Atlanta: Facing My Past to Get to My Future (part two.) | Finding Solace at the Strip
This is just going to sound crazy, still, I stumbled onto total and needed peace at the strip club last night. It was the first time in days I’d been totally alone. The Jefes had music business, DJ’s and ladies etc. to attend to. The publicist was certainly in the building as announced by the terrible hype man on the mic, but please note, she’s off for the evening.
By my estimation I was maybe one of two non working women in the club. Someone gave me some Reposado leaving me to curl up warmly in the biggest corner of the armchair underneath me, zoned out on SportsCenter. Or whatever contest of athletic feats were on the screen. It didn’t matter. I was SO SO GOOD. To that end I put my shades on.
But fools can smoke in the club. Ewwww. My HAIR. WHY? Now I have to wash it in the middle of the week. WTF.
Strip club people watching rarely disappoints. I’m not referring to the performers. Granted I was beyond curious who was actually selling ass and also wanting to know if you work as an exotic dancer do you just take the week off when you’re menstruating?
It’s the perfect place to question all of peoples life choices and why on a Thursday night what ultimately led them to the nudie bar. It’s a place that reminds me of the unique power women have over straight men where their inherent value is attached to their complete exposure. It’s a weird window into how sexual psychosis manifest in the real world.
It’s an obvious commentary on society, commerce and what can be profitized. It’s a business entity run of the backs and butts of women. It’s a clear antithesis to the religious settler puritanical origins that tells you sex is bad, women should stay covered and certainly not juggle their boobs or anything else for a buck.