on by a guy with piercings beyond the ear. Tattoos are cool... piercings... I just can't get over them. It took me 18 years to get my ears done for a reason: the idea of metal going through the body just makes me shiver. He was cute, otherwise.

"You think these would get caught in your braces?" he asked me.

"Probably," I answered.

"They might... if I was an amateur."

"And you're a pro, huh?"

"I wouldn't say that... but I'm far from an amateur."

Alright bud.

All Worked Up for Nothing!

Which brings me to: flirting and dancing all night is not good for sexual frustrations. Seriously, it's like getting all worked up for nothing again and again and again. If I had a steady, reliable boo... trust: he'd be reaping the benefits of my job. I don't know how much longer I can take this!

Prime Example:

Dude with the tongue rings: I'm feeling kinda hungry.

Me: Oh really? And what would you like to eat?

Tongue Twista: Depends what's on the menu.

Me: (singing) The best you eva had; the best you eva had.

THAT is my job. And not that I would take them up on it, but it's frustrating to have men (just the CUTE men, though) telling you all the wicked, wicked things they would do to you and for you and then go home and not get anything. Sigh. Keeping my standards up.

Tip Jar:

If you don't have to work hard for your tip, don't. These two guys probably spent 1/4 of their paycheck in the bar... just kept passing out ones. One of them even said, "don't say thank you, just keep dancing." Fine by me. And for part of the time, I was just standing there. You must be trippin if you don't think I spent a good chunk of my time with him, standing there, taking dollars. Thank you for paying my rent with no sweat equity paid by me!

PS:

YES!! They played WALE - CHILLIN up in the bar in WAAAAY uptown NY! DC, baby!

Day 1: Somethin' Like A Video Girl

2009-07-05T10:28:00.000-07:00

Every new experience teaches me something else about myself.

So, after working as a bartending video girl (pretty much what I'm doing), I have learned that I have the invaluable ability to detach myself from what ever environment I'm in; I tend to be able to escape into my head. This is good, because talking to and dancing for sleazeballs is enough to sour anyone on people in general.

Working at the strip club definitely prepared me, mentally, for this job, because nothing shocks me anymore. And I know how to rebuff advances and still get my tip. However, that doesn't mean I don't recognize absurdity when I hear it, so:

It's the Sleazeball-Skeeza of the Night Awards!

Runner up for this award is Los Chicos Guapos, these two FINE Dominican guys who were, none the less, sleazy. They didn't speak any English, so all of our conversation took place in broken Spanish (me) and broken English (them). They asked me if I was Dominican and I replied, "no, I'm not Latina; I'm just black." The darker one held out his arm against mine and said, "I'm black too." (Yes! Worldwide brotherhood!). I tried to say, "well, yeah: we're all from Africa." ...But then he shook his head and said, "no, I'm Domincan." Alright, fine.

So then, after a while, the other guy says he want to talk to me, to my boyfriend, asks me when I leave for the night, asks me for my number. (Um... you don't speak English and I don't speak Spanish... what the HELL do you want my number for? ...I know what you want my number for, and no matter how absolutely FINE you are, you won't be getting it.). I told him, "I can't. I can't. I can't," ("no-frikkin-puedo!) about 50 bazillion times before he changed his line of attack and told his friend (who spoke more English) to tell me that he wanted to kiss me.

I've dealt with this before, so I did what I usually do: put on an innocent expression and hold out my hand to be kissed.

This freak LICKS my hand! So I lightly tapped the back of his, wagged my finger at him and said to his friend, "su amigo estå malo!" (Your friend is bad!). To which his bad friend shook his head and replied, "no mami; I'm good... very good."

Agh! You're a Sleazeball-Skeeza!

First Place, however, goes to: The Nerdy White Dude From Ghostbusters. (Seriously, that's what he looked like). He's sitting at the bar, alone, you know: looking like a nerdy perv with his beady little eyes darting to and fro behind his oversized glasses from the 80s. He says to me:

"You're really cute. You're beautiful."

"Thank you," I do the whole smile-and-giggle thing.

"Now, I know I'm like, an old nerdy white guy, but believe me when I say: I would fuck the shit out of you."

(Hmm... now where have I heard that before? What is with all these Nasty Old Men?)

"You've got a dirty mouth," I said.

"Yeah, and I'm kinda drunk, so it's even worse. But let me tell you; I don't think I could handle you though. I can tell you like it fast. I like to go for hours."

Eh-heh-heh-heh...

"Yeah, and like, I'm 39 years old, so the equipment is old, but it lasts for a long time."

Eh-heh...

Yeah. Time to skidaddle, you Sleazeball-Skeeza!

Honorable Mention goes to... the guy on the train who came up to me (I immediately shook my head... #1: even if I were going to give you money, I'm not pulling out my wallet to show ANYONE that I'm alone have cash on me at 4:30 am!) and said, "I'm not going to ask for any money, I just want a favor."

...lol. What?

Also, the guy who followed me at a block-behind-pace after I got off the train. I will be dressing like an orphan and getting off at a different stop or taking a cab from lower Manhattan from now on.

I'm not dumb and I won't be caught out here in some dumbness.

Tip Jar:

If you ever want to hear the most absurd, ridiculous conversations: be a waitress or a bartender. You will work with some interesting people from diverse backgrounds who have been raised to believe different things. They will say some stuff that you just have to shake your head and laugh at.

First, these two girls started talking about how fast vs. slow their pubic hair grew. Um... I'm really REALLY not interested; in fact, I don't want to hear that at all.

"Mine grows really slow; it's been two weeks and look..." one girl said to the other.

"Oh, no; I'm always shaving. After two weeks it looks like Don King up under there," the other one replied.

WHY DOES ANYONE NEED TO KNOW THAT!?

Sigh: another day, another $150 in the pocket. All I want is to pay my rent and bills for the next two months and then move on to a neighborhood bar for crying out loud.

So... I Got (Another) Job...

2009-07-03T22:22:00.000-07:00

That's right. Only Nikki could find a job after looking for two weeks, quit that job after one night, and find another a week later.

This one is a little further out, but you know what, I can deal with that because my payout (tips + commission) adds up to about $750 a week. That's rent made in one week. That's bills paid in two weeks. That's savings and spending money while I'm in school. Hell, I can even pay some of my tuition outright. That's having my days completely free. (That's having absolutely no weekends what-so-ever.).

Okay, so it's a bikini bar, but it's not sleazy. It was a critic's choice star winner in NY Magazine. Though... I do think working in the strip club was good preparation for this jont. It's not located in the hood; the area was relatively clean and it's a short, well-lit walk past well-kept apartment buildings to the subway stop. The manager was professional, thorough, and straight-forward. The only issue I have is that he wants my hair straight =(

Apparently, I got the interview due to chance.

I sent my resume and picture in on Craigslist; they were hot pictures: me in my bikini, my curly hair rioting wild all around my face. At the end of my interview the bar owner said, "usually if a girl sends me her picture and her hair's not done, I just delete it, but-- and I'm sure you've heard this before-- you're a very attractive young woman, and I could tell from your picture you've got this magnetic personality."

So he took a second chance on a curly-headed black girl from DC and sent me an email requesting an interview and I hopped on the train and made my way to his bar. The interview went well; he explained all of the rules to me and then got on me about the hair thing... Sigh.

The Loud Black Girl in me wanted to roll my neck and say, "my hair does look good; it is done. Forgive me if I don't follow the European standard of beauty in that regard!" However... $750 a week and my rent won't disappear like the interest from my trust fund will.

So, I agree to straighten my hair or wear a wig and he asks me to change into my bikini and do the walk-and-turn for him, which I do. ...You know I had to Catwalk It Out, right? Yeah, buddy.

(Now I know you must be thinking "but wait... didn't you just walk out of another bar where you were wearing actual clothes and not just a bikini?" This is true, however, you've got to add context. This bar is a themed bar where I'm not just the only one half-naked and it's more professional and the customers speak English, which adds to my whole comfort level... and I'm making $750 a week... not $25 a night.).

So, I got the job... and I would've worked tonight except that I wanted one last night of peace and I needed time to get my hair "done".

I also like that the owner has no illusions about his bar. He said, "it's tough to make a buck, you know? This is a place to work and build up some experience before you move on to bigger and better." And that's my plan. I can't sustain earning a fashion degree with working five nights a week from 8 pm - 5 am. But during the summer, I can definitely sustain for that $750 a week. Definitely.

I think I'll bartend at this place under the name Nikki Danes (from Nikki Dana), or Nikki D. Likey? =)

I feel really blessed. There's a non-profit DIRECTLY across the street from me where I'm getting discounted sewing lessons and the owner offered to be my "secret weapon" and "safe haven" while I'm at Parsons. I've got my family. I've got great friends back home and here in New York. I've got... the usual distractions a girl's just got to have ;-) I'm in one of the best damn fashion programs in the world! (Though, I still don't have cable, internet, or phone service for the third day in a row... damn Cablevision.).

I feel great! Now... to straighten my hair =/

I West Side Walk It Out

2009-06-26T21:41:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday, I noticed that the other bartender was wearing jeans, flats and a casual shirt. If I don't have to dress sexy, I'm not going to. Plus, bartending in heels? No. I think not.

I'm wearing a tee shirt, shorts and flip flops when I arrive at the bar Friday night. Boss man (el jefe) says to me: "you bring something?" pointing to my bag, meaning: "did you bring a change of clothes?"

"No... I noticed yesterday that the other bartender was dressed casually, so I thought that's what I should wear," I answered.

He spoke to the cocktail waitress and told her to fix me.

We went in the bathroom and she pulled out a bra with a lace halter overlayed on top of it and a black knit mesh top with silver rhinestones. "Which one you wanna wear, mama?"

Uh... is neither an option?

Both options were trashy, but under no circumstances will I ever do rhinestones or glitter on clothing, so bra-top it was.

"You look like you're going to the beach. That's fucked up. Yesterday, you were good; what happened, mama?"

"Well, I saw how the other bartender was dressed..."

"No no. You do you. You saw she got less tips than you. You gotta stay sexy."

She then did my makeup. I looked vampy. Not feelin it.

Everyone who knows me and how I usually dress knows that I have absolutely no problems showing skin, being sexy, wearing provocative clothing... however, there's always an element of the playful, cute, fashionable or classy to everything sexy I wear. And it's always my choice how I present myself. No one tells me when to "sex it up"; I do that myself.

After the cocktail waitress left the bathroom I looked at myself in the mirror, wearing the lacy bra and my shorts, my eyes loaded with lavender and black eyeshadow. I shook my head at my reflection.

"Nope. Nuh-uh. Not comfortable. I'm not doing this."

I wasn't going to spend from 9 pm to 4 am behind a bar wearing next to nothing in a room full of men I can barely understand as they ogle my ta-tas. It would be one thing if I were working at a bikini bar where ALL the bartenders are scantily clad... but I wasn't about to be the only one. Hell no. And it just looked... trashy.

I took off the bra top, put my own clothes back on, and washed the makeup off.

I went over to El Jefe and said, "I'm not comfortable like that. I can't wear that."

He said he understood and told me to have a seat and wait for him to talk to me. I took a seat, but he didn't come over for about 20 minutes, and then only to say, "I'll be with you in 2 minutes."

As I waited, I texted my sister and my friends about the bra. I watched men's heads turn to look at me as I sat in the window: sans makeup and casually, comfortably clothed. Man, I'm cute. I don't need to be damn near naked and wearing pounds of makeup to attract appreciative stares. And if my smile and conversation don't do enough to bring me tips, then I'm in the wrong profession-- which I know I'm not. This isn't the place for me. I thought all this as I was sitting there.

I looked at my watch. I looked at El Jefe, who was tinkering around on his computer although there was no one at the bar.

"Fuck this shit," I said under my breath and walked out.

...And then I went home and listed my day behind the bar as "guest bartender" experience.

Hustle, baby, hustle.

Lo Que Paso, Paso

2009-06-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

Despite the premise of this blog, it's not always cocktails and crazy circumstances over here. There is life beyond the bar.

Michael Jackson died yesterday, which I'm still having trouble processing. That cliche is true: you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. MJ had turned into the butt of so many jokes over the past... well... decade, really; and then, suddenly: he's dead. Not like career dead, but... dead-dead, like "no coming back" dead. I heard the news over Twitter, and then checked to make sure it wasn't some horrible rumor. It was still sinking in when I opened up iTunes and put it on "You Are Not Alone". And then I just start crying; like... CRYING.

I remembered dancing to "Thriller" and "Remember the Time" in front of my best friend's TV when I was a little kid, memorizing the entire video. I remembered bouncing around like a maniac with all the other kids when the "Mama-se, mama-sa, mama-coo-sa" (well, we said "Mama say, mama say, ma-mongoose-a") part in "Wanna Be Startin' Somethin'" came on. I remembered being in love and listening to "Break of Dawn" and "Butterflies" non-stop. I remembered singing (horribly) "You Are Not Alone" over the phone to my boyfriend who was 200 miles away at the time. I remembered blasting "Just Leave Me Alone" and "Privacy" during some of the angriest moments of my life thus far.

Michael Jackson's music; Michael Jackson the icon has seen me through a lot. With his death felt like a part of me died. So yes, I cried until I was red in the face, listening to his inimitable voice... but then "Bad" came on... and as I got dressed for work, I faced the mirror (still red in the face with eyelashes made inky black from tears) and started to dance like I was Badd. And then "Don't Stop Til You Get Enough" cued up and it was over.

It struck me then that while lives may end; inspiration never dies. I walked to the subway snapping my fingers and strutting my stuff with the iPod on MJ repeats.

Lo siento... solamente hablo un poquito de español...

So, dude called me Wednesday night (after I'd just left the set of Late Night with Jimmy Fallon and The Roots [OMG, so much fun. I got a friggin free concert, standing RIGHT ABOVE the band]) and asked me if I could come in the next night as a cocktail waitress. The place is all the way Uptown, like in Harlem, so I was like "eh, I'll call you tomorrow and let you know." I was going to check around with more places in Brooklyn and Lower Manhattan and see if they were hiring before I committed to coming in. They weren't, so I came in.

"What should I wear?" I asked.

"Sexy, he replied.

"I'm sorry?" I thought I'd heard him wrong.

"Eh... like a girl. Heels, heels."

"Uh, kay," I said. I put on a black racerback tank top, satin and cotton black shorts, a black and silver waist belt, layered pearls, and black heels. I'm lookin' pretty damn hot... so I cover it all up with sweatpants. Just in case, I text everyone I know in New York and let them know where I'm going to be and when I'm supposed to be home, just incase I someone abducts me as I'm walking to or from the train in the early hours of the morning.

I get there and it's like, a total Latin club. I only look Hispanic, and I only speak enough Spanish to tell someone that I don't speak Spanish very well and my comprehension is slow.

The dude gives me a little pre-cursory interview or whatever and tells me about how he was short staffed and his business was suffering because he had a problem with one of the really popular cocktail waitresses who quit, taking customers and the other cocktail waitress with her. After mulling over the fact that I didn't speak much Spanish, but had bartending experience, he gave me my interview sitting in the front window of the place and he noticed how many men slowed down to ogle me as I was sitting there. He put me behind the bar.

I'm proud to say that I made $25 off of like four people on an incredibly slow night and I couldn't even hold a conversation with half of them. This one dude even bought me 3 glasses of "wine." I also learned how to bachata and merengue, dancing with this older guy from Panama.

However, I'm not going to stay at this bar. I'm staying long enough to put NY "guest bartender" experience on my resume and that's it. The other bartender, who's only been there for 2 weeks and is leaving 2 weeks from now, is going to try to hook me up with a Brooklyn bar job. (It's funny: she actually is Domincan, but I look more Hispanic than she does; she was really surprised when I said I was, "black, white and Native American," but she went on to say, "well, that's what we are, though. If you're black, you're some kinda mix... wherever those slave ships took you...").

Butchea... It's an hour commute for me and the hours are from 9pm - 4am, which leaves me staggering home at 5 am, hating my life. Plus, the language barrier is probably going to become a problem. I'm surprised I was able to flirt without being able to converse that much. So... still on the hunt. In the meantime, I've got work at 8 pm until 4 am today. Lovely.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

As I step back behind the bar after dancing the bachata with an older gentleman from Panama, he leans against the bar to say:

"I'm fucked up. You make me feel 18 again."

I laugh and smile broadly. "That's what I'm supposed to do."

Tales from the Hunt

2009-06-18T21:13:00.000-07:00

I spent the entirety of last night on Craigslist, responding to postings.

I got one hit back from this Latin club within an hour of sending them my shizzle. They wanted an interview today.

Between my "of indeterminate and curiously mixed heritage" looks and the general pretty-hot-and-tempting nature of my bartending photos, I think that's what got me such a rapid hit back... because it definitely couldn't have been my skimp resume.

I woke this morning (later than I meant to) and did more Craigslist stuff, and then I got ready to skiddadle and go to my interview. An hour away.

I would prefer to work somewhere closer to my apartment or my school, but beggars can't be choosy. And although I'm currently living off of money from my trust fund, I don't want to keep doing that. I'd like it to remain there as a cushion. So! Off I went into the pouring rain to hop on a train in hope of the gain... of a job. (I never was that good at rhyming.).

Smart Nikki remembered to bring her resume and photo selection as well as my mixology certificate (not that it actually means much).

Stupid Nikki forgot to bring the number I was supposed to call to be let into the building. Luckily, Stupid Nikki has great friends whom I can trust to go into my email account for me and find vital information. Lucky Nikki.

So, I go into the club and there's like 6 young Latina women practicing for a beauty pageant or something. The guy directing them across the floor is SO flamboyant. Cross-culturally, the dynamic of the small-town beauty pageant/fashion show/hair show is the same. Lots of young women with stars and dollar signs in their eyes and some guy in some combination of silk, leather and spandex with a slight lisp showing them how to strut in heels. I love universality.

I'm met by the bar manager, who gives me a rapid interview.

As she scanned over my resume, her eyebrows rose, "Oh, you went to bartending school, good good. ...So how much experience you have?"

I thought about lying on my resume, but you can't lie about years of behind-the-bar experience when you're OBVIOUSLY only 21. And I wasn't about to say 6 months; hell no! "Well, I've been bartending unofficially since I was seventeen," I laughed easily.

"Well, I'll put down 5 years then," she smiled back.

Score!

She took a look at my photo selection. "Wow. Beautiful. Very nice. Yeah, I remember these pictures."

Yep. I look pretty killa-killa in a bikini, yo!

Score! I took a memorable photo!

We talked a little more about the club and what my requirements would be. I made sure to tell her I speak Spanish. (I wasn't lying. I speak enough Spanish to get by. We just have to keep it to the present or past tense. And speak mas despacio and use simple words and phrases, por favor.).

It's all the way uptown (or I'll be in the Bronx location), but l don't mind that right now. I just want to make money. Plus! If I get hired by this club I'll get to practice my Spanish (and probably learn some creative phrases, lol) and learn some new dances. I can sacrifice an hour of time for cultural enlightenment. If they want to train me, I'll find out by the end of the week.

In the meantime:

Going for another interview in Queens tomorrow. Randomly stopping by two Brooklyn bars as well. Still all over Craigslist.

hustleBABYhustle.

And The Hunt Commences.

2009-06-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

Ah-giggidy-giggidy-alright!

I'm all moved in to my New York apartment (mostly). The only furniture I've got in my bedroom is... a bed and a lamp. The fridge is skimp and we've got two ottomans as chairs for our beautiful dining room table... but other than that =) Even though the move-in process was SO whack! I swear, my life HAS to take some kind of random turn on a daily basis... Otherwise it just wouldn't be my life.

FROM THE BEGINNING:

My father was supposed to come with me to pick up my U-Haul on Thursday (otherwise how was I going to bring my car back home?), but he had a meeting, so I called my friend DjG, who always, always comes through in a pinch. Seriously, no matter what I've needed from him, if he can find a way to make it happen, he makes it happen. Unfortunately, U-Haul is not so reliable. The computer system went down at the dealer I picked the U-Haul up from, so it took the man an HOUR to give me my U-Haul. I feel like I should've gotten an emotional hardship discount, but whatever. I was patient and well-mannered despite the serious fuckery to my evening plans. DjG drove the U-Haul to my house for me (because I'm a punk) and I drove him to his afterwards in my smaller, more manageable Honda. Then I had to pick my dad up from the Metro station. Then I arrived an hour and a half late to dinner with the BFBFs.

You know what true friends do after you arrive an hour and a half late to dinner the day before you move 200 miles away? They have your plate of food sitting there for you, buy you a drink, and promise to come over and help you pack. Thus making the stress from your day completely melt away. So the-en, after helping me pack and load in the cold, dark 1 am rain, (while doing crazy things like turning my chain belt into a leash...) they left and I went to sleep, only to wake up a 7 am so I could be on my way at 9.

Another friend of mine drove the U-Haul to NY for me (because again, I am a punk when it comes to driving large vehicles; I think I've been scarred by driving the herky-jerky bucket that was my dad's Rodeo [think: driving a mechanical bull]) and on the way we got a ticket for driving too slow in the left lane. The cop got all aggressive and started spouting nonsense like, "you said you're coming from Maryland and those are Arizona tags, do you know why those are there?" (Uh... no... this is a RENTED U-Haul). "You're causing a traffic hazard driving that slow in the left lane. And then when I tried to signal you over to the right, you slowed down even more." (Wouldn't you slow down if you thought a cop was trying to pull you over? And are U-Hauls supposed to speed down the freeway in the rain? It's a speed LIMIT, not a speed MINIMUM). And he wouldn't let my friend get an word in edgewise. And when he wasn't talking, he wasn't listening; he was scanning the interior of the U-Haul with his soulless gray-blue eyes trying to gauge whether or not he could write another ticket for anything. Ugh... but after that, we made it to NY in pretty good time.

SO THEN:

I proudly go to open the door to my apartment and I find that it's already open. I hear voices inside. What the...? I walk in and the place is a complete and utter mess! The place is covered in drywall powder and there are food cartons and cups just sitting out. There's even a chair just sitting in the middle of my room! Excuse me; I thought my lease started June 1. We signed a contract saying all the work needed to make the apartment ready for move-in would be done by JUNE 1.

Bewildered, I walked towards where the voices were coming from and found the super and the landlord.

"Er... hi; I'm the new tenant here. I was supposed to move into the apartment today..." I began.

"Which apartment?" the landlord asked.

"This one."

"So what the problem is?"

I blinked. "Well, the place is a mess!"

"What you mean 'mess'?"

THAT is only the beginning of what I mean "mess," Sir.

So then, I asked him what to do about it and he told me to call the super.

"Wasn't that the super standing next to you?" I asked.

"No, no. It's another one."

So he gives me the other super's number and leaves. I call it and the guy is like, "I'll call you back." Never does. The super I know comes upstairs and is like, "yeah, we're closed. The Jewish Sabbath starts at 2 pm on Friday, and when he's shut down, we're all shut down. You won't be able to reach him until 9 am on Sunday."

My eyes bugged out. "So I can't get anyone to clean this place until then? What am I supposed to do with a full U-Haul full of stuff sitting outside?"

He was sympathetic, but his hands were tied. The cute guys (mmm, dreads) from across the hall witnessed my struggle and helped me bring my things into the ONLY untarnished room in the apartment.

I called my father, described the situation, and he called my landlord and subtly threatened legal action if the place weren't cleaned and ready for me to move into by the end of the day.

I texted my ex (who lives down the street... great, right?) about my problems; he called and I vented about the state of my apartment. He offered to come by and take pictures of its hellish condition, giving me documented evidence that any nicks and scratches upon my move-in were not caused by me and my boxes. So, there I am, about to see my ex for the first time since November when I drunkenly railed at him (actually I think every time I've railed at him, I've been drunk...), dressed in beat-up old lime green sneakers, ratty old sweats and a figure-obscuring tee with my hair pulled back in a bun, emphasizing my generally angry/stressed/helpless appearance. Not that he cares what I look like, but I'm a pretty darn attractive female and I do have some pride, meaning: I hate looking busted.

He arrives, takes pictures.

A clean-up crew arrives. Ha! Sabbath my ass... threaten legal action and I get a clean up crew in my place; office closed until Sunday at 9 am or not!

My friend has to catch the bus back to B'More, and since again, I'm a punk, my ex drives the U-Haul to the nearest drop-off for me and permits me to change and take a shower at his place since there's a crew of guys in my apartment and I have to be at my orientation at Parsons (I'm a fashion design student) in thirty minutes. Obviously, that's not going to happen, but I go anyway. And once I'm there and hear everything the students and professors are saying...

I feel like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. I couldn't be happier with my decision to go to business school first and THEN fashion school. I couldn't be happier that I got into Parsons. I couldn't be happier that I'm living in New York (although I really miss the sweet smell of the air in Maryland because the air up here is wreaking havoc on my respiratory system and is making my hair do some CRAZY things). I just feel like things in my life are falling into place exactly the way they should and I'm excited to see #whatcomesnext. (Follow me on Twitter @MixmasterNikki). I'm anxious for Life.

So What DOES Come Next?

Well, I've finished revamping my bartending resume, I've designed and printed my business cards myself, and someone is coming by on Monday to take pictures of me for my photo selection. I've done internet research and asked my friends about the hot spots in New York (but not too hot... things that are trendy really annoy me. If I have to work the "hipster" crowd, I think I might shoot myself in the face from pretentious asshat overload). I'll be responding to Craigslist gigs and job postings. I will make at least $2,000 a month. (Yes, that's living pretty close to the edge, but once I've got some experience and such, I expect I'll be able to pull in between $3K and $4K). Not that I saw much of it because I was paying bills, but working in the hood in DC, I pulled in roughly $1 - $1.5K, taking home only $75 - $100 a week and between $80 and $160 home a night.

I'll make it.

I'm gonna be your favorite NYC bartender and, eventually, an amazing, award-winning fashion designer. =)

Back in a Flash! (No Pun Intended)

2009-06-02T19:57:00.001-07:00

I was out with one of my best friends, eating at Olive Garden, shopping at Victoria's Secret, when I got The Call/Text. I thought Sunday was my last official day of work at The Club, but, because my boss had a family emergency, I got called in to work on Monday as well. Most people would probably be beyond annoyed that their place of work called them after business hours while they were out enjoying themselves to see if they could come into work on a day that's not on your schedule, the day after you had your "last day." ...But my job is kinda different.

For one, I really feel like I'm a part of a family, and even though I'm one of those people that will always, always answer, "yes," when someone asks me for help if I can, I'd do it anyway just because I feel like I'm part of something bigger than me. (OR I just get emotionally attached to people and places really easily.). So anyway, I rolled to work and got there at about 11 pm wearing my favorite day dress, and let me just say... I wish I'd been working Mondays all year because Amateur Night is effing HILARIOUS!

Stage Virgins

It's really easy to tell who's an amateur and who isn't. No matter how bold a woman is, it's one thing to be mentally ready to dance around and take off your clothes; it's quite another to actually do it. You've got to be completely comfortable and confident. You've got to believe that everyone in that room wants you, will do anything for you, and thinks you look amazing no matter what you're doing. Any little insecurity results in hesitation, stiffness and indecision.

These two amateurs tried to do a routine together, but it was so horribly timed and disorganized. Afterwards, my boss told one of them:

"You and your friend's little routine was a little awkward, but you looked good up there. Just work on it a little bit. You got the job."

He took a harder look at her. "Are you pregnant?" She shook her head. "Just had a baby... about... 3 months ago?" She nodded. "Get started doing some sit ups; you gotta lose that baby fat. And we'll talk about some breast implants."

Also... costume choice. Lingerie is not an appropriate stripping costume. It just looks weird for you to be wearing Victoria's Secret on the stage; Frederick's of Hollywood, maybe. And if you're going to wear lingerie, don't wear church shoes with it! Strip club = stripper shoes. Church = church shoes. Ecclesiastes 3... there's a time and place for everything. ...I guess I did get kinda hypocritical there by bringing the Bible into my blog about stripping and alcohol... =)

As my boss got on the mic, hyping up the crowd, introducing the dancers, he was sure to throw in:

"I stand outside of high schools, recruiting. If your daughter's over the age of 18, I'll be outside of her high school."

He said he was just joking later.

...And Then There Was She-Rah.

We all looked up as she took the stage. She was wearing a red PVC body suit and a lot of honey blonde weave and a lot of fire-engine red lipstick matching her costume. She looked at the crowd mischievously, with a playfully cocky tilt of her head; playful like rough games without any rules.

"She looks like a dominatrix," my manager pointed.

And when the music dropped, she proved her right. I thought I'd seen it all when she did a handstand into backbend into a split on top of the other girl... But then she PICKED the other girl up, FLIPPED her over (spread eagled, in the air), SPANKED her, LICKED her ass and simulated various other sexual acts on her body.

"What the hell!?" I covered my mouth.

Most of the men in the crowd, in stead of being turned on, seemed to be a little scared.

"I told you she was crazy," my manager shook her head.

Later on that night as my boss was changing out people's singles, we joked about what we'd seen.

"Crazy people strong as a mothafucka," he laughed.

Final Words

I wish the bar sat up higher so I could've seen everything going on on stage because even with the little bit I did manage to see, it kept me laughing all night long. If you're able to go to amateur night at a strip club, I would highly recommend it. Even if the dancing is bad, you'll be highly entertained.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

My boss to a customer:

"Yeah! Beat that ass with that money!"

LMAO.

Until We Meet Again

2009-06-01T09:47:00.000-07:00

So, yesterday was my last day (kind of) at work. I say "kind of" because I'll be back. I have to come back to DC every 6 weeks for my braces, and I'll be back some random weekends, so whenever I'm back, I'm going to work on either Friday or Saturday. I made out pretty good on my last day: $131 with no one in the club and a business card I will actually use! It was a pretty slow night, but I appreciated it... it's nice to have a lazy Sunday evening. But accompanying lazy music is not necessary...

Heartbreak at the Strip Club

Before the DJ gets to the club, customers must feed the jukebox in order to keep the music going. Customers usually pick a mix of 2Pac, Biggie, Luda, Jay-Z, Beyonce, Gucci Mane and Three 6 Mafia with some others thrown in. Today, I guess someone was feeling the pain because their woman left them or something because they definitely selected some slow, dragging, depressing ballad, "What Have I Done With My Life." My manager and I looked at each other and cracked up.

"This is just depressing," I shook my head.

"Turn that mess off!" she hollered over to the doorman.

How are you supposed to enjoy yourself to depressing music? How are the strippers supposed to dance to that? The song was promptly turned off and Gorilla Zoe was promptly turned on.

Lookin' Good Can Get You in Trouble

As I'm engaged in the process of packing for my Big Move, I've got very little of my clothing available to wear, so I had to leave the house in my little red dress I've had since high school. My father looked at me as I was leaving and said, "that's kind of short, isn't it?"

"It's the last red thing I have in my closet," I shrugged.

"You have to wear red?"

I nodded.

"Be careful," he sighed.

Truth. It wasn't my customers who couldn't handle it, though, it was Dallas, the barback. As I sat on the stool behind the bar, texting away on my phone, setting up my plans to move my stuff, he came over to me shaking his head.

"You look so good, I'm gonna have to take you home with me."

Ew. Double Ew. I smiled thinly and shook my head. "No, sir."

"Don't worry, I'll be gentle. I'll treat you like the queen you are."

Ew! EW!!! I shook my head again. Then, later, he actually touched my knee and said, "I'll give those nice legs a good massage."

GET AWAY FROM ME! GROSSGROSSGROSS!!!

What is it with nasty old men? Why do they think young, pretty girls want anything to do with them? Why do they let such nastiness come out of their mouths? Speaking of which...

Nasty Old Man Strikes Again

So, Nasty Old Man came back around today. He had a long conversation with me about my move to New York, asking if I was going to be living with my (imaginary) boyfriend. I told him no, but that we wouldn't be living that far off from one another.

"That's good, you got your own thing going. He has his own thing, you got your own thing. Ooh, you're gonna be somethin' to see in about five, ten years. You're a ripe little peach right now, but New York is gonna turn you out. You'll learn; see, you're loyal to your man now because you're living by the code that's been instilled in you. I'm gonna come find you in a couple of years."

He then asked me my name, which I gave. He told me his full name as well, and coincidentally his last name is an old family name of mine.

"That's a family name," I told him. "My grandmother hails from that family."

He blinked. "Well, there's a lot of us around. Were you trying to tell me something."

"Only that I might be your cousin, so you might not want to mess around with me."

We got on the topic of my family from the South and how prominent they've been in the area since the late 1800s, and he said, "oh. So I've been pickin' with a daughter of the upper crust? I just thought about some of the things I've said to you. I was comin' at you real..."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm a suburban girl. I'm not used to that."

"No, no. It's you suburban girls and Catholic school girls that are the nastiest, 'cause ya'll have been repressed. Once you get on your own, you go wild."

He then advised me to be sexually liberated, but to have safe sex, and to never allow a man to dictate my decisions and to be open-minded about life. All good advice; none of which I needed. He has no idea who he's dealing with. I look innocent.

"I'm gonna find you and come after you," he promised. "You'll have to let me taste it; you owe me."

"I owe you?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Well... not owe... just... for old times' sake."

"I don't owe anyone anything," I gave my half-smile and slid him his Heineken.

A Calling Card I WILL Use

As the next customer came up to the bar, Nasty Old Man passed behind him. "When are you leaving?" he shouted in my direction.

"This is my last day," I replied.

He pantomimed crying and grabbed at his heart.

I rolled my eyes and shooed him away. "He'll live," I told my next customer.

"You'll live," he corrected me. "I don't know about him."

I laughed.

"Where are you moving to?" he asked.

"New York."

"Oh really? My family's from Brooklyn. I'm a Marylander, but that's where my family's from. I'm up there all the time."

"Oh? Know any nice clubs and such? I'll be looking for a job soon."

"I don't, but my cousins probably do. Here's my card, feel free to email me."

"Definitely," I nodded. I think I actually will be using that card. He's a visual artist, for one. I may need his services sometime in the near future, and trust... I need to know which club areas to gravitate towards and stay away from.

After he walked away from the bar he came back a couple of minutes later, shaking his head. "I was so distracted by your beauty I forgot to tip you. I was raised better than that... you are really beautiful, though."

Aw! Smiles =)

Getting Hit On by Women as Opposed to Men

It's been my experience that, typically, women are a lot more direct and aggressive than men when they go after other women. There was this one girl that had class with me that licked her ice cream really suggestively when she saw me in the cafeteria. Awkward. At the bar, this woman asked me for a Raspberry Cosmo, and after I made it (just looking at it I could tell it was good, ya'll) she took a sip and told me, "oooh! Girl, you did the damn thing!" and winked at me.

Then, she said, "but the next time you serve me, I'm gonna need to see some ID."

"Yeah, I know I look like I'm sixteen."

"You really do. How old are you?"

"Twenty one. I guess I'll appreciate my young face when I'm like 35."

"Yeah, you'll look really good then. You're a cutie. And your braces are sexy."

Eep. I don't know how to handle advances from women yet. I generally just pretend like I don't know what they're doing. Men are one thing; even if they're hard-headed, once you say "no," they back off/only go after you jokingly. Women, on the other hand, have to know: 1) I'm not into women, 2) you can't MAKE me into women, and 3) I'm not trying to get picked up at work anyway.

I'm In Love with the Dope Boys

Sorry, but drug dealers tip really well. I'm not trying to work in the hood when I move up to NY because I know the hoods in DC; I'm unfamiliar with the different levels of hoodishness in NY, but... When you do work in the hood, your drug-peddling customers aren't really affected by recessions, and they always buy top shelf liquor and tip well. Anyone who spends $124 on liquor and tips me $25 is good in my books. These Wall Street mofos better be on the same level or higher. They make even bigger, legal money. (Well, bigger money than the lower-level street hustlers, anyway.).

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Me to Nasty Old Man: "I don't owe anyone anything."

Damn straight. I answer to my own personal code and God ONLY.

You're Doing THE MOST!

2009-05-30T01:04:00.000-07:00

The theme for this work week was: YOU'RE DOING THE MOST! (An expression commonly heard on the campus of Howard University, said to bring attention to the fact that someone is going above and beyond the norm... usually in a slightly manic way.). My last three days at work were perfect examples of DOING THE MOST:

SUNDAY

So, I went to my friend's graduation party, meaning to get there at about 5 so I could stay for 2 hours and not just breeze in and breeze out, however I started driving south on the road upon which I was supposed to be driving north. I arrived about 6-ish and had to leave about 7-ish to get to work, leaving me no time to change before or after getting to work. What was a girl to do? Why... drive through the city whilst changing from a breezy blouse, shorts and flip flops into 2 tight tank tops, leggings, and ballet flats, of course! At one point, I was weaving through traffic in a blouse and a thong. Clearly, I was DOING THE MOST.

Once I got to work, it was pretty uneventful. The highlight of my evening was my two BFBFs coming in and making it rain in my tip bucket. Actually, just them coming in. I really love getting visits from friends. Shout out to one of my girlies from HU who came through as well.

Of course, because the night began in a "doing the most" kinda way, it had to end much the same. People call up the club with some dumb ass questions. Someone called up the club at close asking what time we closed. When I responded, "we're closed now," the heif was like, "why?" Fuckumean? We're closed because it's 2 am on Monday morning! Don't you have anything to do with your life? The rest of the world does. Why are you trying to throw money at naked people at 2 am Monday morning? Wouldn't you rather be asleep? I would. You're DOING THE MOST!

MONDAY - THURSDAY

I was in New York, my adopted city (DC will always, always be my heart!), watching my nieces. (Honestly, they watch themselves, I was just there to make sure they didn't accidentally burn my sister's apartment down... and give them money.). Had a good time: laughed until I cried with my sister, strolled around Union Square sipping Jamba Juice with the nieces, signed the lease to my AMAZING apartment, had dinner in Harlem with one of the Boyos, picked up the keys to my AMAZING apartment, went into SuperNikki mode and created a floor plan complete with alternate furnishing options for my AMAZING apartment... yeah... I was DOING THE MOST.

FRIDAY

I left New York on the 11:30 BoltBus. I knew I should've taken the 9:00 bus, but I wanted to give myself time for my sister's flight back to NY to be delayed, delaying my rising-early-and-being-functional-in-the-morning process. I should've just suffered through the 9:00 because someone decided to DO THE MOST and get into an accident on I-95 (I really hope they're okay) and mess up traffic such that I didn't get back to DC until 5 pm instead of 4, and my father and I still had to pick up my mother from her work-job, so it was 6:45 by the time I got home and I still had to change and do my hair for work... and make it out of the house by 7 pm.

I didn't make it out by 7 pm, but I did look fly breezing out of the door.

There's never a truly dull day at The Club, but Friday was just full of DOING THE MOST experiences:

When you go out, you should probably try not to get so drunk that before 10 pm, you're falling asleep in the strip club, have taken your shoes off, drunkenly shuffle across the nasty ass floor with your bare feet and go into the nasty ass bathroom and throw up all over the place. You're DOING THE MOST, in the worst way.

I've got to say, street hustlers and "thuggish" types as compared to my usual dating regimen of professional and college guys are so much more earnest in their approach. Not that they're going to get a date (hell, my number) out of me anyway, but I do appreciate seeing how much someone means it when they try to get at me. I'm the absolute last female you want to approach sideways; though I absolutely HATE to, I can play games very well, and I read between the lines better than 99.9% of dudes, even if they wrote the damn book themselves. I've got very little patience for bullshit in all of its various forms; I keep it simple, honest and straight-forward, and I expect the same... otherwise, no dice.

This one Latino dude was staring at me really intensely when I made his drink. His friend nodded in my direction, "we don't even like Hispanic girls. We like Black girls."

"What's your name?" the dude staring at me asked. I told him (my real name is Spanish [Arabic and Greek as well]), and he damn near groaned. All of a sudden he started freestyling off my name! I mean, I don't remember anything but the last line, which was, "you're the best." I couldn't stop smiling after he did it though, and I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Yeah, he was DOING THE MOST, but I thought it was cute. And had he been my type, I would've gone for it. I'm not the type of girl who will laugh at honesty.

I do NOT however, appreciate being referred to as "ay! Boo-boo!" while some cigarette-smelling, scruffly-lookin' dude gets way too close for comfort and keeps asking me when we're going out. I said, "we aren't," about four times and he still somehow suffered under the delusion that he could change my mind by using the same tactics. Ew! Give me my tip and go AWAY! You're DOING THE MOST!

Then, there was this trick who thought she was special. After paying the $5 cover she came to the bar and discovered that a rail vodka and cranberry was $7. She bugged out her eyes and said, "I just paid a $5 cover and the drink is $7 on top of that?"

"Yep," I said.

"I've never had to pay that before."

Well, I guess today is just your lucky day then, because that's what you'll be paying today. You're not special. Everyone else in the club paid $5 to get in on top of their drink minimum. Stop acting like you're some kind of VIP because you know the doorman (who has nothing to do with the bar). You're DOING THE MOST in your little bright yellow lace halter top that was played out in 2005 when it came out.

I also didn't much like it when my boss kept the party going a little bit longer than usual. He does it because he's a nice guy and he wants all of his employees to make as much as they can and he likes the crowd to feel like they experienced something that wouldn't happen at another club, but I really wanted to go home. Crowds of drunken people screaming, "keep the lights off!" at 3 am isn't cool when you've got to drive 25 miles home, dead tired. DOING THE MOST!

SATURDAY

Saturday was just a continuous stream of one-liners:

Two guys were ordering their drinks, talking about their relationship issues with their respective girlfriends. The one guy told his friend that his girlfriend had threatened to cheat on him with his best friend. He told his friend that he replied to her with, "go ahead; knock yourself out. At least I know where he's been." DOING THE MOST!

This one guy, PERPETRATING, wearing a Howard University tee shirt, decided to pay to get into the club using a counterfeit $10 bill. DOING THE MOST. It wasn't obvious in dim lighting to someone not paying close attention, but once you got it in the light, everything about that dollar was wrong: the paper, the ink, the fact that there was no watermark... It was spotted and he was kicked out, however, I still had to go through all the $20s in the register because before he was kicked out, he'd paid for some liq with a $20.

I already posted an entry about What Not to Wear to the Strip Club, however, I hadn't seen the worst at that point. The worst is: dingy basketball shorts worn over slightly exposed boxers paired with an equally dingy cutoff smedium tee and fresh (?) Nikes, accessorized with an exposed nasty, jiggling, quivering beer gut. Absolutely gross. DOING THE MOST.

And finally, the customer who asked me, "is that all your hair?" I nodded in reply and he reached out to feel for tracks. Amazed that I hadn't been lying, he went over to my manager and asked, "where did you find her?" ...Like I'm some rare breed. DOING THE MOST!

QUOTES OF THE WEEKEND:

(1) "You know what's funny? That drink you made me didn't taste strong, but then when I stood up and went outside I started feelin' it."

The man turned to my boss. "You need to hold on to that one."

"I'm trying to," my boss replied. (And he is; even though I'm moving to New York, he still want to keep me on call when I'm down in DC and get me certified as a manager.).

(2) *My boss after a little person walks in the club* "What's he doing in here? Aint no toys in here!"

SO wrong, but honestly, when I saw him at the door, at first glance I thought he was like 7... and I did wonder to myself why someone brought their kid to the strip club. =(

PS... follow me on Twitter for real-time updates as to what's going on behind the bar at: MixmasterNikki

Sometimes I Think I'm Superwoman

2009-05-23T10:33:00.000-07:00

So, I was feeling fine, perfectly normal. I thought I could act like I was perfectly normal and go about all my normal activities without any problem. I forgot that I am not perfectly normal; I have an air bubble pressed up against my liver that is slowly (very slowly) being absorbed by my body. When I move a little too much/a little too vigorously, this air bubble moves, puts pressure on random internal organs, and causes me pain and discomfort. Which is not normal.

My naturally perky demeanor gets in the way of sense sometimes.

So "Swag Surfin" comes on in The Club and I start swag surfin behind the bar because I love that song. It reminds me of the absolutely amazing time I had after graduation at Love with all of my friends.

After Swag Surfin, I found myself in an immense amount of pain and I had to sit down and start taking long breaks between working. And then I had to leave and go home early =( You know I've got a problem when I leave work early; I love making money too much to just pass it up like that. And we only had an hour left! But I was starting to get annoyed with people, so I doubt I would've picked up that many more tips anyway...

Annoying Quotes of the Night:

(1) I ask a guy what he wants and he replies: "those coconuts in a glass."

"Excuse me?" I arched an eyebrow.

"Those coconuts in a glass." Sensing that I was not amused by his wit, he backtracked. "I'm just joking."

(2) Then, when I was sitting off to the side, obviously in pain, some loud-mouthed female customer motioned over to me, *smile.*

I shook my head sadly, giving a little half-smile. The universal indication for: this is not a good night, and plastering a fake smile on my face is about the last thing I want to do.

"Wake up!" she hollered over to me.

This was too much. I went over to her. "See... I ruptured one of my internal organs and I've got a huge bubble of air pressed up against my liver right now."

"Well fart, girl, fart!"

Ignorant bitch; I don't have gas! The problem is that the bubble of air is NOT enclosed in a system and I have to wait until my cells absorb it.

Before I Ruined My Night, It Was Fun Though...

We had a luau-themed party for one of the dancer's birthday. The club looked really nice. And I donned a bikini top, lei, short and a hula skirt for the occasion. I looked really nice =)

And we had all-you-can-eat food. It was bomb! Soul food, Thai food, Caribbean food... all of it. All you can eat. Yums.

And! My crush was there =) I mean, it probably won't come to anything at all, given that I'm moving, but I still just like looking at him while he's here. I actually didn't tell him I liked him until we were both partying at a club after graduation, and my slightly intoxicated self just leaned over and said, "before we never see each other again, I just have to tell you that I think you're really attractive. And smart." And he said, "we'll see each other again," and whipped out his celly. And we have seen each other since, but again... I'm moving. Next lifetime, maybe?

PS... I wonder if this can be considered flirting (with someone else, although if My Crush had said it, I would've said the same thing!):

I pour someone's coke in their chaser glass and their Jack in the accompanying shot glass.

"Do you want it mixed?" I asked.

He nodded, then looked at the almost full chaser glass. "It won't fit," he told me.

"Yes it will."

I poured, and voila! Lo and behold, the shot fit in the almost-full glass.

"I've got experience with this type of thing," I winked.

PPS... I'm going to need Dallas to stop touching me when he tips me. He reached out to put $3 in my bikini top. I immediately folded my arms over my chest. "Uh-uh. Nope. Put it in my hand or the bucket."

He continued to reach out in the direction of my breasts with the money.

"My hand or the bucket!" I held my hand out.

He reached for the waistband of my skirt. He stuffed one dollar on my hip, another slightly more inwards, to which I opened my mouth to reply, "hey! You're getting a little too close there!" And another nearer to above my ass. "Oka-ay..." I said. He smiled a lecherous old man smile and walked away. Shudder.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

I think my favorite quote of the night though, was again, from my boss. I think I have one of the only jobs where your boss can look at you and say:

"You got young titties."

And it's not sexual harassment. I laughed and replied:

"That's what my mom says."

I'm Going Places

2009-05-22T14:46:00.000-07:00

Least of which being my relocation to New York.

I didn't mean that I'm physically going places though; I mean that I've got plans. I see myself doing some big things... one of which being owning a strip joint. I started writing a business plan for one a while back and I've recently picked up interest in it again. Working at the club has really made me realize what's capable.

Strip clubs aren't bad places to hang out and chill, actually. My father agrees with me.

When I left work last Wednesday because of the hole in one of my organs, I happened to leave my new cellphone charger there. (Reminder: the initial incident happened while I was looking for my original cellphone charger, which I have since found... in my overnight bag, which is where I thought I put it in the first place.). My dad went to go get it for me when I was in the hospital on Thursday. When he came back, he told me:

"That club where you work; it's like a real center of the community. I see what you mean about it having potential. It's not a bad place to just go chill out."

And that's what I think Boss Man isn't capitalizing on enough. The Club has been a part of the community for 30 years. It's got a homey, relaxed, unpretentious feel to it, and levels of seating that allow you to spend some time laughing with friends or get down by the stage and spend some time throwin dollas. The club allows you to bring in/order in your own food. It's got a live DJ/MC that keeps everything interactive and fun. It's got one of the sweetest, sexiest bartenders in the city (wink). It's got naked women. It's got that vibe.

What I like about The Club, and strip clubs in general, are that they allow you to be you without any sugar coating. They're a place where you can be as out of control or as under control as you want to be. If people can strut around naked, why can't you just relax?

So yeah... I've got ideas.

Wink wink.

Time On My Hands

2009-05-18T13:04:00.000-07:00

Since I'm an invalid for at least another day, I have decided to make myself useful.

As you can probably tell by the new picture... I've had a lot of time on my hands; time I've used to make some strides.

Just like I was a couple of months ago, fresh out of bartending school, I'm going to plunge into another market (NYC) for bartenders with just a little bit of experience and a big smile under my belt. Everyday something happens that makes me glad I went to business school; yesterday it was this:

If you're short on experience, be as professional and memorable as you can.

I already have a pretty snazzy bartending resume, a photo selection (I need more current and varied photos though), and apply to jobs with a cover letter already, but I didn't have any business cards, though I've been meaning to make them for THE LONGEST time. I was supposed to have a stack with me when I bartended my friend's Grown & Sexy party (GREAT party, btw... we did it big w/a chocolate fountain and strawberries, yo!) the day before Valentine's Day...

Anyway. So, I Googled "bartending business cards" to see what other people were doing. I already knew I wanted one with my photo on there; this can be a very superficial profession... and if they like your look, that's like 50+ points worth of experience. I saw this one site that offered to turn your picture into a cartoon and put it behind a bar. Loved it. Decided I could do it my damn self on Photoshop (I had to YouTube "How to cartoon yourself using Photoshop"), print them out on card stock and cut them at my local FedExKinkos. (See my new profile picture of me holding my 2nd favorite whiskey? Yeah... Jack used to be my man, but I gotta go with Bushmills now. I LOVE IRISH WHISKEY!). I'm also going to put one of my specialty recipes on the back with "and plenty more where that came from" at the bottom. Ooh! And my card is vertical instead of horizontal. Subtle creativity =)

So, yeah... I've also started going over more drinks in my bartender books because popular drinks vary from region to region. Like, you'll probably only hear a Bone Crusher ordered in the DC area because the bartender who came up with it worked here. I gotta figure out what the most common NY drinks are. The customers at the bar where I've been working are pretty consistent: Long Island, Long Beach, Bone Crusher, H2O, Apple Martini, Martini, Patron Margarita, Cuervo Margarita, Rusty Nail, Mai Tai, Zombie, Singapore Sling, French Connection, Blue Motorcycle, Sex on the Beach.

Sometimes I get flirty and tell male customers I'm going to test their manliness by giving them a 3Wise Men (Jose, Jack, Johnny + Gingerale). Seriously, anyone that can drink that without gagging... you got it. I don't mind the Jack and Johnny; I'm a whiskey drinker, but tequila... blech! GAG!

And eventually, I'm going to find someone to PIMP MY BLOG! (Or do it myself, although I hate doing things that aren't my specialty when it saves more time for someone to do it for me.). It's 'bout to get interactive up in this piece.

By the way... follow me on Twitter if you aren't already: @MixmasterNikki. I usually frequently update whatever's going on behind the bar when I'm working.

COMING UP NEXT:

(1) My big plans.

(2) My dad's first trip to my job.

(3) Some character studies: Silly Girl, Accent and Tambourine.

My Life Is Random Wherever I Go

2009-05-14T20:47:00.001-07:00

I don't just have drama behind the bar; oh, no! No, I've got to have a dramatic life no matter the setting.

So, I started feeling a little queasy at work Sunday night, and Monday morning at about 4 am while I was desperately searching for my cell phone charger so I could charge my phone before I hopped on the Boltbus at 7:30 am to go to NY to search for an apartment with my girls, it happened.

Out of nowhere, I suffered a severe, sharp, stabbing pain in my stomach, radiating up my spine, around my ribs and up to my shoulders. I dropped to the floor, hissing, face screwed up like I would burst into anguished tears any second (except I never see the point of crying because of physical pain, so I always stop myself before the first tear rolls with some deep breathing and streams of curse words best left unsaid). Thinking I could just rest it away, I curled up on the couch in my family room, knowing I had to wake up in 2 hours to be on the subway in 3 hours to be on that bus at 7:30. I woke up 3 hours later... still in pain.

However, I'm a determined (delusional) sort, and I'm made of tougher stuff than to just call the doctor at the first sign of trouble! So, I got online and bought myself an Amtrak ticket for 10:30 so I could meet my friends, as planned, and commence the hunt for the GREATEST APARTMENT EVER (Not to exceed rent payments of $2250 in total)!!!

I've got to give myself credit; I walked around New York on an empty stomach with tightness in my belly and the sensation of a 10-pound weight dragging on each of my shoulders for five hours before I finally said, "Guys. I can't walk anymore. I can't make it."

Tuesday hits. I feel a little better, but not really... I do some reading on the internet. (All praise be to the internet.). I come to the conclusion that I might just have really bad gas (ew!) and referred pain in my shoulders. (Referred pain is when something is wrong in one area of your body, but it hurts in a completely different area.). Took some Gas-X pills.

Wednesday: the pills did nothing. I call my doctor (finally; I'm SO stubborn!). The good doctor cannot see me until the 18th. I will probably be dead by then if it's something serious, and if it's not serious, I'll be on a plane to Vegas. No dice. I go to work, because even though I'm in pain... I need that money. Once at work, it becomes clear that I cannot stay there. I call the nurse hotline on my insurance to ask for advice. She tells me to take two Aleeve and call my doctor in the morning. Again: no dice. ER it is!!

I go to the ER; it is now midnight, Thursday morning. My community ER is closed until 8 am. I go home. 8 am arrives and it's off to my community's ER again!

(Shout out to the great nurses and doctors there... however... Dr. You-Sound-Just-Like-My-Finance-Professor wasn't listening well...).

I told this man all of my symptoms/ailments multiple times and made sure to tell him that although the pain was all in my shoulders, it hurt really badly if I leaned forward more than 45 degrees and if I were to lie down and move positions, I would hear and feel something sloshing around near my stomach, where it definitely shouldn't be. He then proceeded to order a chest x-ray, CT scan and blood tests.

So... I was shot full of iodine (which puts a metallic taste in your mouth, makes you nauseous, and makes your body feel like it's on fire and you've just peed yourself) and strapped (okay, not strapped... I was there of my own free will) to a table where a laser got to know me pretty well.

At this point, my precious, tiny little veins had been stabbed 3+ times (I say 3+ because one of the nurses couldn't find a good vein in my arm, so she took one from the back of my hand, but still managed to insert the needle crooked and had to wiggle it around. Pain!).

The chest CT scan shows that everything is normal around my lungs (I could've told you that, Doc!), but I've got a huge bubble of air outside of my stomach, just chillin' under my diaphragm. Gettin jiggy with my liver. That usually happens when you've ruptured an organ. Great.

So... I'm off to another hospital where Dr. Uncle (not biological, but he's family all the same) is a member of the system (although his office is offsite).

When I am first admitted, there is a man in the room with me gushing blood. His girlfriend has hit him over the head with a glass bowl.

"How that broad gonna do me like this? Shit. Ah! Fuck, my head! My head! Man, but let it be me who hit her with a damn glass bowl and had her bleedin all over the place! Wouldn't be no questions. I'da been arrested on site, cops woulda beat me up some more. That broad... they wait for her parents to get there to take the baby and THEN they take me to the hospital. You see how they do men? Ah! Fuck! My head..."

I get blood drawn... again. Get more x-rays. I have to drink like a liter (okay, a pint 1/2) of this nasty ass "Berry Smoothie"...it is NOT a smoothie; it's used to highlight where holes might be when you get a CT scan. I get an abdominal CT scan and go back to my room where I wait... and wait...

Watch the news. Watch Celtics v. Magic. Wonder how much blood I've lost. Fantasize about bustin outta the joint, finding the cafeteria and stealing some food. Wait. Ignore the guy who keeps winking at me from around my curtain. (I'm in the ER with a catheter stuck in my arm! I'm ill! Why are you trying to come on to me!?)

Finally, word comes. "You've got a perforation in your belly."

I kept trying to clarify whether she meant stomach or intestines, but she kept saying belly. I AM NOT A FIVE YEAR OLD!

By the time I'm ready to leave, I've been shot up with antibiotics, told I've got a perforation in my intestine, and that I can't work for five days or go to Vegas =(

Peachy.

I called my manager to tell her that I wouldn't be able to work for five days because I've got a freaking HOLE in my intestine and you know what she said, "you're kidding me." She then gave a sigh and said, "okay, I'll text HNIC." She's just blown because I was supposed to take her shift on Saturday. Well EXCUSE ME! I didn't poke a hole through my own intestine! I want to go to Vegas! I've already paid $483 in non-refundable money towards the damn trip! I'm sorry my health problems are ruining YOUR life! Bitch.

Grr.

Guess Who's Back?

2009-05-12T17:02:00.000-07:00

*Waves sheepishly*

I apologize for the delay in your regularly scheduled programming, however: life's been busy. I am now a graduate (with honors, in Honors) of Howard University School of Business and I have an absolutely amazing apartment in NY just waiting for me to move into. I'm all partied and traveled out! Hopefully I'll be able to handle Vegas next week and then NY again the week after that. Travel much?

Anyway, I'm back to give ya'll the run down on the happenings at The Club!

FRIDAY, MAY 1: Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes!

It seems my boss has finally picked up on the fact that the interior of the club needs to be redone. New floors, new walls, electronic cash registers... the works. He called all the waitresses and bartenders into the back room to discuss new cleaning habits and practices at the club. He maintained that no longer would Mumbles and the other men of the cleanup crew be responsible for the bar and the tables because they were too old to do a good job. And that Grandame would still be welcome at the club, he loved her, but she had to go... "it's been 26 years of Grandame, but she can't handle the work now, it's time to let her go."

It's been 30 years of the club; it's time to bring it up to date.

Sometimes I think family-owned businesses, black ones in particular, are a little too attached to "The Good Ol' Days." I hope I never get like that. I always want to live in the moment, never yearning for the past. Never getting too comfortable with "the way it is."

SUNDAY, MAY 3: I Don't Need Your Money That Badly.

Nasty Old Man came back to the bar, still trying to get at me. I've noticed that he only tips $1. I'm getting tired of hearing his Nasty Old Man mouth, so I decided to stop being nice. Your $1 is not going to buy you my patience. $20 might.

"What can I get for you?" I asked.

"You. In a glass," he replied.

I rolled my eyes. "Do you know how many times I've heard that?"

"From me?"

"No. Just in general. You need to get a new line," I said with a hard edge to my voice while keeping a sweet smile.

He looked surprised.

"You said I'm probably as baaaad as you are; I'm showing you."

"That's okay, I want it," he winked.

Ugh. GO AWAY! He also offered the new waitress $400 to defecate and urinate on him. That just took him from Nasty Old Man to Triflin-Ass Nasty Old Man.

OLD PEOPLE ARE SO BELLIGERENT! So, I tried to enforce the new policy that waitresses must pay $5.50 anytime they get a fake drink, but Grandame was not having it. When I told her, her eyes bugged out and she shook her head, saying in her cigarette-scratched voice: "I'm not paying that!" and walked away.

How the hell are you supposed to lay down the law on a halfway senile woman old enough to be your grandmother?

BUT I CAN LAY DOWN THE LAW ON DRUNKEN STRIPPERS! Halfway through the night, one of the other dancers came up to me shaking her head, "The bar is cut off for Drunkie. No more."

I gave a knowing, half-smile. "How many has she had?"

"I don't know, but she can't have anymore."

Later on during the night, Drunkie came up to the bar to ask for a drink.

I shook my head. "You can have water, soda, or juice."

"But I want liquor," she pouted.

"No liquor."

"But I've been drinking all night!"

Uh... dur! Therein lies the problem: you've been drinking all night and you can't handle your liquor.

"I can give you water, soda, or juice," I repeated.

"Nevermind," she pouted again and walked upstairs to the dressing room.

I CAN DRINK, HOWEVER! BWAHAHA! Someone ordered an Apple Martini and didn't have enough money to pay for it, so my manager split it with me. And then she offered me a Cuervo Margarita. I was definitely buzzed behind the bar, but I, unlike Drunkie, can hold my liquor. Actually, is it a bad sign that after two drinks you can still do your job (and do it well)? Doesn't that make me, like, a functional alcoholic or something? =(

WEDNESDAY, MAY 6: See No Evil, Hear No Evil

Things I Wish I Hadn't Seen:

1. One of the dancers diddling herself on stage. Gross.

2. Other women's vaginas, period. Breasts, whatever, I don't care... but I'm really tired of seeing coochie.

3. This man who comes up to the bar flexing his muscles and dancing in the mirror. Every time. It's just really disturbing.

4. A group of Ques hopping in the club. Really? Really.

Things I Wish I Hadn't Heard:

1. One of the Ques trying to get at me. I'm too young for you sir, and I don't feel bad about telling a man in his 30s that he's too old for me. We're on different planes. And I'm not interested in casual sex... I have a problem with people touching me when I'm not emotionally attached to them... while sober.

2. More of my manager's issues with her ex. Talking about what might happen isn't going to make what you want to happen come true. Stop beating a frickin dead horse! It's over! Talking about it every damn day isn't going to do anyone any good, especially not me. Stop asking other people what he might be thinking, why he did such-and-such, or what he'll end up doing. No one knows! He might not even know! It's over, leave it.

SUNDAY, MAY 10: It's A Celebration, Bitches!

So, I graduated May 9. My managers both texted to congratulate me. And when I went to work, Big Sis let me have a drink on the house. Can I Holla gave me a hug. All my customers who knew gave me congrats and advice.

Anyone who says black people, even those without an education, don't value education is deluded. We do, it's just that some of us don't see it as a viable course of action. That doesn't mean they don't see the value of it; they just don't see its relevance to their lives (or believe that they can go after it). And therein lies the problem... why isn't an education relevant for some segment of our population.

*Gets off soapbox*

Four Brits walked in to celebrate their friend graduating from Howard as well. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from swooning at the accents. Nothing sexier than a black man with a British accent. Hell, all of them weren't even black... there's nothing sexier than a British accent: period.

"May I have a Co-rooo-na?"

Yes you may. Would you like my number as well? *Bats eyelashes*

Also... I'm going to miss tending bar in DC. Of course, people aren't as nice here as they are in the south-south, but they're nicer than they are in NY. Here, even the street thugs say please and thank you.

QUOTE OF THE WEEKEND:

My boss, while explaining the new way things were going to run at the club:

"These are your mangers. Everyone who works behind the bar is a manager. You've got Big Sis, Li'l Mama, Cinnamon, and... (he paused when he got to me) Madeline."

Would he stop calling me MADELINE!?! I know he knows my name!

Don't You Ever Get Too Comfortable

2009-04-30T10:44:00.000-07:00

This happens to me with every job I've held. I get too comfortable in my environment. I've gotten comfortable joking around with 'hood hustlers, pimps and hoes. I've gotten comfortable in the ramshackle old building where I work. Don't get me wrong, I still think it's gross... one day, I'd really like to buy the business and redo it, but... I've gotten way too comfortable there. I think... I might actually miss it when it's time for me to leave. (They still don't know I'm leaving yet, and I know they're going to miss me; my boss even asked me if I had any friends that wanted to work as a bartender too because he wants more people like me.).

My top reason why I think I'm getting too comfortable there though, is because I just spent 3 out of the last 4 days at the strip club... no bueno!!!

SUNDAY: WORK

Is This Really the Appropriate Place?

There's a couple that comes into the strip club together and always ends up arguing. Now, I've only been in one "serious" relationship, but it seems to me... if you know when you go out to the strip club together and get drunk, you start arguing... just don't go. The strip club is not the place to handle your relationship issues. They even attracted the attention of a mediator who tried to talk them both through their problems, but he couldn't even help them. The woman seemed really immature and complaint-prone. After she was yelling at her boyfriend, he walked away shaking his head and went to go tip and look at one of the dancers.

"If he cared about me, then why did he go over to the girl?" she pouted.

You're in a strip club. You're also being annoying. There's your reason right there.

The mediator actually did a pretty good job, from what I observed, though. She was just being stubborn. She probably wanted him to beg all over her or something so it could be dramatic. Boo. The mediator came over to the bar and pegged Big Sis and me for our personality types off the bat.

"I'm not gonna mess with you," he said to Big Sis. "I know your type."

"Oh really?" she asked. "So what's my type."

"You are serious. You like it hard and you like it fast. You don't play around. Nope."

She was silent.

He turned to me, "and you're soft. You're a softie."

Damn it. I am. =(

Daddy?

So, my dad knows I work at a strip club, but even as a bartender with all of my clothes on (I mean, I wore a hoodie on Wednesday), I wouldn't feel right about him coming into my place of work. One of the strippers had to get her spare car key from her father and he came into the place to give them to her. She came downstairs in her little costume to get them from him and ran around introducing him to her naked friends. I'm sorry, I just couldn't do that. That's SO awkward.

I'm Not Trying to Make a Racist Generalization, But...

White people tip way better than black people. On average. The dancers have said sometimes they don't like dancing for white people because they feel like they're animals on display at the zoo/in a freak show (it depends on how the white people in question act). We had some HILLBILLY lookin' folk come in with one black guy in the group and they were cool as shit. Then there's some white guys who come in to get their little forbidden taste of "exotic black booty" and they make the dancers uncomfortable. Most of the white folk that come in are cool though. So yeah, anyway, on average white people tip way better than black people. This one guy bought two Bud Lights ($13), paid with a $20 bill and gave me the $7 left over. One white guy tipped me $20.

I've noticed also, though, that black people expect you to be rude, so they come in thinking they're not going to tip you because you have an attitude... so even if you don't, they'll just fit your behavior in with "oh she has an attitude." Usually, the men will begin to put all their change back in their pockets, but then I'll say "you're welcome," after they thank me for their drink, and then they pull their money back out of their pocket to tip me. A little kindness goes a long way.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

OBVIOUSLY pregnant customer to the doorman, "I'm not pregnant."

So... you've just got a really firm beer belly? You shouldn't be comfortable perpetrating that lie.

MONDAY: VISITATION

So, my friends and I definitely rolled like 10 - 13 deep (I can't remember who all was there) to go to Amateur Night. Me and my nearest and dearest definitely spent the whole time critiquing. There was one dancer we got up from our seats upstairs to tip because she was good, like she actually put on a show (Twinkle). But the rest of them just kind of smiled and undulated. And then looked mad when they weren't getting tips. Being pretty can only get you but so far... Twinkle isn't really all that attractive, but she puts her work in. Was the stage not COVERED with dollars after she was done? (I've witnessed "making it rain" in the club... it's actually a hilarious sight.).

WEDNESDAY: WORK... AGAIN

My First... Rat

Yep, I saw my first rat. Gross. If I owned that business, there would be no rats. That's so GROSSSSS!

Am I Alone Here?

My manager definitely took a THREE HOUR break to talk on the phone about her now ex-. Initially, I felt bad for her the day it happened, because like I said, I've been there. But again, you cannot ignore the fact that you chose this fool to start a relationship with. You knew he had problems when you got with him. You knew he had 7 children. You knew he had commitment issues. He was straight up with you. Stop asking everyone's opinion about whether he's gonna come back around or not, what he's doing running around with his ex-, what he's thinking... yadda yadda. No one knows. He doesn't know. Talking about it isn't going to make things happen any faster/bring you what you want. I wouldn't be so pissed off about it if this hadn't been a constant thing since I started working there. All she talks about it The User (that's what I'm calling him from now on). And honestly, I have sympathy... hell... I'm EMPATHETIC, but really... stop!

Now, I didn't mind that she took that 3 hour break because I definitely pulled in $80 by myself, but then, she came back so for the next 4 hours, we had to split our tips (which also ended up being $80 in total). She LEFT THE BAR a number of different times to talk to CUSTOMERS about her man problems while I held it down by myself. I took a little 30 minute break to go nap because I was tired and I was woken abruptly by the doorman because my manager told him that she needed me because the line started getting deep. I knocked out 3/4 of the line BY MYSELF. Ugh. I might as well have worked alone. At least I would've made $160.

Valuable Advice

Most of my tips came from this one guy who's a regular at the club. He just chilled by the side, talking to me and various dancers and waitresses. He said some really relevant things, like...

"Man, this 'Swine Flu' thing is all about fear... people make money off of fear. That's how they control you. That's how it is with wars, that Y2K shit that never happened... think about it... You get 50 million people to go out and buy a $4 safety kit: how much money do you make?"

"I don't know what's wrong with black women today. Don't take offense, but ya'll used to be on it. Now you keep going out with these losers. Listen, I'm 34, and I'll tell you: you can't change a man. If he was broke when you met him, he's gonna be broke. If he was an asshole when you met him, he's gonna be an asshole. Ya'll keep complaining about your relationship problems and whatever, but I'll make it simple: don't date no loser."

"Everybody's worrying about what's gonna happen. There's no point to all that; just do your best and leave the rest to God." (My personal favorite, because that's my philosophy on life). "And make the right choices. The only way is the right way. Stay in school. Knowledge is REAL power. Believe that."

I think it says something that all the hood hustlers and drug dealers I know keep telling me to stay in school and dap me up when I say I'm graduating.

I think his funniest lines of the night, though, were:

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT:

"I used to have a girlfriend, but she was too expensive; now I've gone green."

And, after I told him I was going to fashion school, he goes: "fashion school? Oh... you're gonna need a sugar daddy. Take down my number."

(I actually did (LOL), but I said, "even if I don't use it because I need a sugar daddy, I will need business investors.")

The End of an Era

2009-04-25T00:37:00.000-07:00

New Rule: if a waitress/bartender gets a customer to buy her a dummy drink, she has to pay the bar $5.50 and they have to take care of the transaction with the customer themselves. My boss instated this rule after noticing the large number of waitresses abusing their "dummy drink" privilege and getting confused as to why his bartenders kept taking money out of the drawer and throwing it in their tip jars/laying it off to the side. This marks the end of an era: the end of the hustle.

Today, I had to work while sick =( I WENT OUT and WENT HARD last night, celebrating the end of my undergraduate career: 5 drinks, 3 shots. I went out wearing a teeny little babydoll dress and black "hooker" boots. I'm now coming down with a cold.

Fortunately, Mumbles was able to buy me some cold pills, but I still wasn't at full Bubbly-Nikki capacity. That's one thing about being a naturally smiley-happy person; the minute something is even slightly wrong with you, everyone can tell.

I gotta go buy some Zicam. (That stuff WORKS!).

I know no one cares about me being sick, though, so on to the good stuff:

Sir, You Tweak.

So, my boss called me earlier today and left a voicemail saying to call him as soon as possible. (And I'm confused as to why he left the voicemail, calling me by my correct name, and then, later on tonight, called me MADELINE! Madeline is NOWHERE near close to my real name!!). When I called him back, he started talking about some, "can you work two extra days during the summer?"

Um. No.

Working two extra days would put me at 5 days a week. I aint working from 7 pm -2 am five days a week. I'm not consorting with naked women and hood hustlers five days a week. I'm not driving out to DC and leaving my silver Honda Accord, THE MOST FREQUENTLY STOLEN CAR IN AMERICA, alone and vulnerable 5 days a week. We already had a waitress and a doorman get their cars broken into last week. No.

And then when I was obviously reluctant, he tried to convince me by saying, "I've got this other girl who says she can work 5 days."

Good for her. I'm leaving in June/July. She can work her li'l five days then and be happy.

Customers I LOVE versus Customers I HATE

I LOVE customers who understand what my job is like for me. One guy came up to the bar and said:

"So how are you doing tonight?"

My honest answer would've been something along the lines of, "I'm fucking miserable. The A/C is on WAY too high. I've got a sore throat and a headache. I can feel pressure building up behind my nose. I'm tired. The music is too loud. And I just don't want to be here," but what I actually said was, "I'm alright."

"So no one's started getting on your nerves yet, then?"

I laughed. "No, not yet. What time is it though? 12:30? Yeah... let it get between 1 and 2... then my patience starts wearing a little thin."

He laughed along with me. "It would be all good if people just acted like they had some sense so we could all get along, huh?"

"Exactly!" I nodded emphatically.

On the other hand, I HATE customers who... act like they don't have any sense.

1. Don't hand me money if you see me counting.

2. Don't argue with me about the price of your drink. Sir, you did not pay me $5.50 for your Jack and soda water. You paid me $8.25. And that's why I'm charging you $8.25 this time too.

3. It's NOT FUNNY and I'm NOT AMUSED when you keep changing your mind as to what chaser you want; "Cranberry. No! Pineapple. No! Grapefruit... Cranberry..." is not the appropriate way to order your drink.

I Don't Blush Easily... So You KNOW You Got It.

So, this guy and his father and (I guess they were his uncles) came in, visiting DC from California. Oh. My. God. He was FINE!

They had to leave this other snooty strip club downtown because they said the guy's father was drunk, so they came to our club. Thank GOD because the father definitely tipped me about $26 in total. And I just liked looking at the son. Brown skin and blue eyes can either look really weird or really freakin' hot... and... he looked really freakin' hot.

As they were ordering their drinks, the father turned to me and said. "His mama's a black woman. My son's fine aint he?"

"She knows," the son winked at me.

Eep. Blush.

(Yes, I do blush... I don't get red or anything, but my cheeks get a nice healthy, rosy glow.).

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After yet another dancer lost her keys, my boss shook his head:

"Losing your keys will drive you crazy. It's like losing a goddamn best friend or some shit."

Truuuuth!

Top Three Reasons Why I Hate Men

2009-04-23T12:05:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I don't hate men. In fact, I love them. Sometimes I think I might love men a little too much. (I'm workin on that.). But no matter how much I love men, the fact remains that they cause problems. So sometimes I pretend I hate them.

And here are my TOP 3 Reasons Why I Hate Men:

(All compiled while working behind the bar yesterday)

1. THEY MAKE ME WANT TO FLIRT WITH THEM WHEN THEY'RE CUTE... AND UNAVAILABLE.

The guys that walked in with their girlfriends yesterday were JUST my type (physically, at least). It makes me so mad when I want to flirt, but can't. I'm a natural flirt; I really can't help it, but I know what's appropriate and what's not. I'm also one of those women that goes into "lioness" mode when there's a man I want and another woman is around. It's an animal instinct within me that just goes, "he's mine because I want him. Bitch, begone!" The rational part of me can control that pretty well, and if I can't control it, it usually just ends with me doing/saying something scene-stealing and over-the-top.

So yeah, I HATE it when a guy falls into one of my type (yes, I have types: I like them Ralph Lauren Ad-ish with an edge or edgy Sean John model-lookin' with a code of honor and respect) and I can't do anything about it. I also get lowkey jealous when the cute ones who flirt with me at the bar go look at the strippers. It's irrational, but whatever.

The one guy was clean-cut and preppy with edge and the other guy was tatted up with a rough-but-gentlemanly attitude. And when he opened his mouth, oh-MY-God!, a BRITISH ACCENT popped out. EVERYONE knows how much I FREAKING LOVE British accents. Sigh.

Oh well. It's not like I'm going to meet my next conquest behind the bar anyway.

2. THEY ARE PARASITIC USERS WHO REMAIN IN A STAGE OF ARRESTED DEVELOPMENT!!!

On a more serious note, my manager essentially broke up with her boyfriend. She didn't want to, but he was taking too much away from her emotionally. Going around with his ex (like to the grocery store... and she came to his uncle's funeral), all the while taking advantage of my manager. She sent him a text saying that he could pick up his stuff from her house and that she couldn't take it anymore and he just said "ok." After begging her not to leave him a couple of weeks ago. I hate "confused" men. Just be straight up.

I watched the pain on her face as she described the situation and found myself fighting back tears myself. 'Cause I've been there. Not the same situation, of course, but the same emotional position. Loving a Lost Boy.

"I was there for him to help him through tough situations. I expected my ex-husband to hurt me; that was constant... but I never expected this from him. I gave so much; I thought I meant too much to him for him to do this to me. I never expected this. If we were only supposed to be friends; if I was only supposed to be there to help him through his confusion over another woman... we should've never gotten into a relationship. If I was only supposed to be his friend, I've wasted my time. And I'm sitting here hurt. I mean, I'm hurting."

And I know what it feels like to have your heart beating in your throat, feeling like you want to jump out of your skin because you have so much pain you don't feel like your body can take it.

"I feel like after two years we've reached a point with each other where we can be honest with each other. If he wanted to be with her, he could've just said that. I can't hurt any more than I already do. If you want to leave, leave, so I can move on... but don't just string me along."

I don't think people realize that if they're doing something that could hurt someone, they can't avoid hurting them by not being explicit about what they're doing. It hurts more to have someone implicitly lie to you than to have them be brutally honest. It really does.

And from everything she's told me about her boyfriend, it seems like he's a user. He uses women to take care of him and his kids, and moves between them, citing "a fear of commitment." Personally, I think it's a fear of being dropped and deprived of his host once the woman discovers that he's not contributing anything to their lives. I mean, she PAID BILLS for him. Fuck that.

I told her, "a man will never grow up as long as he has a woman taking care of him." I'm only 21 years old, but I've seen that over and over. From his mama to his girl... if a man has not been forced to take care of himself, he will continue to USE whatever woman is there (because women tend to love to help damaged/childish men... that man is NOT your personal project and you can't save someone who won't save themselves) for as long as he can.

Realizing this, my manager began, "and he'll keep treating me like this..."

"...as long as YOU let him," I finished.

OWN your heart, ladies, and don't just give it away. Make him work for it. Treat yourself like you're special.

3. THEY'RE WAY TOO SEXUALLY MOTIVATED.

Okay, so I'm not really one to talk (Lord, but I get into some schemes), but honestly... sex is not that important. It shouldn't be the motivating factor behind every decision you make.

Really, men make me laugh and also make me pity them with how easily manipulated they are. I watch how entranced they are by the dancers, women who are (1) lesbians (90% of the dancers in the club do not like men), (2) not going to have sex with them, and (3) only want their money. I marvel at how much power men think they have and how little they actually do.

I'm disappointed at how stupid men can be when sex is on the table. But whatever. Keep spending your money. Keep losing people who care about you. Keep getting used by gold diggers. Stay ignorant as you get your ego stroked. Whatever.

ASIDE: I know it's not ALL men, but it's enough so that this was all relevant.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

One of the dancers had to get a ride home from Tambourine with me because she lost her keys. With a sigh, she said:

"All I know is Mumbles better not have my keys. I've heard he does that; it happened to one of the other girls. He took her keys and rented out her car to people around the neighborhood. He better not play that shit with me."

(Mumbles is one of the clean up men who work at the club).

Three Day Work Weekend? I'll Take a Pass.

2009-04-22T12:57:00.001-07:00

I've actually got to go to work in two hours and I've got limited time available to study for my last final, but I want to write down the latest happenings from Saturday and Sunday before I forget them. First, let me say that I am never working three days in a row behind the bar again (especially not during Senior Finals Week). The whole ordeal ended with me having a horrible headache that I just couldn't seem to get rid of, as well as a general apathetic attitude towards everything but sleep. NEVER again.

Saturday, I ran out of red clothes to wear to work, so I ended up doing a punk rock thing with black short-shorts, black fishnets with holes slashed in them, black Chucks, a white wifebeater and... here's the kicker... a red bra worn on TOP of my 'beater. Punk-ay! I really feel like the dress code should be a little more relaxed; how about we can wear any combination of black, white and red? That works for me.

Saturday isn't even my usual night to work. I was just filling in for my manager because she took her boyfriend's kids to a cheerleading competition. Nothing really happened, either. I didn't even need to be there. I mean, I did come away with $135, so that was nice, but I really would've preferred to have my Saturday to myself. My boss's wife came in to help behind the bar as well. I like her; she reminds me of my mother. Very even-tempered and classy.

Final thoughts on Saturday: why was I there?

QUOTE (CONVERSATION) OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me: "Hey! Don't I know you?"

I searched his face, trying to place it. "I don't think so," I shook my head.

"Yeah, yeah I do. You ride my bus."

I started to shake my head again; I haven't been on a bus for over a month now.

"You don't ride the Circulator?" he asked.

"Yeah! Yeah, I do. I take it to Georgetown."

"I knew I knew you from somewhere. You get on my bus every week."

"I'm that memorable?" I asked, shocked.

"You've got really pretty hair and a nice smile," he nodded.

I think that's one of the greatest compliments I've ever gotten; not the words he said, but the fact that he remembered me from out of all the people he picks up, driving his bus, and we hadn't even exchanged any words. Just a swipe of my SmarTrip card.

Sunday, I was DEAD tired and I had an optional exam on Monday that would've been beneficial for me to take (however I ended up NOT taking it because, again, I was DEAD tired). I did not want to be at work at all. I didn't even make as much as I usually do on Sundays; the weather was nice, so I guess people found better things to do with their time than go to a strip club. Especially with dancers like Drunkie...

The Perils of Hiring Drunkards

We already have one waitress that sips a little bit too much (to the point where she was banned from the premises for a week); we don't need a dancer who does the same. On top of the fact that she's not intelligent, she's generally uncoordinated, and she can't dance, she's also a little bit too fond of the liquor. After having one too many drinks, she came up to the bar to (WAY too loudly) tell me:

"Girl, when the DJ played my song, I was like: ooooh! I love Gucci Mane! I don't care if everyone thinks he's ugly, he sexy to me! GUCCI!"

Womp.

I understand we're in the entertainment business; we sell an escape, a fantasy, and the key selling point is the naked female body... but can that not be the only selling point? From the way she leaves her mouth hanging open all the time to her crooked weave and lazy, RANDOM, "dance" movements... she looks sloppy. And while she was on set, she ordered two Blue Motorcycles and a Lemon Drop shot from me. Natural sloppiness + alcohol is not good.

Can we hire a higher caliber of strippers please?

And while I'm on that topic, can we not have a dancer that looks like a black David Bowie (David with the BLOND! mullet-y/mohawk-y hair)? I don't know what hair dresser went all Madonna + Edward Scissorhands on her head and had the audacity to tell her she looked fly, but she doesn't. She really doesn't.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

I had retired to the break area to get in a little studying and eat my chicken and broccoli (also, never again), when the doorman, playing a prank, attacked my leg with a crazy-looking, stuffed bat-miniwolf thing. I jumped about three feet backwards.

"What the hell is that?!" I demanded.

He laughed. "This is my Baddie. I sic him on people when they're mean to me."

Getting a Little too Close for Comfort

2009-04-18T00:39:00.000-07:00

Yeah...

Sorry I didn't manage to give ya'll an update on Wednesday; it's been the Senior Finals Week (from HELL!) for me... and it's not over yet. I've got 5 more exams and 1 more project to go. Let's get it! (Let me not get pre-excited about being a college graduate yet). Anyway... Wednesday was rather uneventful in terms of behind-the-bar action, so I'll just give some highlights:

It normally doesn't happen, but apparently you can still make money while you're on break. I was sitting on the couch in the break area, right above the front door to the club, studying for an exam I had the next day (which I good-as-failed: 74%... oh well. I have a B in the class; I'm on-track for getting my degree). As this guy was leaving the club, he just tipped me $10 for no reason. Holla!

This old man just refuses to take the hint that I WILL NOT SLEEP WITH HIM. I don't understand how many times and how many different ways I have to say "I'm not interested. At all." Before (he's propositioned me at least 3 different times), I lied and told him I had a boyfriend, so when he saw me he asked me, "how's that little boy of yours doing?" I replied, "he's not a little boy. And he's doing just fine." He started asking me all these questions about him, so I had to keep making shit up as I went.

[So, for future reference (for myself), here's my boyfriend: we've been together for a year and a half, he comes from money (he drives a Mercedes he didn't pay for himself), but he's very idealistic, he's going into Teach for America in Brooklyn, NY, we live in the same dorm at school, we're living together when I move up there, and his life goal is to reform the public education system in America. He doesn't have a name yet, but I guess I should make one up now... so... his name is Julian. Julian Rose. Wait no... we're planning on getting married and "Nikki Rose" doesn't sound right; let's make that Julian Youngblood. Yeah.]

Anyway, after I finished telling Old Dirty Man about my fictional boyfriend and how happy we are together, he responded with, "but he's not as nasty as I am." ...Um gross much?

"Go drink your drink!" I shooed him away.

AND NOW FOR THE MAIN EVENT OF THIS POST! TONIGHT'S EVENTS!

"You Can Get This Here Lapdance for Free"

(NERD, "Lapdance")

Someone was in the club for a bachelor's party, so my boss stopped the music and got on the mic to announce that there would be a special event to celebrate the man's upcoming nuptials. We don't do lapdances at The Club because we serve alcohol and the dancers get totally nude, but since it was a special occasion, the guy got a lapdance by two of the club's most skilled and popular dancers (with their costumes on, of course). His shirt ended up coming off though.

I'm the Bartender Here; You're the Customer. Got It?

Tip: do not tell your bartender about what's behind the bar or try to classify liquors. Just don't do it. Nine times out of ten you're wrong, however nine times out of ten your bartender won't correct you because it's not appropriate protocol for providing excellent customer service. We ARE thinking to ourselves: "this idiot," though. Hint:

Bacardi 151 is NOT whiskey; it's overproof RUM. BACARDI MAKES RUM. If you ask me to make a "Whiskey Sour with 151," I will assume you mean "make a 151 Sour." If you tell me "I want both whiskey and 151," what you will get is either (a) equal shots of Jack and 151 or (b) 1 1/2 shots of Jack and 1/2 a shot of 151. And after you WATCH me make it, giving me directions the whole time, DO NOT tell me "you didn't put any 151 in there." Also, if you hand me a $100 bill + 25 cents when your bill is $20.25, I will give you back $20 in singles and $60 in twenties. That's $80. That's your correct change. DO NOT ARGUE WITH ME ABOUT THAT EITHER.

Crown Royal is Canadian whiskey. IT IS NOT BOURBON. And if you're still confused, it says "CANADIAN WHISKEY" on the damn bottle itself. No one seems to know what bourbon is, so I'm going to help them out: BOURBON IS AMERICAN WHISKEY MADE PRIMARILY FROM CORN. Popular brands include (but are not limited to): Jim Beam, Maker's Mark, Mark Twain, Old Crow, Old Grand-Dad, and Wild Turkey. There are strict requirements for a whiskey to qualify as a bourbon, but one of the easiest to remember is that it must be MADE IN AMERICA. CROWN ROYAL IS MADE IN FRIGGIN' CANADA!!!!

We... Are... Family?

So, I think my boss is getting a little too attached to me. First, he was doing his whole cheeky older man thing where he was complimenting my legs (I wore a minidress to work today) and showing me how to flip shot glasses and bottles and then asking me if I wanted to learn. I replied "yeah, but my hands are so small, though." He said, "that just means you make everything else look bigger."

Then, later on that night, he told me he needed to stop looking at me like a nasty old man, that he was going to hook me up with his eldest son, and that we should get married so he could retire and pass the business on. (I actually would enjoy owning a strip club, and I've been toying with writing a business plan for the restructuring of his club.). I think my boss has gotten a little bit too attached to me. I don't know how he's going to take it when I leave.

I'd still keep in contact though; I would. I like the club and I think it's got great potential. Not sure I want to be part of the family though; that's a major emotional investment.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

My boss on the mic:

"I'm fuckin' somebody's daughter tonight."

Oh... You Really Thought I Was Playin. Nope.

2009-04-12T22:56:00.000-07:00

Mama might've raised me to be polite and respectful, but mama aint raise no fool. And grandmama told me, "if you aint worried about your money, then you don't have any." I do not fool with my money. I'm going to need the people I work with on Sundays to get the memo.

I Owe You Nothing

So, tonight, Dallas THE BARBACK stepped up again, only this time, he didn't end up taking that much from me. It still slows the whole process down when I have to input his totals, but I've gotten better at judging when to speed up and slow down my personal movements so I can control the flow of cash at the bar. Tonight though, he started getting mad. He made one customer a drink that she had originally asked me for and she tried to tip me instead of him anyway.

As she handed the money to him he said, "my jar is over here."

She rolled her eyes and said, "I'm trying to tip her."

He got all indignant and she split the tips about 70/30 in my favor.

Then, there was another customer, who gave me a $10 earlier on in the night and said, "just take care of me and my boys whenever we come up here." (And he was cute, so I was happy to do so.). There came a point in time where I was really busy, though, and he tried to wait for me but Dallas got to him first. After he paid for his drink, he went to my bucket to tip me.

I wasn't trying to hear Dallas's mouth, so before the customer put anything in my bucket, I told him, "you can tip him over there."

He shook his head and motioned to my bucket. He dropped about $3-$4 in there.

Being nice, I gave $1 to Dallas, who then said, "he dropped more than $1 in there."

"I told him to tip you, but he said he wanted to tip me."

Negro, I owe you NOTHING. I was being NICE giving you a dollar. It's the CUSTOMER'S choice if they tip, how much they tip, and who they tip. If a customer doesn't tip me I can get mad all I want to, but it remains THEIR money to do with what THEY want. Once that man dropped the money in MY bucket because that's where he WANTED to drop it, it became MY money to do with as I so choose. I OWE YOU NOTHING.

I saw him gettin mad over in his little corner throughout the whole night because customers kept tipping me for conversation/no real reason. Yeah, that's right. Be mad about it. He got petty and told our manager that I broke a glass (something that happens regularly behind the bar no matter who's back there) in retaliation. Whatever.

Is This Really A Matter of Dire Importance? Really?

Big Sis, my Sunday manager, can be really OD. Even when we have $1,300 in singles behind the bar with NO ONE in the club, she sends me or Dallas upstairs to get more. Tonight, at 9:30, after I was only able to reclaim $20 in singles, she even said, "if [the dancers] don't start turning 'em in, I'm gonna stop givin 'em out."

Lady! We are not about to run out of singles any time soon... chill.

After Dallas told her that I broke a glass (he went upstairs without my knowledge when she was on break, specifically to tell her this [breaking a glass usually doesn't require an announcement]; what a bitchassed move), without a preface she came up to me and asked me, "you went to bartending school, right?"

"Yes," I replied.

"So you know not to scoop out the ice with the glass, right? Use the scoop. Don't do that."

OMG! Everyone behind the bar does it at one point or another, especially when they're making two drinks at once, because we only have one ice scoop. There's plenty of shit I learned in bartending school that isn't applied at The Club, including some shit SHE does. She just likes to give people directions.

Oh! And there was a mixup with one of the dancers turning in her singles. She had $120 in total, but Dallas confused me as he handed it to me, such that I thought it was $140. When I let my manager know, she said, "you'd better go get that money."

The dancer was on stage! How the hell am I gonna go get money from her while she's dancing? Besides, it's not like I'm about to let her leave without paying it back. And in the time she told me to go get the money, I was supposed to be "ringing up" a fake drink a customer "bought" me worth $13.50. Trick! You just cost me $13.50 worth of tip money. I should've made $153.50 tonight instead of the $143 that I counted up.

Her complete and utter unchillness cost me actual money. BOO! A pox on your attitude, ma'am.

I'm Tempted, Really, But...

So, a regular customer who's been trying to get my number and take me out since I started working at The Club invited me down to Miami (all expenses paid) with him for the weekend. From his 2 phones to his fat stack of cash composed of old $20s and $50s from the '90s, he screamed "DEALER!" but he's sooooo cute. I was really kind-of tempted to be like "okay, when's our plane leave?" But... (1) I don't want to get caught in some drug scheme, and (2) I don't know him from Adam and sex is NOT a glimmer of a possibility. So yeah... no. But I was REALLY tempted. He's cuuuuute!

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me:

"I'm gonna call you Bohemian Mami."

LOL! I love it!

Oh I Think They LOVE Me

2009-04-11T01:00:00.000-07:00

I was just feelin' the love today; it made work enjoyable, even though I didn't really feel like going when it was time to leave my dorm at 7pm today. From my friends dropping by to see me to the men who asked to marry them to the woman who sold me some DELICIOUSLY scented perfume... I felt the love!

HU In the Building!

My girlie from my former dance team (I only say former because I definitely fell off; I'm trying to graduate and pay some bills, ya'll... my bad!) and her boyfriend came by to see me and chat for a little bit. I definitely appreciated it because I never have time to really go out anymore (Thursday nights and Saturday nights only... and I'm filling in for my manager next Saturday!), so whenever I see people, it's great!

Then, a little bit later, in a completely unexpected surprise, part of the crew I roll with came through. I saw them in line and ran down to them and almost jumped over the bar giving hugs. I love my friends. If I could hook them up with free drinks, I would. Unfortunately, I don't get an allowance.

Willlll Youuuu Marryyyy Meeeeee?

This fool asked me to marry him when I asked how I could help him. I laughed, took his drink order, fixed it and rang him up. As he was leaving, he said:

"I'll have the ring for you next time. Just let me know what you like."

I smiled and decided to play along. "Okay, well in that case: my ring size is 6, I'd like it VVS, it doesn't have to be too big or showy... I like them understated, and I like emerald-cut diamonds."

(I actually prefer them to be either round or marquis-cut.).

He winked and gave a nod. "Okay; next time."

...He better stop playin' around because the gold digger in me is getting her hopes up, thinking he might be serious. I aint tryna marry nobody, but I will take your ring and admire the way the light bounces off of it so nicely.

No, Not You.

I did not, however, appreciate this guy who kept coming back to the bar to talk to me, being real aggressive.

I've been taught to make eye contact when speaking with people, however, I've learned working at the bar that some people take eye contact and think it means "I'm studying you." No sir; I'm just waiting for you to tell me what you want to drink. I complained to my manager that he was getting on my nerves and she gave me some valuable advice.

"Girl, just tell him you're in an arranged marriage. Tell him your husband is in Zimbabwe. He'll leave you alone."

I Don't Like Living Under Your Spotlight

No matter what, I always seem to call attention to myself. When the boss man, HMIC, came in tonight, he signaled me over to him.

"You make a little bit of money on Sunday?"

I shrugged. "Li'l bit."

"I heard you made a good bit of money even though it wasn't nobody in here."

"Yeah," I nodded.

"How much you make?"

I tried to remember off the top of my head; I recalled it was something between $120 and $130, but I just said, "oh, I don't remember."

...I hate it when this happens. It's inevitable, though. I always perform better on the job than people expect/than my coworkers and I call attention to myself. Now they're going to be wonder how this new girl pulls in so many tips. Damn it.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

(Because it shocked me so much)

Both a customer and Silly Girl asked me for a glass of water around the same time. I had prepared one and turned my back to grab another glass for the second one when I heard Silly Girl screech, "heeey-uh! That's miiiine-uh!"

The customer withdrew his hand, "oh. My bad."

What? If I were a customer somewhere, I'd be damned if I let the person who's supposed to giving me great customer service YELL at me! And what kind of common/social sense is she missing? You don't yell at a customer over a glass of water! (1) They're a customer! (2) It's free! (3) Waiting for the 6 seconds it takes for the bartender to make another one is not going to kill you!

She really has ISSUES.

Darn These Moral Hang-Ups

2009-04-08T23:30:00.000-07:00

...because I'd be a perfect "Suga Baby." I could probably start a Rolodex (don't fake, ya'll know you remember those jonts) with all the cards I've gotten working behind the bar. I keep them, just incase I need marketing, accounting, theosophy (er?) or air force pilot services one day, but I really have no reason to call these men. It would be so easy though. Sugar Daddy pays my way through fashion school (or just my credit card bills), and I make him feel like Hugh Hefner. Even exchange; money for ego boost. However, I'm not that good of an actress... I can't act like I like someone; primarily because I think it's wrong, secondarily because I REALLY hate when people I don't like/am not comfortable with touch me. Like, my gut reaction is to throw a right hook-type uncomfortable. So yeah... I'll be paying my bills myself. Although it would be easy; I can't be a Sugar Baby (or a gold digger of any type, really).

A Mystery I'd Like to Solve

I'm still learning the different characters that frequent the strip club. As it's been open since 1979, there are a good number of people who have seen The Club through a lot. One woman that came in, looking like a prostitute (I mean her nipple was hanging out, for goodness sake!), said she was there to collect the rent money. I called the manager to handle it.

The manager pulled out a rent/receipt book, jotted down the transaction, and gave the 'ho lookin woman $700.

I was confused. I thought HMIC owned the building, not just the business. Why was this woman collecting "rent," especially in the amount of only $700? We're located in the 'hood, but it's a slowly gentrifying 'hood. I paid $700 a month as half of the rent for an apartment; $700 for a whole building?

I'd like to get to the bottom of this. I asked an innocent question about it today, but my manager kinda skipped over the answer. She just told me the woman's name, not whether or not HMIC actually owned the building or what the "rent" money was for. Mysteries, mysteries. Anyone have any thoughts?

Signs You're NOT A Functional Alcoholic

If you go to work and spend all you make on drinks for yourself, you're probably an alcoholic. If you are banished from your workplace for a week due to your drunken antics and inability to serve your customers, you're probably not a functional alcoholic. That's pretty much the only sign you need.

I was wondering what had happened to Model Type Chick. It was like she breezed in and breezed right back out, but it's just that (a) she doesn't work on any of my days now, and (2) she was suspended for drinking too much on the job. Everyone is allowed to drink as much as they want, as long as it doesn't interfere with their ability to do their job. The bartenders are strongly discouraged from drinking, though, because we're handling the cash register.

"I don't know if she can keep working here," my manager said, "she's got a drinking problem and she can't help it. Plus, she's WAY too turned on to women. She'll be up at the stage staring harder than the men do. Just mesmerized by the pussy. She's way too young to be that turnt out."

But I feel like my manager is one to talk, because...

Is There A Reason Why You Keep Touching Me?

As stated before, I have a serious problem with people breaking through my personal bubble and/or touching me when I don't want them to. 99% of the time, I don't want anyone touching me. As a result of this personality quirk, I'm really sensitive to touch. You can't tell me you didn't bump into me, because trust me, I've spent .5 seconds convincing myself that you're harmless and that I shouldn't go into fight-or-flight mode. My manager is always touching my back or my waist when she has to move around me, accidentally bumping into me with her (large) breasts, playing with my hair, telling me how flexible she is, or showing me (on my body) the muscles her workout targets. You be the judge.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

A couple comes in and they're being a little lovey-dovey; not sickeningly though. (He kissed her on the nose once and they were whispering with each other). As I take their drink orders and begin to fix them, I notice, using my PER-I-PHER-ALS (40-Year-Old Virgin... love it), the man keeps staring at me.

"Stop looking at her!" his girlfriend all but screeched.

...Trick, you're in a strip club. WTF?

Okay, So Sundays Might Not Be That Bad

2009-04-05T22:58:00.000-07:00

On the surface, tonight could've been a bad night. Only 4 or 5 (I really don't pay that much attention to the stage) girls were dancing tonight, and there wasn't a real crowd either. However, either people were feeling generous because it was Sunday or I'm getting pretty good at this wink-and-make-small-talk business, because I came away with $130. (Well, $110 after I gave Dallas his tip out, but still...). Holla! Oh! And my "game plan" is working. There have been, and will be no more, Dallas-makes-$35-while-I-make-$70-and-still-have-to-give-him-$20 nights. No more!

Aside: I keep expecting to have a totally boring day at work, but something random always manages to happen. I wonder when I'm just going to get used to the goings-on, when all of this stuff is going to become "normal." Hopefully I'll maintain some sense of perspective/reality and will still be able to comment on my life behind the bar as if it's crazy. Because, really, this stuff is NOT normal:

Who You Think You Lookin' At, 'Ho?

So... a pimp walked in with his lady tonight. Okay, I don't really know that he was a pimp, but he definitely had her on "Jump/How high?" status. And who knows, she might not have been a 'ho, but I mean, really... who randomly walks around on Sunday evening in 5" black and gold stilettos, a blue spandex minidress and a gold faux leather bomber jacket? Exactly. No one. No one but pro hoes and their imitators.

So anyway, I'm making him his drink and she goes to sit down, and as I'm pouring, she gets up to dance around a little bit. This other dude walks up behind her and starts spittin' game or something. She begins to flirt back. The pimp dude whips his head around towards her (I guess he had a 6th sense for telling when his womens are about to step out of line) and gives her a look. In the middle of smiling at the other dude, she tried to fake like she was trying to get pimp dude's attention and starts laughing (albeit a little nervously) and crooking her finger towards him playfully like, "c'mere!" Other dude wisely fades out.

I watched the whole exchange like, "damn... if you're gonna sell your body, the least you could do is own it."

The Boomerang Effect

If you're a good bartender, the customers will show their appreciation.

These two women ordered Blue Motorcycles (also known as AMFs [Adios Motherfucker], Blue Jonts, Blue Things, or Blue Motherfuckers), and either thought I was taking too long or that the prices were too high. Either way, they walked away without tipping me. (Every time you do that, best believe your bartender is probably calling you every derogatory name in the book... in their head, of course).

Not 30 seconds later did one of the women come back and throw $5-6 in my bucket.

"Thank you!" she exclaimed.

I smiled knowingly. "It's good, aint it?"

"Yes!!!"

Yep, I call it the boomerang effect. My drinks are so good they'll have you coming back to the bar for (a) more, or to (b) donate to my bank account.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After I explained to a customer that I could not slip more alcohol into his drink, regardless of the fact that he'd been, "messin' with [me] all night," because my manager was standing right beside me and I also had no less than four cameras trained on my every move:

"Yeah. I feel that. Don't fuck your job up for nobody."

That's right, man! Your extra tip in my bucket for hookin' you up under the table is worth absolutely NOTHING if I lose my job, which guarantees I make between $350 and $450 a week. Extra $4 vs. $350-450? Forgive me if it's not exactly a tough decision.

If I Ruled The World

2009-04-04T00:44:00.000-07:00

Okay, well, not necessarily the world. Just the bar.

I see so much that could be better, if only I ran things. The club where I work has so much potential to be even more of a gold mine than it is now. The bar could be turning over even more money, if only... (1) we took credit as well as cash. People tend not to realize how much they're spending when they're able to run up a tab. (2) We had an ATM. (3) The other bartenders worked at my pace. I'm not even trying to say that I'm the gold standard by which they should measure their speed, but really... I move twice as fast as they do and know more drinks as well. If they worked at my speed, the line could move faster and we could make more money. When you're able to manage the pace of the line you have more time to smile, chat people up and charm them into dropping some dollar signs on you.

It's really frustrating for me to be working at a nonstop pace and having my coworkers moving as though they haven't a care in the world. Um... do you see the line of 15 people in front of you? Oh, you do? Then why aren't you acting like it?! Why are you engaged in a conversation with each other, or worse, on your Blackberry? Make some damn drinks!

More Silliness from Silly Girl

I don't know why she thinks we all care about her life. And you know, maybe I would be more sympathetic to her plight (she dropped her phone, which she uses while taking extra long breaks in the bathroom to talk to her boyfriend) if she weren't so annoying. I wish she would get the memo we all keep trying to give her: (1) do NOT yell your orders at the bartender, (2) do NOT interrupt anyone else's order, (3) do NOT yell and whine at the same time, (4) do not ask to go home for some stupid reason or another, and (5) stop being so... STUPID.

She asked me for 3 shots of Jose Cuervo, but we were out, so I said, "I can't. We're out of Cuervo."

This silly girl goes, "why-eee?"

I gave a patient smile. "Because we don't have any more."

Tips for Interacting with Your Bartender

Apparently some people don't know how to act when they go out to the bar, so I'm going to give a few pointers:

If you see that I'm handling another order (or 2 or 3), don't start getting visibly, dramatically, irritated. It only makes we want to prolong the time it takes me to get to you because I'm dreading the experience. Or I want to wait for someone else to handle your order. When you're working at as fast a pace as you can humanly manage, it's super annoying for someone to be up in your face huffing and puffing because they don't have a Corona in their hand when they want it.
Do not wave money in front of my face. I AM NOT ONE OF PAVLOV'S DOGS. I HAVE NOT BEEN CONDITIONED TO RESPOND TO THE SIGHT OF WAVING MONEY WITH IMMEDIATELY DOING YOUR BIDDING. Do not put money in my hand when I'm not talking to/looking at you. YOU ARE CONFUSING ME AND THAT'S ONLY GOING TO MAKE ME ANGRY. Do not put money on the bar without telling me what it's there for. YOU ARE CONFUSING ME AND THAT'S ONLY GOING TO MAKE ME ANGRY.
If you don't know what you want, it's okay to ask, "do you have a special drink you make?" or "I want something sweet/sour/strong." However, saying, "make me something nice," is just going to get you a Long Island, so you'd better be happy with that, because I don't know what the hell "something nice," is supposed to be.

News Alert: Li'l Bit's New Bits

Li'l Bit came in after close to show off her new breast implants (she proudly pulled her shirt up, just beaming like she'd won the lottery). The surgeon did a good job. I was kind-of disappointed though. Plastic surgery just makes me sad. *Shrug*

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

"Are you gonna buy me a drink?" I asked one of my customers coyly.

"I don't see why not. I mean, I'm already throwin' like fifty ones at these stripper bitches and half of 'em are lesbians and the other half are bi-curious. I've bought myself 2 beers and I plan on gettin' DRUNK tonight. Why can't I show you some love too? You're the one hookin' me up."

Thank you! You get it, sir! You get it!

Completely Inappropriate

2009-04-01T23:33:00.000-07:00

Tonight was just the night for inappropriate behavior, apparently.

If You Like Her, You Should TIP (Not Touch) Her

So, one of the dancers tonight had a problem with a customer who kept trying to touch her inappropriately while tipping her (you're not allowed to touch at all in DC strip clubs. No touching, no lapdances). Instead of getting off of the stage or actually saying something to the DJ/security, she just gave them looks and expected that they would do something/say something to the man.

It's been my experience that subtlety just doesn't work with most (read: all) men. If you want a man to do something, you can't drop hints... you have to say, "I want you to get this drunk fool who keeps cursing at me and trying to touch me away from me!" So after the DJ finally noticed that she might've been in distress (the 3rd time ol' dude came by her stage acting belligerent), she jumped off stage in a huff, yelling about how she was disrespected and the DJ/security wasn't worth the money they were paid.

Then, later, the same dancer had another instance where a different customer tried to tip her by placing a dollar bill on top of her "sorta like another way to call a cat a kitten" (OPP - Naughty By Nature) and pressing down on a very sensitive spot. Instead of getting huffy and indignant, she turned around and gave a coy smile, wagging her finger, all "ah-ah-ah!" like. Hmm. =/

Look Around. Where Are You? A Strip Club... So Be Prepared to Spend Money.

I understand that our liquor prices are ridiculous, but I mean, really. If you come in here asking for $40 in ones, clearly you're prepared to drop forty singles on a naked woman that's not going home with you. Why are you about to be a cheapskate when it comes to buying liquor?

This man asked me the prices for every damn thing behind the bar.

"How much is plain gin?"

"How much is Tanqueray?"

"Bacardi?"

"How much is a shot?"

"How much is Grand Marnier?"

"Henny?"

"Beer?"

"A drink?"

I don't think people realize how bloody annoying they are when they do that. Just GET WHAT YOU WANT and stop being such a MISER in the CLUB. I don't know, maybe it's a personal thing, but I get REALLY annoyed at people who are extra concerned over price when they go out. Like... you went out to enjoy yourself, so do what you want! Being hung up over dollar signs is pretty much the most annoying thing you can do when/if you go out with me. Tell me... what sense does it make when:

-You really want Bacardi and Coke ($8.25), but you decide it's too expensive, so you ask what the cheaper rum is...

-The cheaper rum is Ronrigo Rum (who the hell is Ronrigo?) and it costs $7... you HATE the taste of Ronrigo, so....

-You settle for a Heineken (also $7), but one beer doesn't give you the same buzz as one shot, so you...

-COME BACK, for another beer (also $7)

Well damn, if you cared about price THAT much, for 2 beers and tipping me twice ($18) you could've had 2 Bacardi and Cokes, 2 whiskey sours, a rocks drink or a tall mixed drink (and doubled your buzz). Nonsensical.

We Are Not Friends.

If I had to name a waitress that's my least favorite to work with, it would hands-down be Silly Girl. She's just so... silly.

Even though I'm both new and younger than her in age, I had to snap, "WAIT!" at her as I was taking an order from another waitress. She likes to interrupt you as you're taking orders for people in front of her, or shout, "and I need 2 Miller Lites and a margarita for me!" at you while your back is turned, making a Long Island Iced Tea. But if you're handling 2 waitresses at the same time and take money from, or finish an order for, another waitress before you get to her, she'll cry out, "heeeey-uh! I was fiiiiirst-uh!" She also spends ample time talking to her boyfriend on her cellphone in the bathroom.

Today, after Silly Girl related her latest drama to HWIC, HWIC turned to Li'l Mama and said, "she must think I'm her friend."

Fried.

QUOTES OF THE NIGHT (Yeah, I have two):

1. After surveying the scant scenery inside the club (there were only 5 girls on set; 3 in one set and 2 in another), a customer appealed to me:

"We need you up there."

That's some real Uncle Sam "I want YOU!" shit right there. Be all you can be! Take off your clothes!

2. After telling me it was her birthday and asking me to hook her up with some real strong Zombies, a customer told me she would hook up my tip jar in return. (Side note: bartenders DO NOT hook you up by putting extra alcohol in your drink. We can get fired for that. We just fiddle with the ratio of mixer-to-liquor and fill it up with more ice.)

"Ay!" she called out to me, making sure I saw her drop the money in my bucket. "I'm hookin you up."

$2 fell into my bucket.

Two dollars? Who the HELL do you think you're hookin up with that?

Why Women Dance (And Other Fables)

2009-03-30T11:01:00.000-07:00

It's been a long week and Friday and Sunday weren't really that interesting, so I'm combining it all. On the up side, Friday we only had to split our tips 3 ways, and Sunday Dallas didn't get to interfere with my tips that much at all. I also found out that he's only 39... he looks like he's 60 and sounds like he's 80. If that's not enough of a reason right there, then I don't know what else to tell you... DON'T DO DRUGS and DON'T DRINK TO EXCESS.

Alright, so now that I've got my public service announcement out of the way... on to the fables.

Why Women Dance

Okay, so everyone has their own personal reason for getting up on that stage and strutting around without their clothes on and taking money for it. But two of the most common are:

"I like the finer things." - Li'l Bit

and:

"I get high off the attention." - Twinkle

If I were to get up on someone's pole/stage (and I will not no matter how many of my customers try to persuade me into it), my reason would be a mix of the two. I do, indeed, like the finer things. And considering that the dancers where I work make between $500 - $1,000 a night (depending on the day of the week and how much effort they actually put into dancing), I could afford a lot of very fine things, indeed (including this pair of Prada stilettos that I want SO very much. Sigh. Reminder to self: you are supposed to be saving your money). In addition, I really do thrive off of attention. I love being center stage with the spotlight on me. I enjoy putting on a show. So yes, if I decided to strip, my reason would be a mix of the two. But you also have to have some other career lined up... you can't sell your body forever: eventually not enough people are going to want it. Everything has a shelf life.

So... That's What You're Saving For?

Li'l Bit, the one who said she strips because she likes the finer things, was late to work on Wednesday. When dancers are late, there's a $50 fee; when they don't come in without finding a replacement, there's an $80 absence fee. Now, Li'l Bit was 8 minutes late, but late is late and time is money. When she was called on her lateness by Li'l Mama and HWIC she first, threw a tantrum, but then when she saw that wasn't working, she began crying.

"You don't understand," she mourned tearfully, "I'm saving up to get my breast implants and I need all the money I can get!"

HWIC looked at her blankly for about a second. "I really don't need to hear about your breast implants. I really don't."

And really, how are you gonna cry and expect people to feel sympathy because you're saving for breast implants, of all things? Not college tuition. Not helping your family. Not even paying back an insane amount of debt. BREAST IMPLANTS. No one gives a damn about your personal "improvements" to your body. No one.

And for that matter, she doesn't even need breast implants! I can see getting them as an "investment" when your body is you business, and yeah, she's an A-cup, but she makes her money regardless. I really don't think the customers really care about breast size as long as you've got them. And judging by the number of customers that come by the bar and ask "is Li'l Bit workin' tonight?" she's one of the highest tipped dancers in the place. She's cute, and that works for her, so she needs to learn to work with what she's got and not try to be something else. Personally, I think implants would look rather ridiculous on her. Oh well.

More Tales From (Read: "Only Heard In") the 'Hood

So, there's a guy that comes and gets the dancers' food orders and brings them food from Olive Garden, Ruby Tuesday's, etc. He just got back from jail. So, he leaves with their orders and not 2 minutes later does Initial, one of the doormen, come by the bar like, "yo, I think Delivery Man just got locked up."

"What?" Li'l Mama asked. "Didn't he just get home?"

"I'on know," Initial shook his head, "but I think the cops just stopped him on the corner for sellin drugs."

"Call Mumbles and see if it's true. Damn. That's Elle's boyfriend."

In a few short minutes, the news that Delivery Man had possibly just gotten locked up again had spread up to the dressing room. You Can't Handle It came downstairs indignantly, "uh-uh! I know he better give me my $20 back before he goes to jail!"

But it turned out that Delivery Man hadn't actually gotten arrested. He returned with the food. And I was glad. I hadn't ordered anything, but it's a damn shame to just get home from jail and be locked up again for selling drugs on the corner where I work. Mainly because the corner where I work is crawling with cops. There are literally at least 10 squad cars and 3 vans within a 2 block radius at all times. It would be really effing dumb to sell drugs out in the open like that in that type of environment (unless of course, the cops are crooked/don't care... but then you never know what kind of a mood they'll be in).

(Allow me to make clear: I do not advocate the sale or use of drugs. I've seen the havoc the drug trade wreaks on individuals, families and communities. I'm just saying... if you're going to sell your soul and sell drugs to kids, etc. ...the least you could do is not be an idiot on top of that.)

Other Side Notes

So, some guy finally got the message about the tipping scale. He was just talking to me, asking me if I could write down the address of The Club so he could put it in his GPS (I HATE GPS systems. I think they're possibly the most crippling device, ever.) and he suddenly told me, "you look good," and put some money in my jar. Thank you! You get it!

I work at a strip club... what kind of a girl do you think I am? Clearly I'm quite comfortable with sex, fake sex and money. And if I don't want to have sex with you (which, I can guarantee you, is the case 100% of the time), then CLEARLY all I want from you is money. Duh.

QUOTE OF THE WEEK:

(The strip club has aided my comfortable descent into raunch.)

"Do your braces get in the way of your relationship?" a customer asked me.

I was a bit shocked at how forthright he was, but I recovered quickly. "Nah," I said, with a wink, "I got skills."

Eep!! I can't believe I said that to a total stranger! But then he laughed and tipped me, so I felt better about my dirty mouth. Blame the club!

How Did YOU Get HERE? and Random Words of Wisdom

2009-03-24T20:50:00.000-07:00

Okay, so again, let me reiterate: I am not 'hood-born. Although I have not been sheltered, I'm suburban, upper middle-class bred. I'm not naive and I'm not ignorant of the harsh realities of life, however, there's something about me that just screams:

"Aw man, she looks like she was raised by the Huxtables!" (As stated by one of my customers).

I can't get rid of that and I don't want to; it's something that makes me... me. That always-smiling, positive, shiny-eyed bubbliness is too much a part of me to be stripped away by working behind the bar in a "den of iniquity." Consequently, I get that, "damn, what's a girl like you doing here?" look/question a lot. Some people are going to think I'm playing at slummin' it; and some people tend to treat me like an exotic luxury from a land far, far away.

This past Sunday, this "who are you and what are you doing in here?" (like there's a type of female one would expect to find in a strip club versus the kind that's too good for such a place) sentiment came at me a couple of times.

Smiling and looking at me a bit doubtfully a customer asked me, "are you HMIC's daughter?"

"Nope," I replied, shaking my head.

"How'd you get in here? Whose daughter are you?" he was convinced that I had to have gotten the gig some kind of family-connection kind of way.

I shrugged. "I'm just some girl from Bowie."

He laughed heartily, "Just some girl from Bowie, huh? I can dig that." He threw a few dollars in my bucket and walked away still chortling.

Some Random Words of Wisdom

Then, this woman, one who refers to me as "CG" (for College Girl), told me that I hadn't smiled at all the whole night (um, smiling is my M.O., lady!) and said that it was people like me that made people not want to come to the club anymore (really? I think I've been a boost to business, judging by the number of customers that said they'd rather sit and look at/talk to me with all of my clothes on than spend their money on the strippers), and that I needed to be more smiley and flirty.

But then, she also gave me some great advice, which I'll take with me. I always listen when someone drops wisdom by age and/or experience on me. It may make sense to me, it may apply to my life; it may not, regardless, they're free words, given earnestly... so I listen. When someone speaks their truth... you respect it and you listen.

She told me:

1. If you aint gettin your money, you deserve to be broke. (This goes along with my own personal belief: if you don't have a hustle, you better get one.)

2. Keep smiling-- no matter what.

And also told me about the founder of the club who had been a prostitute, but saved up to buy the building and start the club. When she got sick, she trusted the business over to her best friend and manager-- not her husband. "Never let a man own your shit," she said.

Sunday must have been the night for words of inspiration/life advice because yet another customer told me:

"My English isn't good, but I'm a very educated man. Get as much education as you can." (He spoke French).

"I will," I nodded.

He shook his head. "You don't have to say it; just do."

Who Ya Gonna Call? Um... THE EXTERMINATOR, PLEASE!!!

Okay, so we're located in a relatively dense city. This means there are rats. Rats sometimes come inside the club. I have not seen one yet, thank goodness, but I have seen other people's reactions to them. It's only a matter of time. *Shudder* I don't do roaches or rodents. I don't do anything that crawls/flies and carries disease, actually.

So when I saw Dallas jump back, exclaiming, "aw shit!"; Mumbles, one of the clean up men, come around the corner with a bottle of bleach and a flashlight; and Big Sis run all the way to the storage end of the bar saying, "you can make as much money as you want!" I had to seriously resist the urge to jump over the bar and run out with my tip jar and never come back.

I Don't Speak, I Make Death Threats

For some reason, real street-hardened people can't seem to turn it off, even when making small talk. Everything this man said to me sounded savage; he spoke in a staccato, yet nearly guttural, voice, punctuating his sentences with a viper-like strike of his head.

When he asked, "how much is a drink?" I was almost to afraid to answer.

"Let me get a Coke!" he said, and I made sure to fill it all the way up, hoping he wouldn't complain.

To this date, this has been the only time: "You real cute! What's your number!" has sounded more like a death threat. *Shiver*. I'm sure he was actually a charming man though, a real upstanding member of his community. I was just a little off-put by the unbridled overflow of aggression.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

I was being really smiley and friendly with one of my customers and then shared the same smile and good humor with one of the dancers who came up to the bar to turn in her $1s and commented on my new haircut.

"That's what's up," my customer said. "I like you. You show the same love to everybody."

He promptly threw more money in my tip bucket. "You're cool, man."

I love it when people appreciate me.

A Bit of Strip Club Etiquette

2009-03-21T03:44:00.000-07:00

What NOT to Wear

There is no dress code at the club, HOWEVER, this does not mean people won't laugh at you if you come in looking crazy. If there's ever a question about what you should and should not wear to the club (hell, out of your house for that matter), just remember:

MEN: It's not okay to wear an entire plaid outfit, and it's DEFINITELY not okay for the top half to be orange and the bottom half to be blue. And on top of it all, it's beyond foolish to pair your mismatched lumberjack-clown-in-pajamas outfit with brown church shoes. NOT OKAY, SIR, NOT OKAY!!

WOMEN: It's not okay to mix more than one bad trend at a time. There is absolutely no reason why you should go out looking like a ranch fabulous cowgirl. Cowgirl hat + gold leather (or "leather") jacket + deconstructed jeans + bejeweled cowboy boots? NOT OKAY, MADAM, NOT OKAY!!

The Tipping Scale

Working at the club has definitely desensitized me to getting compliments on my looks. I mean, honestly, honestly: even though I know I'm attractive, and you'll never catch me suffering from low self-esteem based on how I feel about how I look, I still don't see myself as being pretty. Other people seem to, however, so that works.

Don't get me wrong, I still appreciate genuine compliments and sometimes I'm still surprised when someone says, "wow, you're really pretty." On the other hand, I've heard it so much that it's just like "okay, and?" I got so cynical about it today that I thought to myself: man, we're in a strip club, you aint about to sit here and stare and smile at me for free. Every time you pay me a compliment, you better PAY me. Gimme the dollas!

Consequently, I've come up with a scale for what these compliments/"compliments" (all of which I've actually heard) should be accompanied by in tip money:

"You real cute/pretty." - $2 (I've heard it so much that it means next to nothing.)

"You're beautiful." - $4 (Okay, you got a little more emphatic.)

"You's a bad mothafucka!" - $6 (Aight, I feel some emotion coming from you and you've started looking a little intense. That makes me a little wary, so I'm going to need a little more of a tip to ease my nerves.)

"Ay. Where's your boyfriend/husband at?/Let me take you out." - $10 (You really think I'm going to THINK about hooking up with you? I need some extra money to play into your delusions for a minute before I shatter them.)

"Does your boyfriend need a new car?" - $12 (Are you serious? You've got to pay me to keep my laughter to myself.)

"I got my own place/Mnph. Mnph. Mnph./*Staring at me and licking your lips.*/I'll fuck your brains out." - $20 - $50 (It's a sliding scale depending upon (1) how attractive the person is, (1A) how many teeth they have, (2) how creepy the statement is, (2A) how creepy the delivery is, and (3) how long they actually try to talk me into fulfilling their nasty fantasies.

I think my scale is fair.

Aint No Recession Over Here

The upside to working in the nighttime entertainment business is that no matter what the economy is doing, people will be there. When times are good, they're celebrating; when times are bad, they're trying to escape from reality and drown their sorrows away. And, because I work at a strip club in THE TRAP (aka... where drug money is made), I'd say about 50-75% of my customers are drug dealers.

How do I know this? Well, you just watch for the signs: Flashily dressed? Huge bankroll? Despite this do they have the most HORRIBLE looking teeth ever? Do they have damn near black fingertips? Do they, in general, look like that much cash does not belong on their person? Were the $100s and $50s minted in 1994 (indicating a lack of a bank account)? Not-quite-concealed plastic baggies falling out of the pocket? Does his nickname include the word "cocaine"?

The majority of my customers don't operate in the legal economy, so they're pretty much not affected by the recession. In fact, they might even make more money in the bad times.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Drunken customer, leaving the club at the end of the night to one of the dancers:

"Pretty lady! Hey, pretty lady? You got milk! Yummm yummm!"

...WTF?

Men, Money and Madness.

2009-03-18T23:31:00.000-07:00

On Men

So, Li'l Mama and I frequently discuss her relationship with her boyfriend who has commitment issues and won't call her his girlfriend to other women, even though they've been involved for over 2 years. And through these discussions, I've really come to realize (1) how alike women are in terms of how we deal with men, and (2) how lucky I was that I learned a lot of these lessons early on.

Women tend to give too much of ourselves without realizing it. We don't register the steadily-worsening everyday tiredness that won't go away as emotional fatigue until it gets to the point where we feel hollow inside. Used. And as we're giving and giving (usually without complaint, because we're happy to give... just gotta get something [and material things do NOT cut it] in return), we'll never give a CLUE as to how much it costs us to give. I've lived it. I've seen it, way too many times. We won't speak up about how we feel; maybe you're afraid of confrontation, maybe you're afraid he won't accept your feelings, maybe you're afraid of upsetting him such that he leaves and all that giving will have been for nothing. Nothing; not because you gave of yourself, you gave your heart, and he didn't give you anything back, but because he didn't want it. You don't want to feel easy-come-easy-go after you put yourself through it. Girl... you betta don't!

I've learned:

Just because he wants to love you doesn't mean he can. Just because he's crying doesn't mean he deserves sympathy.
Communication is THE key to a healthy relationship.
As a woman, always, always DECIDE your place. If you're comfortable being the "Main Chick" and letting him have his little flings, that's fine... but DECIDE that. Don't let him put a label on you that you didn't choose for yourself.
Love shouldn't hurt and love should be free. The minute it starts costing you to give, the minute it pains you to love... you need to reevaluate your situation.
Never, never, never, never, never, N-E-V-E-R! accept less that what you know you're worth. Because once you do, he's got no reason to treat you any better than what you accept.
If a man wants to be a part of your life, he will find a way to put himself there. If he hasn't found himself yet, you damn sure aint gonna do yourself any favors calling yourself, "helping him." If he wants to be lost, let him wander. Don't play hide and seek with that fool!

And I'm not saying any of this to say that men are born users, that they don't have feelings too, or that there aint a man out there that can do right by a woman... I'm saying this to say... women have been conditioned to do for others, but until you can do right by yourself, you're just going to be emotionally drained. So love yourself, do right by yourself; all else is secondary. Oh! And relationships aren't games to be played, there aren't any real rules, but... above all: always, always do what's best for you and your sanity + emotional well-being.

On Money

Tonight was shaping up to be a slow night. Oh, there were people in the club, they just weren't tipping. But then...

One guy tipped me $17.25 off of an $8.75 order. I have no idea why, seeing as the only conversation we had was "what can I get for you?"/"Malibu and pineapple," but I wasn't going to question it.

Then, there was this other guy who didn't believe me when I said pretty much all I drink when I go out is straight whiskey. He bought me a shot of whiskey (a real one, since the club was close to closing), and after I downed it (to his great surprise), he tipped me $50 (plus the $4 he tipped me before).

$71.25... that's almost a whole night's tips off of 2 people! I need more customers like them. ...Except it kinda makes me nervous to be tipped $50 and given a business card (he's president of an area marketing research firm) when I don't intend to have anything other that the normal customer/bartender relationship with this man. Tipping so hugely is like playing Roulette with your money; you might score, but chances are... you just donated to someone's college fund.

On Madness

I also have the type of customers I hate. I almost went full-on DC Girl on this man because he was being ridiculous.

So, he comes up to the bar and asks for a drink. It sounded like he said "zombie," so I started making him one. As I prepared to pour, he cried out:

"Hol' hol' whatchu makin?"

I turned around, "A Zombie."

He shook his head, "Nah. I said: where's Grandame?"

"Oh. She's not working tonight," I answered, although I could've sworn his sentence had begun with, "let me get a..."

"Oh aight. Well, let me get what you was makin then."

"A Zombie."

"Yeah, that."

He proceeds to let me make the damn drink as he turns around to his friend. I swear I overhear him saying, "I aint payin for that shit." And then after holding his finger up at me, telling me to hang on a second, because, "I'm lookin' for someone," he walks out of the club.

Now, I can always resell the drink I've made (you just strain the ice out and put a napkin over the glass so it stays fresh), but I was just mad he let me make it, knowing he wasn't about to pay for it. But then it got even worse...

About 20 minutes later, he comes back into the club. Maybe he isn't an asshole after all, I thought to myself.

"I thought you left me," I pouted, turning the cute, flirty bartender charm on.

He was brusque, "Where's my drink at?"

Charm wasted.

"Right here. I put a napkin over it and drained the ice." I showed him.

"I want a fresh one."

I held in a sigh. "We're out of Triple Sec. I can't make another one."

"It's watered down. I don't want that shit," he shook his head.

"No it isn't, I drained the ice."

He was adamant, "It's watered down."

"Here, do you want to taste it first?" I asked.

"I ain't payin' for that!"

"I said: do you want to taste it first?" I repeated, grabbing a shot glass and pouring a little of the drink into it for him.

He took the shot and downed it. "It's weak and it's watered down," he declared. (Now, I know this was a lie because I'd let it sit, so all the higher proof alcohol was at the top). "Give it to me for $7."

"All mixed drinks are $11.50."

"Make me a drink for $7."

By this point I was starting to get more than a little ticked off. Most people don't come to the bar to start haggling with the bartender. You do not negotiate prices at a strip club, dipshit.

Resisting the urge to roll my eyes, I silently started filling up a chaser glass with cranberry juice. Whatever it takes to just get him AWAY. FROM. ME.

"What's that?" he asked as I was pouring.

"Cranberry juice."

"I want a drink."

"I'm making you a vodka cranberry." (I got too lazy to say cranberry and vodka)

He nodded. Then I went to pour the vodka. Being careful to keep them together (we serve our chasers and shots separately), lest he think I'd already poured the vodka in the cranberry juice, take a sip, and complain that it was watered down again, I announced, "that's $7."

"What's this?" he asked again.

Is this fool effin' stupid? "Your drink. A cranberry and vodka. $7."

His friend piped up, "can we get two Heinekens with that?"

"$21," I said shortly, all customer-friendly dulcet tones gone from my voice.

I rang them up. "Oh, and can I get ten $1s?" his friend asked, handing me a $1 bill.

My face must've gone through 5 different expressions of outrage in the space of 3 seconds, because moments later he smiled sheepishly and stuck it back in his pocket and handed me a $10. "Oops. My bad."

I stared at him. "Yeah."

I've never been happier to see anyone's backside than I was when they finally turned around and seated themselves. Ugh!

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

"Bushmills? I'll believe that when I see it!"

(Customer to me BEFORE tipping me $50 after I downed a shot of whiskey, straight. No chaser.)

Why Sundays Are NOT What's Poppin. At ALL.

2009-03-15T23:29:00.000-07:00

So, Sundays, I work with Big Sis as a manager and Dallas as the barback. Initially, I liked Sundays because Big Sis lets me work the bar by myself, so I get more tips. She also lets me come dressed in whatever I want (as long as it's dark) instead of a red top and a black bottom, which lets me stretch out the few red tops I own. (I happen to think I look horrid in red, thus, I own very little of it). ... But now I HATE Sundays. HATE them!!

Why do I hate Sundays?

I hate Sundays because Dallas, the BARBACK, (Read your job description, homie: wipe down the liquor shelves. Restock the alcohol. Wash the glasses.) keeps doing MY JOB when I DON'T need him to. Yes, it's appreciated when he steps in to help when the bar is actually busy, but when it's not busy, it's akin to ROBBERY. This man stood in front of me, so the customers saw him first, and ended up making $35. Plus I still had to tip him out $20. Tonight was so damn SLOW I walked away with $70. ...ROBBERY.

AND! What makes it worse is that he isn't allowed to touch the register, so I have to take the money from him and count the change, which ends up slowing down the whole process because in the time that I'm counting the money from/to "his" customers, serving mine and the waitresses, I COULD be moving the line along. And then once I'm done handling the money for "his" customers, he's still standing there at the first bar station, waiting to take the next customer before I can even make eye contact. And THEN, sometimes, even after I make eye contact and greet a customer, he'll butt in loudly with, "Whatcha havin?"

This fool is doing it on PURPOSE.

Get back there and wash some effing glasses!

Plus, he always finds some excuse to touch me. He gave me a hug and a peck on the neck as a greeting once. Um. Gross? I don't like being touched in the first place, but definitely not by old, annoying, thieving barbacks like HIM!

OH! And, he doesn't even know how to make some of the drinks. He told some customer that we didn't have the ingredients to make a Sex on the Beach when we definitely do. I had to make it and HE still got the tip. I understand everyone needs a little extra somethin-somethin, but $35 extra that should have been mine? No, sir, you may NOT have that.

I've come up with a game plan though:

1. When I see a crowd of people at the door, send him upstairs with $200 - $300 to get $1s from the dancers. That should keep him occupied for 5-10 minutes.

2. Stand at the first bar station, so even if he does butt in, he's mostly helping the waitresses and not taking tips.

3. Collect dirty glasses under the bar and then move them up to the "dirty glasses" station in groups to keep him periodically occupied at strategic points throughout the night. This should keep him occupied for 20-30 minutes.

It would be nice if I could tell my manager that he's being an annoying pain in the ass, but I can't because (1) I'm the New Girl, and (2) I can tell she doesn't like me because it's clear that I'm not hangin around that place for long and I'm going places in my life. I LOVE my other manager, Li'l Mama, but Big Sis definitely lets her attitude towards me and my whole College Girl aura come through in a major way. Even though she's a manager and it's clearly in her job title to manage me, she takes every little opportunity to assert her authority and "final say." (Okay, I get it... I might be in college, but I'm not Ms. Big Shot here. Got it.) Ugh. I HATE Sundays.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT

Customer to me: "What's a nice, pretty girl like you doing in a place like this?"

Me: "Makin money."

Yup.

Midterms = Delayed Posts. Sorry.

2009-03-13T13:03:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it's midterm season over here and I've been bogged down with crap to do. On top of that, it's prom season, so I've been illustrating dresses for the shop nonstop as well. And I do have a social life, so this is the first I've been able to eek out some time to give a little update on the happenings in my double life.

Alcohol-Infused Weekend

Thursday: I kind-of, sort-of run an underground bar. I won't tell you where. All I will say about it is: 1900. People sit down, drink my drinks, stand up and never make it home again. *Cue evil laughter* Kidding. We have a good time, though. This past 1900 session saw the addition of 5 newcomers. Thanks for coming out, ya'll!

Friday: Happy Hour at this trendy Mexican restaurant and the SPOT for college students at my university. One frozen Matrimonial Margarita and one Tequila Sunrise later, I went to work where I dressed exceptionally scandalously because it was Friday and the more over-the-top you are when it's crowded, the more tips you get. As I prepared a drink behind the bar, the DJ, Awww Yeah, almost choked on his surprise, "oh no! You've been turned!"

I laughed in response, "nah. This is how I am on the regular."

"Oh, so you just got comfortable now."

"Yep," I smiled.

I was not, however, comfortable with HMIC saying that he'd like to be invited the next time I had a 1900 session. (I'm pretty sure he was kidding though; he's a huge jokester.)

Saturday: Do not-- I repeat-- DO NOT go to your place of work while intoxicated. Unless, of course, you work at a strip club. Then, it's okay and you'll have lots of fun! My drink list for the night: 2 Nymphos, 2 straight shots of Jacky D., 1 Pina Colada, 1 Cape Codder, and Jungle Juice... before we went to The Club. (We ended up going because the party we went to was wiggity wiggity wiggity WACK!) 1 1/2 Patron Margaritas (my boss gave them to me for free) and 1/2 Jose Cuervo Margarita (one of my customers bought it for me for a kiss on the cheek) at the club.

How do you spell done? N-I-K-K-I. Highlights of the night: dancing on top of my friend's car and following two of my guys back to their room with a plate of food, cursing at them, demanding a fork.

Sunday: I woke up still feeling the alcohol in my system so work was not an enjoyable experience. And I had to work with Dallas, whom I do not like, at all. I do not like people touching me. I wish he would get that memo.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Me: "What can I get for you?"

Customer: "Squawk!"

No lie. Something was wrong with this man's vocal cords. I'm proud of myself for being mature and keeping a straight face because I was really caught off guard.

**BONUS** QUOTE OF THE WEEKEND:

"No. You gon' give me a mothafuckin' FORK!" - Me, while intoxicated.

This Is Birthday Money!

2009-03-07T01:14:00.000-08:00

I was highly disappointed when I looked at the clock at about 10:30/11, looked around The Club and noticed that there was NO ONE friggin' there. I mean, people were there, but this wasn't a normal Friday. Usually, Fridays POP HARD starting at like 9:30; this Friday didn't start jumpin until about 12/12:30. It was like bartending in the Twilight Zone. At a certain point, I got worried that the most remarkable thing I would have to write about would be that absolutely nothing remarkable happened.

But then...

Someone started feeling that LIQUid Courage kick in. (Ya'll know what I'm talkin about). You know, when that liquor hits your system and you start feeling invincible, unconquerable; unstoppable? You start feeling like doing something crazy, something you've always wanted to do, but never quite had the guts for. ...You start feeling like getting up on stage at the strip club and taking your clothes off!

...Yeah.

This chick was out celebrating her birthday with her friends and after drinking Patron Margaritas and Blue Motorcycles (also known as Blue Motherfuckers, Blue Things, or "That Blue Jo'nt"), two of them got a li'l bold. They decided that they no longer wanted to tip the strippers; they wanted to be the strippers. So they hopped their happy selves on stage and, well, amateur night came a second time this week. (But as happy as they were to jump on stage, when it came to actually getting naked, they needed a little coaxing from the owner, who took over as DJ for a while).

I turned to Li'l Mama, shaking my head and laughing, "everybody's trying to be a stripper." And it's true. From the stripper workout classes targeted at soccer moms bored with their lives to Beyonce's choreography in her videos, the stripper has become a symbol for the woman who is completely free with, and revels in, the power of her sexuality. She's carefree, confident, sassy-yet-laid back. The stripper is not a woman to be scorned and looked down upon for "disrespecting/cheapening" herself, she's a woman to be admired for her cool confidence. Somewhere, deep down (maybe not even that deep), every woman wants to take the stage (literally or not) and command the attention of the entire room with pure, raw sexual power. Her power. It's intoxicating.

One of the dancers (one of the ones who works at The Club officially) actually admitted, "yeah, I dance because I get off on all the attention. I love it. It's getting kind of boring, but I do it for the kicks."

And actually, yeah, I have thought about getting on stage a couple of times (not seriously, although the prospect of making $1,000 a night is tempting), and actually, yeah, if I did... I'd have to say the reason would be, "I love attention." I'll be the first person to call myself on it: Nikki, you are an attention whore. And you know what? I don't see anything wrong with it. If you're can do something, do it: if you can put on show, baby, put it on! (Er, take it off?)

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

The owner of The Club, in DJ mode told one of the Birthday Strippers that he would tip her $100 for her birthday if she got completely naked. The alcohol took a while to get her inhibitions low enough for it, but eventually she did. True to his word, he told her:

"Come on up here and get your prize for that birthday pussy!"

Nighttime Nikki Playlist

2009-03-05T01:05:00.000-08:00

Notable Events from Tonight: Nothing. ...Well, there was the random white guy who loudly, drunkenly complained that the jukebox, "aint playin' my Bone Thugs-n-Harmony. I put my $5 in there! Where's my Bone Thugs-n-Harmony!?" But then began happily rapping along to some Mike Jones lyrics, "it's that 6-6 slim long dick nigga stickin' yo' chick."

...And then there was the discussion Li'l Mama, a couple of the dancers, and I had about domestic violence, Rihanna and Chris Brown, and herpes. (Yeah, random). Let me just say that I cannot stress enough how much people don't know about STDs and STIs. You CAN pass herpes to someone else when you're not having an outbreak; herpes can be active on your skin without you knowing it. 90% of people who have it don't know they have it because they either (1) never had an outbreak or (2) had a very mild outbreak. Not everyone who has herpes has outbreaks or, if they do, regular outbreaks. Some people have an initial outbreak and never, ever have another one. Oh! And COLD SORES/FEVER BLISTERS ARE HERPES. You can give someone genital herpes by performing oral sex on them if you have oral herpes (also known as cold sores/fever blisters). There. Now you know.

ALSO: if a woman swings on a man and hits him, it's reasonable to expect that he won't just sit there and take it as you hit him. That being said; I don't agree with a man HITTING a woman; not because she's a woman, but because of the difference in scale. If I punched a man in the face with all of my might, he might bruise a bit. If a man punched me in the face with all of his might, my whole face would be shattered. ALL messed up! If, for whatever reason, my man and I get into a physical altercation... and I, for whatever reason, decide to smack him and I won't stop; it's not farfetched to expect the guy to defend himself by trying to put distance between us or shaking me or something. Not beating the living daylights out of me.

ALL OF THAT BEING SAID: whatever happened between Rihanna and Chris Brown is no one's business but theirs and the court's.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

Customer to me: "Yeah, can I get 20 ones?"

Me: "No, sorry, we're running low on ones now."

Him: "Why?"

(I give him the blank "you're stupid, and I can't believe you just said that," stare for about 3 seconds.) "Because we're running low on ones."

Now... onto the Nighttime Nikki Playlist. Working at the strip club has made me realize that there is a place for "nasty" music. It actually sounds good there. It creates a mood. And it stays in my head all week long. I walk around singing, "well my name is Suzie and Gucci think I love him. That sucka think I'm loyal, but I fucks with all the hustlas; I be with all the ballas; I be in all the spots; I might be in your kitchen, nigga, cookin' with your pops," (I Think I Love Her - Gucci Mane) in completely inappropriate places.

Consequently, I've decided to share the strip club playlist (in no particular order) with all of you! Download and enjoy!

1. Go Girl - Ciara

2. Video Phone - Beyonce

3. Radio - Beyonce

4. That's Right - Three 6 Mafia feat. Akon & Jim Jones

5. Bricks - Gucci Mane

6. Vacation - Young Jeezy

7. What Them Girls Like - Ludacris feat. Chris Brown

8. Shawty Say - David Banner

9. I Think I Love Her - Gucci Mane

10. Mrs. Officer - Li'l Wayne

11. Let Me See The Booty - The-Dream feat. Li'l Jon

12. Crazy Bitch - buckcherry

13. Look Back At Me - Trina

14. She Got It - 2 Pistols

15. I'd Rather Get Some Head - Three 6 Mafia

16. Gucci Bandana - Soulja Boy Tell 'Em

17. She Got A Donk - Soulja Boy Tell 'Em

18. Sexy Can I - Ray J

19. Go Girl - Pitbull

20. Got Money - Li'l Wayne

21. Pop Champagne - Ron Browz

22. Move - MIMS

23. Lollipop - Li'l Wayne (and the remix feat. Kanye)

24. Freaky Girl - Gucci Mane

25. Where Da Cash At - Currency feat. Li'l Wayne

26. Juice Box - Gorilla Zoe

27. Ching-A-Ling - Missy Elliot

28. How Do You Want It - Tupac feat. KC and JoJo

29. Gucci Bandana (gogo remix)

30. Nasty Girl - Vanity 6

31. Just Like Me - Jamie Foxx feat. T.I.

32. Freakin' Me - Jamie Foxx feat. Marsha Ambrosius)

33. Blame It - Jamie Foxx feat. T-Pain

34. Turnin Me On - Keri Hilson feat. Li'l Wayne

35. Under Tha Influence (Follow Me) - Cee-Lo Green

36. Crazy World - Young Jeezy

Neither Rain Nor Sleet Nor Snow

2009-03-01T23:08:00.000-08:00

...can keep men away from ogling naked women.

I thought I'd made a discovery when, during the Super Bowl, the club was damn near empty, and the men that WERE there were more focused on the game than the women in front of them. But no, no, tonight I made A Discovery.

It's snowing outside. The weather is absolutely horrible. We're expected to get between 4 and 8 inches of the bloody awful fluffy white stuff by tomorrow morning. Who would go out in such weather? Men (and a couple of women) enticed by the captivating lure of naked women.

So, I'm thinking the value scale for men looks something like this:

Football > Naked women > Getting home safely.

I think I reached an epiphany.

Baby, I Need Your Lovin'

Okay, so if a bartender/waitress asks you to buy a drink for her, she's not getting a real drink. She's taking your money and putting it in her tip jar and getting the other bartender on duty to make her a dummy drink. It's a tactic best employed on slow nights when the tips just aren't coming in. I could've gotten a drink out of this one old skeezer (60+ years old in a played out sweat suit complete with gold chain and greasy-yet-frizzy hair) who squeezed my hand when I gave him his change (side note: the line, "You." or "Are you for sale?" or "You. In a glass," in answer to my question, "what can I get you/to drink?" is getting REALLY old. Creativity people, use it.), but I wasn't thinking quickly enough. I just wanted him out of my sight posthaste.

The next guy I chose to use my con artist skills on turned out to be hilarious. He got kind of annoying, but he definitely made me laugh. Seriously, I hope some woman (not me though) snatches him up and never lets go because he'd probably keep her in good humor for the rest of her life. This man got down on his knees and begged me for my number (he asked if he was losing swagger points; I assured him he wasn't), started singing to me ("I Ain't Too Proud to Beg" - TLC), kissed me on the hand... and then pouted and said I took advantage of him by asking him to buy me a drink. He also kept yelling "OBAMA! OBAMA!" for whatever reason. I didn't give him my number or agree to brunch, but when he asked me, "did I put laughter in your heart?" I gave him a sincere, "yes," and a kiss on the cheek. "That's really all I wanted," he confided in me.

That Girl Is Wil'in

Like I said, if a waitress asks you to buy her a drink, she's taking the money as tip money. Depending on how much of a sucker you are, she will ask for either the 2nd most or the most expensive drink the bar offers. (I was nice and asked for the 3rd most expensive thing). Tonight, Accent asked the wrong dude.

So, this guy is a customer of mine. We're having a conversation. He's tipping me real nice. Accent walks up and tries to get a drink out of him. He gives me a look like, "is she for real?"

He turns to her like, "I ain't buyin' you no drink. I might be nice, but I'm not a sucker." Point blank. He continues to talk to and tip me. (Seriously, he's just finding random reasons to tip me and putting money in my jar.)

After he leaves the bar, why does she ask me to make her a dummy drink and then find him and tell him to pay for it?

He came back up to bar and told me, "she's wi'lin; I'm not paying for that." He asked me to make him a mixed shot (which I'm not allowed to do, but I did it for him). He tipped me off that and then the club closed, so he gave me all the money he would've tipped the dancers. And then as he was leaving said, "Man, I'm about to start coming in here just to see you."

Siced.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After I told this African guy and his buddies that I'd put their Heinekens on ice for them while they went out to have a smoke.

Him: "You're so nice."

Me: "Oh, thank you."

Him: "You're exquisite."

...Exquisite though? Really, Sir? ...Really?

Tell 'Em Why You Mad

2009-02-26T11:21:00.000-08:00

See, I'm mad 'cause...

On Sundays, my manager usually lets me work by myself unless it's extra busy to allow me to make a little money by myself. One of the barbacks (we'll call him Dallas 'cause he always wears a Cowboys jersey) helps me out (usually when I don't need it) if the line starts getting a little deep. He makes drinks and gets tipped by the customers. He does everything I do, except touch the register. Yeah. So as I'm working, completing orders from the customers as well as the waitresses, I have to answer The Shoulder Tap.

The Shoulder Tap means that I have to stop what I'm doing, input his customer's total into the register, take the money and count the change. This wouldn't be a problem if I weren't being handed money, putting in totals and counting change for two other separate people at the same time.

I don't understand. If you can count and are clearly capable of doing my job, why don't you do it in its entirety? Oh, I get it... so if the drawer aint right at the end of the night, they can only blame me. And you get to skip off with my $20 tip-out that I owe you, no matter if you've been cutting into my tips the whole night by "helping" me when I DON'T NEED IT. All you're doing is confusing me.

See, you got me mad, son, you got me mad.

And I was 'bout to be mad again this past Wednesday 'cause I was doing all the damn work and had to split the tips with my manager, who was just sittin' there, writing in her journal. I understand, she's going through some things right now, so I wasn't too upset, but at the end of the night when it was time to count up the tip jars I made sure to count ours up separately so I could tell exactly how much more productive I had been in comparison.

Her tip jar total: $47

My tip jar total: $141 (ON A SLOW DAY!)

Yeah.

But then she ended up throwing in $20 she made at the beginning of the day to even it out to $208 so we could each walk away with $104. So then I wasn't mad anymore.

QUOTE OF THE NIGHT:

After I told this customer who tried to get me on stage that it wasn't gonna happen.

"Everyone has their price."

Well, yeah... there's nothin' you can really say to that.

The Most Important Debriefing You Will Ever Get. In LIFE.

2009-02-23T14:19:00.000-08:00

My bad ya'll... I completely forgot that I hadn't filled you in on some of the most important details about my blog and my life as a bartender.

The Origins of the Title: No Water After 9 PM

So, I was out at a party, doing my usual party girl thing, drinking a little more than I probably should've, dancing with a little harder than I probably should've (in a DRESS that I was told looked more like a nightgown), and someone asked me what I was drinking.

"Jack and Coke," I replied. "You?"

"Water," he replied.

For whatever reason, I took it personally that he wasn't joining the rest of us in tipsy merriment. "Water!?" I demanded. "WATER!?"

He laughed. "Yeah... water. It's pretty good, actually."

I shook my head emphatically. "NO. WATER. AFTER. NINE. PM."

And thus my trademark statement was born.

My Name

Is not Nikki. However, my mother wanted to name me Nikki-Dana Vanessa. Gag. (So glad my dad got his choice). Sometimes, I like the sound of Nikki-Dana though, and it's the first name that comes to mind when men ask me "ay girl, what yo' name is?" at the club and I don't really want to answer. So, Nikki is what I named my nighttime personality. Nikki and I are the same person, she's just that much more.

My Place of Work

Okay, so I'm not using the real names of any of these places or anyone's real name, so every thing's going to be coded. Got it?

From now on, my place of work is simply: The Club. Simple, easy to remember.

My Coworkers

(Okay, you're not expected to remember all of these people, but use this list as a reference whenever they pop back up).

The Waitresses

Accent - 'cause she got an accent. Duh.
Sweetness - because she's really sweet
Grandame - 'cause she's older than the establishment itself
Flip - 'cause her hair is flipped and it looks cool
Silly Girl - self-explanatory
Twilight - because she was reading it when I started working and COULD NOT put it down.

The Strippers (do you know how hard it is to come up with aliases for people that already have them?!)

Pretty Jealous - she's really pretty, but she hates on me SO hard.
Mamacita - she speaks Spanish fluently
You Can't Handle It - she's always talking about how no one can handle her
Firecracker - she's very expressive
Li'l Bit - she's young, short, and tiny
Token - self explanatory
Dollface - she looks like a porcelain doll

The Bar Managers

Big Sis - she's the big sister to one of the doormen
Hey Mama - she's not that much older than me, but she's such a little mom
HWIC - Head Woman In Charge (I refuse to refer to her as Bitch 'cause she's SO not).

The Other Bartenders

Cinnamon - that's what her hair color reminds me of
Bubbles - she's bubbly

The Owner

HMIC - Head Man In Charge (He is NOT a Nigga.)

The DJ

Awww Yeah - 'cause he says it so well

The Doormen

Lungs - 'cause he's always loud for no reason
Snaggle - snaggle tooth
Initial - he only goes by one letter of his name
The Girl - self-explanatory
Holla - 'cause he's always tryin to get at me

The Bar Backs

Dallas - 'cause he always wears a Cowboys jersey
Chill - he's really cool, very helpful, does his job without intrusion. I like him.

The Cleanup Crew/Drivers

King - inside joke
Tambourine - inside joke I overheard and don't know what it means

The Food Delivery Men

Hunan - 'cause that's where he delivers the food from