Strangelove. Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Stripper.

Posted by Jwsuber November 20, 2009 at 5:25 p.m.

Strangelove. Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Stripper.

Now finally rattling down the gravel road to the storied East Lawrence Ballet. I've already turned it over 30,000 times: It’s not cheating; we're breaking up. And heck, I know married guys who go to these places. How awkward, though… Do I want a strange, naked woman on my lap? What does that do to her? They say it is better here at ELB than anywhere else. “This is freedom!” they say. So freedom is a descent into hedonism? A hedonistic heaven and hell. What's next, heroin? Don't be so dramatic... This might just be... frustrating. Give me a beer. Sometimes I hate customers at my store; why wouldn't they? But it has to be worth it or they wouldn't do what they do. They want to be anonymous, so do I. Suzy would freak. Repeat ad infinitum.

The only way to break out of the mental loop is go in the door. Not as seedy as the last time I was here, in pre-grunge 1990 or so, watching the Sin City Disciples play louder than loud, watching kids slam into each other and piss in the corner exactly like the movie S.L.C.-Punk. That is all gone in favor of tables, chairs, black-lights, and generally terrible "music you can dance to."

Oh yeah, there are naked girls walking right past like it is no thing at all. I didn't count the money in my wallet, didn't want to know. Seemed like enough, and it is. Heck I'm here and I don't see why I need to spend another dime... But now this pretty, pretty girl says I should follow her around on a tour. She is putting her hands on me, but even more important is that eye contact. Betty Page says nice things. There is that spark I look for. It has to be a trick. What the heck, it is a damn good trick!

Love the female shape, the way a waist turns into hips. I need some more beer. Alcohol to forget for fleeting instants that this is all an illusion. Betty has a story, but it wouldn't be proper to get too attached. Let’s see who else is here. For a while we can talk about lives, fake ones and real ones. Fake ones and real ones. This is fun.

Crap! For a half-second I felt like I was cheating on Betty - on Betty, not Suzy. Maybe I was cheating... or celebrating. There are moments of childlike and innocent amazement to be found yet in this world. Not all is work and saving and bourgeois values constantly re-fortified like levies against a coming flood.

Time to go. It is cold outside. I sell an open box of High-Life to some desperate guys in the parking lot for $10.

Copy and paste the link:

LJWorld.com doesn’t necessarily condone the comments here, nor does it review every post. Read our full policy. Also, read about banned accounts and harassing comments.

RoeDapple (anonymous) says…

Sure would be a good site for the homeless shelter...
November 20, 2009 at 6:41 p.m.
AnnaUndercover (Anna Undercover) says…

Fantastic! :) Love the post. Don't make it your last! I like your writing.
November 21, 2009 at 1:22 p.m.