Celeb Mashup: The Chicago Bears

The Chicago Bears have been an obnoxious background noise throughout my life that I have never cared about. Similarly, The Chicago Bears regularly coming into VIP's were obnoxious background characters in my work shifts. I dislike Football so much. I only knew The Bears came into VIP's, because many of my coworkers, both dancers and male staff alike, became giddy and excited about them whenever it happened. I was unable to recognize or identify any of the players. I remember them as very large men who paid as little attention to me as I paid to them. My VIP's working conditions and coworkers were so much more interesting than The Loser Bears. There were many layers to my VIP's experience. The club probably deserves it's own series. For the sake of this post, I will briefly sew together relevant snippets, to keep in theme with Celeb Mashup.

Joseph Patrick Mankiewicz and George Gellis were two short men with Napoleon complexes, who overthrew the power of my manager Bob. Joe and George were VIP's employees who complained about Bob to Pete Vrdolyak and the owner. A couple of months into my misclassified employment at VIP's, Bob was demoted from manager, to front lobby attendant. The reason for Bob's demotion, according to everyone I spoke with, was that he was “too nice to the girls.” Bob would frequently do things like let dancers leave early, waive our illegal fees, and side with the dancers when misogynist abusive customers complained about us. I never knew Bob to fire any dancers or raise his voice.

Joseph Patrick Mankiewicz's previous position at VIP's, before stealing Bob's job like an eel, was Champagne Room Host. He'd pop bottles and tend to guests in the more expensive, secluded, exclusive area of the club, which was really just up a couple of steps and behind a half wall with frosted glass. The Chicago Bears liked hanging out up there. One night when a few of The Loser Bears were in, they went out of their way to exclusively invite all of the big titty dancers up there to hang out with them, leaving dancers with modest bosoms on the main show floor to walk around and participate in the mandatory stage rotation. From what I heard, The Loser Bears were financially generous to dancers they liked. I never got a dollar out of any of them. Mankiewicz had a reputation for being a player, who abused his power with dancers by having romantic and sexual entanglements with them. While the majority of dancers at VIP's were older Slavic women from Europe, Joe went for the small number of younger white or Latina dancers.

George Gellis was already an assistant manager at VIP's before Bob was demoted, but he was still Bob's subordinate prior to the position change. Gellis is an older, ugly, short, oily, Greek American. Like many Greek Americans, he is a bully. Previously, George worked for his family's Greek restaurant. His family disliked him, so he went on to work in other bars and restaurants, before finding his way to bar tending at VIP's. He eventually worked his way up to manager. It wasn't long after he became assistant manager that he overthrew Bob's position. George Gellis went on a firing spree soon after Bob's demotion. He wouldn't always fire a dancer right away though. He'd call us individually into his office, berate us for mundane issues, pull us aside on the show floor, and sometimes sadistically harass us for days, weeks, or months before finally firing us. I still didn't know what misclassification was when I worked at VIP's, but I did think George's behavior was very wrong. As the Autumn of 2013 progressed and I saw many of my fellow dancers suffering because of oily George, I also thought about my own suffering and termination from Admiral just a few months prior.

The VIP's dressing room had house moms with a nightly mandatory fee of $15, and makeup artists with a nightly mandatory fee of $15. If dancers didn't want to get our makeup done, we were given the option of buying a set of fake eyelashes. Simply keeping our money was not an option. VIP's house moms were terrible cooks, with terrible taste in food. They didn't care to prepare vegan options. So, they usually took my money for nothing. I'd order delivery food or bring my own bag dinner, in addition to paying the house moms for food I didn't eat. Similarly, the fat bitch makeup artists had very little interest in providing me with cruelty free and vegan options, so they'd lie to me about their products and try to hide the labels. I hated buying all of those eyelashes I never wore, and paying those bitches for their shit food I didn't eat. After Bob was demoted, the women upstairs started complaining to Joe Mankiewicz about me, by stating that I was being difficult for my cruelty free and vegan requests. Joe addressed the issue with me in the office one day while he was critiquing my overall work performance. He berated and yelled at me, would not give me the option of just keeping my money for my own makeup and food, and continued to be complicit in my financial exploitation. Joe was a dwarfish, cocky, exploitative, cold hearted prick who enjoyed harming dancers who did not submit to him socially and/or sexually.

As football season started in the second half of 2013, the club made it mandatory for the dancers to pay some expensive fee, on top of all our other fees, to order our own football jerseys with our stage names printed on them. We were required to wear these jerseys, instead of our gowns, on certain nights of the week. I felt even more unattractive wearing my customized football jersey than I did wearing my borrowed purple gown.

Around the time that I had to start wearing football jerseys to work, I once again picked up my search on how to help strippers through activism. I knew it was wrong of the club to take so much of our money. I knew it was wrong to have so many hideously ugly male coworkers harass us. I knew it was wrong of the club to make us buy football jerseys and wear them. I decided to see to it that I'd take down George Gellis, Joe Mankiewicz, and all that they represented.

I can't remember what kind of internet search lead me to the Chicago chapter of the Sex Workers Outreach project, but by late 2013, I became a regular at SWOP meetings. I was the only stripper at the SWOP meetings. Most of the other attendees were prostitutes, who were mostly unwelcoming to me. Much of their activism revolved around decrim, harm reduction, and de-stigmatizing adult entertainment. I felt very out of place and grossed out by the subject matter that they discussed at their meetings, but the president of Chicago SWOP at the time, Serpent Libertine, made sure to address my specific needs. When introducing myself, I described George Gellis's behavior, how much money was taken from me every night that I worked, the harassment from staff, and all of the bullshit that VIP's made me and other dancers endure. Serpent Libertine plainly stated that this was a “labor issue,” and took the initiative to contact labor lawyers around Chicago for me. While I did contact a labor lawyer in Portland about a year and a half prior, as mentioned in my Fabiano Scherner post, I still didn't understand that the extent of my workplace problems were specifically labor issues. I was still very uneducated on the issue of misclassification, and how contractors are not able to have a union.

Serpent put me on the path to contact Hima B., the former California stripper who sued multiple clubs. Hima was producing a film called License to Pimp. Serpent got into contact with a member of the Chicago IWW for me as well, and accompanied me to meetings with him at local community centers in Chicago. We brainstormed the best way to go about holding VIP's accountable and getting justice for the dancers who were mistreated or fired. As fate would have it, another great Chicago firing occurred in early 2014. George Gellis fired me after several months of threats. I made my “George Gellis is Sorry” website shortly thereafter.

Chicago's remaining strip club that I wasn't fired from, Pink Monkey, never found me attractive enough to even let me through the front lobby. After a few brief and intolerable shifts in the suburban clubs, I decided to leave Chicago and da Bears and da Bulls and da Vrdolyaks and da Pollocks entirely in early 2014.

Shortly before leaving Illinois, Serpent Libertine accompanied me to a meeting that she set up with a labor law firm that was willing to give me a free in-person consultation. Our IWW comrade also joined us. At that time, I was so naive that I thought labor lawyers were activists who are genuinely interested in making policy change. I was so naive that I thought one lawsuit would do it. The lawyers we met with thought it was odd that I had a SWOP and IWW member with me. Being so inexperienced at the time, I was mesmerized by Serpent's ability to schedule this meeting in person. The firm in Chicago didn't end up taking the VIP's case though. I never ended up suing VIP's. Someone else did a few years later.

Right after that Chicago lawyer meeting, I drove out to Colorado to find work. My special needs rabbit was able to have a nationally known specialist veterinarian operate on his foot in a Denver suburb. That was one of several reasons why I moved to Denver. By the Summer of 2014, I received news that Joe Mankiewicz was fired by Pete Vrdolyak. According to the information I received, my “George Gellis is Sorry” website inspired other dancers to speak up about Mankiewicz's sexual exploitation to upper management. It's always made me happy to think about how I inspired those dancers to speak out about his player behavior and have him suffer the consequences. I hate players.

RCI has since bought the club and turned it into a Rick's. I never got to say goodbye to Rob Reilly. I never cared about what happened to The Bears, or if they still go there.

Celeb Mashup: Dennis Rodman

AAAAAAAnnnnnnd now, the next post in Celeb Mashup, aaaaaa six-eight forward from Southeastern Oklahoma State, Deeeeeennnniiissss Roooodman!!!!

Most people who casually talk to me about my stripping career will find that eventually in conversation, I end up bragging about the time that Dennis Rodman purchased a table dance from me. My evening with Dennis Rodman and his entourage is one of my top favorite highlights in my nineteen-year stripping career. My Dennis Rodman encounter is a crown jewel of celebrity encounters. It was an unforgettable event, the details of which still make me shriek with giggles today. In this post, we will examine my history of being a Dennis Rodman fan. We will examine the working conditions and culture of the strip club where I met him. We will celebrate the evening that I entertained Dennis Rodman. Finally, we will unpack my afterthoughts and aftermath of entertaining Dennis Rodman.

I first became aware of Dennis Rodman's existence during the mid-90's, when he started playing for the Chicago Bulls. Growing up in the Chicagoland area and being surrounded by people who enjoyed basketball, the splash that Dennis Rodman made during his Bulls era was prominent in my pop cultural awareness. Rodman made headlines by doing things like dying his hair bright colors, dressing in gender ambiguous clothing, “marrying” himself, and causing a ruckus on the court. Many of his public behaviors were frowned upon during the 90s, especially in the Midwest or socially conservative places. I became a big fan of Rodman for all of those reasons. While I may have sat through dozens, if not hundreds of 90s basketball games at recreation centers, schools, and TV programs, I've never actually cared to understand how the game works. For me, those times were more about people watching. I loved watching Dennis Rodman on TV. I loved how much he upset people in my familial and social settings. He became one of my new favorite basketball players, though I still had no interest in actually understanding the game. I loved how he was different and unruly, and I thought he looked absolutely gorgeous in all of his outfits. I appreciated that he was a special friend of one of my favorite celebrities at the time, Madonna. I thought it was great that Dennis Rodman posed nude for PETA's anti-fur campaign. The 90s is just as much quintessentially about The Chicago Bulls as it is about Kurt Cobain and Monica Lewinsky. The 90s Bulls is not only about Michael Jordan, but his media savvy counterpart and counter cultural revolutionary-- I'm talking about The Worm, the rebound genius, the one and only-- Dennis Rodman. What a time to be alive! While I eventually stopped sitting through basketball games or keeping tabs on Dennis Rodman, I did hear that he hung out with Kim Jong Un. It bothered me that Dennis became friends with Kim Jong Un, but I didn't give it a second thought until one fateful night in the Summer of 2013 at VIP's Gentlemen's Club in Chicago, Illinois.

I hated working at VIP's. It was nothing like Admiral Theatre. For some sociopolitical reason, the whole city of Chicago actually only has three strip clubs. In 2013, those three clubs were called Admiral, Pink Monkey, and VIP's. The suburban clubs outside of city limits all have disgusting, disturbing amounts of physical contact and other undesirable elements to them. The three Chicago proper clubs have celebrities, rich people, and sparse physical contact. VIP's hired me a couple of days after Admiral fired me. VIP's is also located on the North side. The square footage was much smaller than Admiral, and much uglier. The lighting was a cold blue. It was a sports bar with lots of TVs, and a popular place for Chicago cops and their friends to hang out. While Chicago is a mostly Democrat city, the VIP's staff and their friends were predominantly republicans. I never met the owner of VIP's, and didn't know much about him. The head manager of VIP's was Pete Vrdolyak, who is a relative of corrupt Chicago politician Eddie Vrdolyak. Pete wasn't around too much, so VIP's was operated by lower level managers. When I was hired, a retired Chicago cop named Bob ran the club. Bob was very nice and grandfatherly to me in a non-creepy way. Despite my dislike for all cops on principal, Bob and I got along well, and I appreciated having him around for me. A second retired Chicago cop did security at the front, and South Side Irish bouncers such as Rob Reilly and Mark Boyle did security at VIP's. We had several layers of security throughout the building, which was absolutely necessary even on Chicago's North side. South Side Irish bartender Brian Forkin served drinks, and South Side Irish DJ Murph Murphy played the music. These staff members were generally pleasant to me. VIP's also had a cornucopia of sexually harassing bouncers and male staff that I disliked-- mainly Poles, Greeks, and Latinos. I point those aspects out about them, because many Chicagoans still strongly identify with the origins of their ancestors. The male staff at VIP's weren't educated on sexual harassment, so they treated the dancer pool as a dating pool. Most of the male staff were ugly, so this made it extra weird and unpleasant to be around the majority of them. I was infatuated with one Irish/Italian bouncer named Rob Reilly for most of the time that I worked at VIP's, but we seldom spoke or acknowledged one another.

The dancer demographic at VIP's was unusual compared to most strip clubs. At twenty-seven years old, I was often one of the youngest dancers on a shift. Many of the dancers at VIP's had been there for many years, sometimes since the 90s. In the dressing room, I was sometimes a minority native English speaker. Other languages spoken in the VIP's dressing room were Slavic, such as Polish and Russian. The VIP's dancers fit a lot of stereotypical beauty standards, which included having ugly fake tits and chemically processed hair. I thought most of these Eastern European women were naturally ugly and mean, with pancake asses and limited humor. However, I was on the low-end of sales at VIP's. It was difficult competing with all of the plastic surgery, European accents, and ruthless grit from women who clawed their way up from post-Soviet poverty to the USA. Physical features of mine that normally stand out in strip clubs, such as long limbs, prominent cheekbones, and large eyes, did not stand out among all of the Slavic dancers who had these same features. I felt very unwanted by the VIP's clientele. My money suffered significantly, and I was very sad about it.

In addition to being sexually harassed by ugly male staff and competing with my off-the-boat coworkers at VIP's, there were other problems that negatively affected my self-esteem and income. Because VIP's serves alcohol, the city of Chicago required the dancers to always wear large, thick granny panties, which were administered by the local government. The entirety of breasts had to be covered with two layers of liquid latex, the bottles of which were also determined by the city. My eczema flared up with allergic reactions to the liquid latex, which required the constant application of cortisone cream to my chest and armpits.

VIP's was extremely financially exploitative. Customers usually bought Funny Money Scrip to pay for dances and champagne rooms, which dancers only received a percentage of in actual money at the end of our shifts. Dancers were required to sell t-shirts during regular “features.” Many other misclassifying practices took place that stole our money, energy, and time. We had to pay a large house fee, and tip a significant portion of our income to staff at the end of each night. VIP's was one of the most financially exploitative, misclassifying, rule-enforcing strip clubs that I have ever worked at in my entire life.

I had only been working at VIP's for a couple of weeks when Dennis Rodman came in. He was the tallest person I had ever seen in my life, standing in the threshold between the lobby and modest show floor. It only took me a few moments to realize who he was. His skin was a rich mocha, his flesh full with muscles. He looked like a prime example of human health. He had sunglasses on, even though it was night time, and he was flanked by a small entourage. He looked like he was glittering. He looked magickal. I freaked out internally, but tried not to behave as I did around Sting. I casually walked around Rodman's entourage, pretending not to care. Nobody else in the club seemed to care. Rodman and his group went to the far back end of the rectangular stage, which was in the middle of our small rectangular show floor. At some point, I went upstairs to talk to the “house moms” and makeup artists about Dennis Rodman being there. It was definitely not his first time there, and nobody who worked at VIP's seemed to like him. The women who worked at the club for a long time began complaining that he never tipped or bought dances, and conveyed to me that he basically sits there not talking to anybody besides his entourage. Other dancers advised me that he likes to be left alone. The older women who worked at VIP's during the 90s, including one of the “house moms,” informed me that VIP's is a place where a lot of Bulls from Rodman's era liked to hang out, and that they were some of the worst tippers. The older women had a nickname for Scotty Pippen, who they also disliked. His nickname at VIP's was “No Tippin' Pippin,” a term I have since googled to find is not just limited to VIP's. I was also informed that Michael Jordan never came to VIP's during all of the 90s Bulls glory.

With this information, I headed back downstairs to spy on Dennis Rodman from afar. VIP's required dancers to wear tall stupid heels and ankle-length gowns. Because I did not want to spend my own money on a stupid gown, I was wearing a borrowed one from the club. It was tight, purple, and unflattering to my body. Because I had my head shaved several weeks before, I was wearing a pink bob wig. I looked absolutely ridiculous with the heels, stupid gown, pink wig, granny panties, and liquid latex. For some reason though, I just knew that Dennis Rodman and I would have a spiritual connection. So, I strolled around in front of his table, pretending to be searching for other customers to hustle, and quickly glanced at his sunglasses. It didn't take long for Rodman to wave me down, get my attention, and have me come over to the table. He wanted my consent to caress my pink wig, and of course he had my consent. He then invited me, through his lawyer, to give his entourage a table dance. He did not tip anything more than the price of the dance. I don't remember the song I danced to, because I was so excited and flustered. It was a blur. After the song ended, he invited me, through his lawyer, to sit down and hang out with his entourage.

Dennis Rodman's lawyer was a very pleasant, well spoken Jewish man who was sitting right next to him, doing most of the communicating with me. We had a long and lovely conversation about many things, while Rodman quietly sat with his girlfriend. In addition to his lawyer and girlfriend, his entourage included two body guards, who his lawyer told me were plain clothes cops. His girlfriend was a small Lithuanian, with absurdly large fake titties. She referred to him as “Denny” when speaking with him. I felt absolutely magnificent sitting there with his crew. I asked Denny's lawyer if his girlfriend gets jealous of him going to strip clubs. His lawyer conveyed to me that to date Dennis Rodman, that's just kind of how it goes and what a woman signs up for. At some point during the conversation, I asked his lawyer if I could compliment Dennis on how much I appreciated him defying gender norms during the 90s. After receiving permission to do so, I leaned over and told Rodman that I appreciated the way his outfits and personal aesthetics were nonconforming. He nodded his head and politely said thank you. At some point during the encounter, I was called to the stage by DJ Murph Murphy, to dance to Pearl Jam songs. I was later informed by Murph that Pearl Jam is one of Rodman's favorite bands, and that Rodman tips Murph, unlike anyone else at VIP's, for playing lots of Pearl Jam while he's there. I already had Pearl Jam on my playlist, so this worked out perfectly. I returned to Rodman's table after my set. At some point during my conversation with his lawyer, I was invited to their hotel after work, to go swimming and have sex-- sex with who specifically I do not know. I declined the offer. At some point near the end of the conversation, I leaned over and thanked Dennis Rodman for posing nude for PETA's anti-fur campaign, but stated that I was disappointed in him for eating beef. I don't remember the specifics, but this comment upset Dennis Rodman. His lawyer seemed anxious after I said that. I became anxious as well, so I excused myself and left the table. At some point shortly after, I was walking near the bathroom as his ugly girlfriend was walking out of the bathroom. She was upset with me for bringing a message of animal liberation to Rodman, but I didn't care. Deep down, I thought it was funny that I upset scumbag, North Korea visiting Rodman and his girlfriend. Dennis Rodman and his entourage left soon after, which I also thought was fuckin funny.

I was a bit concerned about getting in trouble for upsetting Rodman, so I approached my manager Bob to talk about it. Bob didn't care at all that I upset Rodman. In fact, he called him an asshole in a casual way, and expressed that he was used to dealing with Rodman's moodiness. The other retired Chicago cop who did security at the front also expressed a dislike for Rodman, but nostalgically remembered how he brought Madonna there during the 90's. Bob asked me if I got a picture of myself with Rodman, which I did not. To this day, not getting a picture of myself with him and his crew is one of my biggest career regrets.

I left my shift early that night. Bob usually let me leave early, even though the club wanted him to illegally enforce rules that made dancers work until close. After driving home to my Bucktown loft and tending to my rescue rabbits and guinea pigs, I walked around a hipster part of Milwaukee Avenue by myself, got some tacos at at 24-hour Mexican restaurant, and felt like a high society lady for schmoozing with Dennis Rodman and company. My career could've ended there and I would've considered it a success after my evening with Rodman, turning down an invite for hotel swimming and sex, and pissing him off with an animal liberation comment to such a degree that he left the club. Lights and skyscrapers in the distance, my belly full of vegan tacos, I gleefully strolled around my neighborhood to soak up humanity and the Summer air of Chicago. Dennis Rodman did something for me that night when asking to caress my wig, purchasing a table dance from me, inviting me to hang out with him, and validating my existence when every other dancer had no such success. He made me feel attractive again when I was sad. He picked MOI. He made me joyful. Dennis Rodman thought I was interesting enough to hang out with, and that made me feel good again.

Celeb Mashup: Gary the Retard

I'm going out of order here! That's so retarded of me. I wanted to go in chronological order for this series, but I already messed it up. I can't go on with this series and not mention Gary the Retard. I forgot about him until recently!

I started watching Howard Stern's show on E! while I was in high school. It was mostly disgust and hate-watching by me, but I watched most of the episodes, sometimes more than once. I was addicted to something that I knew I hated but could not quit. Obviously, Howard Stern is a piece of shit, obviously the content of his shows is stupid and gross things that are oppressive to women and differently abled people. He used to have developmentally disabled people as regular guests or helpers on his show. They'd do interviews, embarrass themselves, and be the butt of jokes for him and the audience, all without realizing it. They're called “The Wack Pack.” He also gave them monikers, like Gary the Retard. I hate Howard Stern, and always have.

In the Spring of 2012, I very briefly worked at Rose City Strip in SE Portland, Oregon. Some show was live-streaming some kind of internet content at Rose City Strip. While Howard was not there, the show had Gary the Retard broadcasting. He was talking and hosting in front of a webcam with some kind of digital setup, off to the side in the club. I knew who he was right away, walked over and introduced myself as my stage name, Kelly. I simply called him “Gary” and said that I’m a fan. My top pick of Wack Pack members to meet would’ve been Beetlejuice, but oh well. Gary was jolly and hard at work in front of that camera. What I remember most about Gary the Retard, and what bothered me, was that he very aggressively put his arm around me, pulled me close to him in front of the camera, and behaved in a way that any other subtle domineering misogynist might, treating my attention like a trophy. A woman knows the difference between a platonic nice person simply putting his arm around someone, and a misogynist man putting his arm around a woman in a show of force, retard guy or not. Gary the Retard's behavior was the latter. So, I politely excused myself and didn't go back over there for the rest of the night. I'd be curious to see the footage of that experience.

Rose City Strip's stupid/ugly manager, Mason, told me some bullshit about how they didn't have room for me working there after my first shift, but it was probably actually because his ugly stupid bitch girlfriend Cassandra Pfeiffer worked there too and didn't like me. I knew her for several years in Portland strip clubs, long before she got her stupid looking fake tits put in to deflect attention from her ugly fucking face. I was quite bummed about Rose City Strip not having me back, as I made a large amount of money that night meeting Gary the Retard and had a fabulous time working there. I never sued Rose City Strip, but I did think it was funny when they closed down.

Howard Stern is trying to fit into a more politically correct media climate these days, so Gary the Retard's moniker has changed to Gary the Conqueror.

Celeb Mashup: Sting

Sometimes when strip clubs want to make me feel paranoid, they'll play “Every Breath You Take” by The Police, while monitoring my every workplace move. Sometimes it's a dubstep version, sometimes it's the original, sometimes some other mix of the song. It is likely that some fucking loser will read this Sting post and make sure I hear the song soon.

Sting is a misogynist loser piece of shit who goes to strip clubs and violates dancer boundaries. Personally, I'm not surprised that a rich male shitlib who went on all those Oprah shows, and does all those performative charitable events, would behave like he does in strip clubs. I met him at the Admiral Theater on Chicago's North side, in either 2012 or 2013-- I can't remember the specific month.

I started working at Admiral in 2012, and was fired in 2013. I was never given a reason for my termination. In hindsight, it was probably for discussing my labor rights with coworkers and managers. I just didn't know that at the time, because I still wasn't educated on stripper labor rights at the time.

There were so many nice things about working at Admiral. The architecture and interiors are aesthetically exquisite. I've never found in another strip club as visually beautiful as the Admiral. It was owned by an Italian mafia-linked guy named Sam Cecola. The air smelled like Mediterranean floral parfum. The lighting was a sensual red. Large murals of Cleopatra-looking women and other picturesque Mediterranean ladies covered the lobby. The club was once a vaudeville house, so the lobby was more like a vintage movie theater lobby where patrons paid the entrance fee. Admiral has high ceilings and red theater curtains on the stage, which dancers gracefully emerged from to start our sets. The front stage had no pole. There was no alcohol served at Admiral. I don't remember seeing any twerking on the stage, or other ghetto shit. There were all kinds of weird nooks and crannies throughout the building. It kind of felt like I was stepping into a Noir film when going in there. Many dancers and strip club staff referred to Admiral as “the Disney World of strip clubs,” because the vibe was so uniquely stunning in a Capone-era Chicago way. Most of the dancers were classically pretty, including runway and fashion models, whose photos were on Chicago buses and taxis, simultaneous to the time that they danced at Admiral. I made insane amounts of money while working there. Best of all, Admiral was (primarily) an air-dance club. We got fully nude, but customers (generally) couldn't touch us. Most of the customers were docile, did not put up a fight to violate my boundaries, did not harass me in any way. Bouncers would remove customers immediately if the slightest infraction took place, without the dancer's honesty being questioned. The term “believe all women” could definitely be applied to the bouncer's reactions to dancer complaints regarding customers. The “house mom” usually kept endless amounts of pasta, fresh fruit and juice for us in the finely finished, wood floor dressing room. I've posted before about how I don't tip for “house mom” food, but Admiral was an exception. I ate multiple bowls of pasta many nights that I worked there.

There were things to hate about Admiral Theater too. The manager, Steve, talked to dancers like shit. We had mandatory, unpaid staff meetings. There were strict dress code standards. We had to wear heels at least three inches, and nice dresses. Dancers could be fired for not participating in mandatory theme nights and costume nights, so I had to buy princess and fairy costumes with my own money. Steve fired dancers on a whim all the time, when his temper flared up. The club took large amounts of our money. Even though I made lots of money there, taking any of it from me was not OK. Rules for our personal aesthetics were strict, especially on stage. There was a $40 fine for chewing gum. One time while I was on stage, I was picking a piece of a cracker out of my tooth with my tongue. My manager mistook it for a piece of gum, and fined me $40. When I tried explaining to him that it was a cracker, that only made him more angry. Coffee drinking on the show floor was forbidden. We had to look otherworldly, elegant, and statuesque at all times-- without making an hourly wage, while paying out huge sums of our money to the club, while being verbally abused and screamed at by Italianos and their staff. The house mom shamed me so badly about not wearing enough makeup, that I started wearing voluminous amounts of concealer and foundation-- a practice I continued for the next eleven years and only recently stopped.

Sting also loved Admiral Theater. His real name is Gordon Sumner. To clarify, I should say that lots of models, musicians, artists, and random washed up celebrities went to Admiral. Sam Cecola is a well known person in his own right. I remained friends with a few of my dancer coworkers after I was fired. I don't plan on giving anyone from Admiral their own post besides Sting. This will be the only Admiral post in this series.

On a night like any other at Admiral, I sat down next to a couple of random old men, to say hello and try to hustle them. When the guy closest to me turned his head to say hello with a British accent, I had to focus on his face a bit. I knew he looked familiar, but I couldn't place him for a moment. Then, I was like,

“You're Sting!”

Sting was in a cheerful, joking mood, and said,

“Nooo, he's Sting!” while pointing to the old man next to him. Then, I said something to him about how often he went on the Oprah show. For those who don't know, Sting used to make guest appearances on The Oprah Show. The Oprah Show was based in Chicago, at Harpo Studios. I always thought it was odd how I'd be watching Oprah, and then Sting would come on. I never liked how often Sting was an Oprah guest. I've never cared for him.

Sting chuckled when I mentioned Oprah to him. I mentioned something to him about his wife Trudie Styler discussing tantric sex with Oprah. He laughed again. I didn't feel much chemistry with him at all, so I got up and moved on.

I couldn't focus on hustling for the remainder of the evening that Sting was in the building. I approached my manager Steve, and excitedly told him that Sting was there. Steve became angry, and said to me,

“YEAH. He's a friend of Sams!” Steve conveyed that Sting goes to the Admiral sometimes, and made it clear to me that I should stop acting excited about it. I thought it was interesting that Sting is a guy who advertises all of his charitable acts and goes on Oprah, but he is friends with a criminal like Sam Cecola. I couldn't say any of that to Steve though. I had to act cool, act casual.

I don't actually like any of Sting's music. I think it sucks. I was merely excited by the novelty of Sting's celebrity. For some reason, Sting's presence made me feel flushed and nervous. I was blushing and trembling. Sting is such a fucking loser who is not attractive at all, but I was frazzled about the novelty of the situation.

I approached several other dancers that evening, to discreetly point out Sting. I was peeking around stage curtains and such. Some of the dancers had never heard of him. One of them who did know of him was like, “Who cares? The Police suck.” Several of the dancers who had worked there a while already knew that Sting was somewhat of a regular. Nobody else seemed to be as shook by Sting's presence as I was.

At some point, Sting got a 15-minute dance from a lanky, older millennial dancer with blonde hair. She was not unlike a younger version of his wife, Trudie Styler. Afterwards, the dancer told me and several others that while she was hoovering over him, he put both of his hands on her hips, yanked her down to sit on him, and that she could feel his erection while sitting on his lap. He then thrusted his hips up. The dancer reported that Sting's erection was small, about the size of her thumb. Normally at Admiral, this level of physical contact would not happen. She was visibly flustered and upset when describing what happened. But, because it was Sting, and a friend of Sam Cecola's, she did not complain about him to management or bouncers.

I shouldn't have to explain this, but just because a woman is hoovering over someone while dancing does not give a man consent to grab her hips and yank her down to sit on his lap while he as a thumb-sized erection and dry hump her. That is assault, and it is disgusting.

After that evening, I researched all of the controversial events related to Small Dick Sumner that have taken place over the past few decades. There are many, unsurprisingly. I recently read that he’s a rapist. His shitlib politics and performative charitable events are problematic, unsurprisingly.

I think Sting was in the Admiral again in the course of my misclassified employment there, but I don't remember specifics. I cried when I got fired by a manager named Todd. I didn't think it could happen to me. I emailed Sam Cecola a couple of times after getting fired, to try to get my job back. I also went in there a couple of times to try to talk to him, but nothing worked. Being fired from Admiral for unknown reasons really prompted me to want to get active for dancer rights, so I started looking for Chicago activist groups around the Summer of 2013.

I thought my Sting saga was over, until I moved to Denver in 2014. I worked at a club called Penthouse, which was about a block away from Shotgun Willie's strip club. While I was at Penthouse, I told some staff about meeting Sting at Admiral. The Penthouse staff then informed me that Sting has also been to Penthouse and Shotgun Willie's. Several months before I moved there, he was very intoxicated, and loudly walking between the two clubs in the parking lots that separate them. One of the clubs would not allow him back in, due to his aggressive drunken behavior, though I can't remember which one.

Admiral has been sued over the past few years. I've posted about it on the site before, but I don't know the specifics. I was happy to see it finally happened, even though the settlement or payout will just be a slap on the wrist for the Cecola family. Last April when I visited Chicagoland, I saw a former Admiral coworker. She said it's kind of run down now, and stated that “all the magic that was there before is gone now.”

I have so many questions for Oprah about this. If I ever meet her, I think the first thing I'd say is:

“Oprah you stupid fuckin bitch. Why are you friends with a sexually predatory, loser piece of shit like Sting? Do you know Sam Cecola? Has he ever been to Harpo Studios? Do you know that Sting went to Admiral when he visited you in Chicago? Do you go to Admiral too? Are you OK with Sting being a sexual predator, even though you've had so many shows about assault survivors? What do you think about all of Admiral's labor violations that eroded the self esteem of dancers, who were in constant threat of losing their jobs and living in poverty?”

Celeb Mashup: The Toadies

The Turdies are a one-hit wonder band. Their crappy song “Possum Kingdom” became famous during the 90s. The song has a catchy melody, but it's actually about the rape and murder of a woman. The music video portrays her body wrapped up and dragged through a watery, wooded area. It's unfortunate that the band benefited financially from portraying this in a music video. I haven't looked into whether or not they donated any of the proceeds to victims of domestic violence, or murder accountability pursuits, but I'd guess not. They're misogynist losers who I met in a strip club in either late 2011 or early 2012. I can't remember the specific month when they came in. I am not interested in doxxing the Portland strip club where I met them.

Prior to meeting the band, I didn't know their band name. I didn't know the name of their catchy song. The song was recognizable when I heard it, but that's it. They are the ones who told me who they are when I sat down to talk with them. While they were in my workplace, they did not tip me, nor did they tip any of the dancers that I'm aware of. They sat close to the stage and watched the stage. They all had a very smug, hipster, fart sniffing demeanor. One of the dancers in my workplace was a model from Russia, who they hired for a music video they were making at the time, which also featured local Portlander Yohhei Sato. I don't know if The Turdies met my coworker before coming into my workplace or what. But, it's not surprising that one-hit-wonder losers with misogynist songs would smugly sit there, not tipping the dancers, while also using women's bodies to make them famous. Fuck em.

Celeb Mashup: Fabiano Scherner

Fabiano Scherner is a well known MMA fighter and Black Belt BJJ Heavyweight who fought in the UFC. He also worked as my Portland strip club bouncer. I met him in late 2011, when I started working at a Portland strip club that I am not interested in doxxing at this time. Scherner is from Brazil, but with his surname, giant physiognomy, and oddly shaped head, he is very obviously part of Brazil's German diaspora-- like Gisele Bundchen. I was always entertained to see such a giant human walking around in the workplace.

I never had romantic feelings for Fabiano, but I did appreciate certain aspects of being coworkers with him. He taught me how to choke someone out by using their collar, using one hand or with two hands. I also learned basic hand fighting techniques. I ended up enrolling in BJJ classes at a Gracie school where Fabiano trained, although I stuck to the women's classes where he was not present. He did advise me to take the accompanying yoga classes, and stressed the importance of yoga exercises for BJJ. I've taken BJJ classes off and on in a few different states, since my time working with Fabiano. I am too lazy to consistently go to lessons, but I do love grappling and learning new techniques. Sometimes I'll stop going to a school because I hate the misogynist vibes there, which are common in the MMA world, unfortunately.

2011 and 2012 was a time in Portland when prostitutes began colonizing and infiltrating strip clubs in vast numbers. Additionally, strip club owners were becoming much more relaxed on prostitute behaviors taking place within the clubs. Many Late Gen X and Early Millennial dancers in Portland were extremely upset about this change. Fabiano was often badgered by dancers to do more prostitution patrol. He would be asked to check on lap dances for inappropriate contact. He was relatively sluggish in the workplace, and I did find it entertaining to see him going around on his prostitution patrol.

I experienced a lot of sexual harassment from the male staff at the strip club where I worked with Fabiano. However, Fabiano was never one of the coworkers who sexually harassed me. He always treated me very respectfully. I'm not sure if I got Stockholmed by thinking that Fabiano is a respectable person, or if he really is a respectable person. I was so stressed out working at this particular club, that I made multiple crying phone calls to the Portland Women's Crisis Line in 2012. It bothers me that he surrounded himself with scumbags in the workplace who were his male coworkers-- including another BJJ fighter who trained with Fabiano and was the second bouncer. The club that I worked at with Fabiano was the first one that I ever called a labor lawyer about, in 2012. I still didn't understand what misclassification was, even after speaking with the labor lawyer, and didn't end up suing that club because it seemed too complicated and stressful to do. I would go another three years before getting the courage and education to file my first lawsuit against a strip club in 2015.

While Fabiano never sexually harassed me, I did see him slap the ass of another dancer with whom he had a playful and bawdy workplace friendship with. I have no idea how she really felt about his behavior, but she turned around and giggled after he did that. She was also a Latin American. He did this ass slap to her one day when he was walking me to my car at the end of the night, and I remember being disappointed in him for doing that, because I thought he was a family man in a committed relationship. Most of the time, I regarded Fabiano as a good person who was born into a shithole misogynist country, worked hard to become a BJJ star, came to the USA, and was only working in the strip club to make ends meet as an immigrant, in hopes of having a better life with his family. But, when I think if his crappy harassing male coworker friends or the manner in which he slapped a woman's ass in the workplace, I feel disillusioned.

The house fee at the club I worked at with Fabiano was much higher than any house fee that I had ever paid before. The owner's girlfriend was also a dancer there. She regularly bullied the other dancers. The owner had several dancer favorites who he financially supported, and he did things like pay for their dental procedures, or otherwise help them out financially. So, I was very upset about having to pay a higher house fee when I knew where my money was going. I didn't think it was fair that I also had to “tip” staff. To try to remedy my problem, I started having a longshoreman friend on strike walk me to my car, rather than Fabiano, so that Fabiano didn't expect me to tip him. I got in trouble for this after only a few times, and was subsequently told by management that I had to let Fabiano walk me to my car. I tipped him mostly because I could not have my own security walk me to my car for free, but I also felt a bit sorry for Fabiano's need for my money, his South American accent, and his kind demenour. I'm still torn about what kind of a person I think Fabiano is, because he is so nice, and yet he worked for that horrible place.

I love Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu, and enjoyed meeting the influx of BJJ artists who came to visit Fabiano. I am happy to have met him. I would feel sad if he died.

Celeb Mashup: Pink Martini

I met the band Pink Martini some time around 2007, at Carnaval in downtown Portland. They stopped in slightly before our 4AM closing time. I was already a fan of theirs for a year or two. I regularly danced to their songs on stage. I had (and still have) the CD “Hang on Little Tomato.” I danced to their song “Una Notte Napoli” for them that evening. They tipped well. While we were closing, they invited me to attend some kind of an after party. Laurie, the owner of Carnaval, was very strict about not allowing any funny business to take place involving customers and dancers. I also didn't think it was safe to just go and hang out with them at 4AM. So, making sure that Laurie overheard me, I told them that it was against the rules and not something I was willing to do. They proceeded to mock and laugh at me. One of them called me a “square,” while air-drawing the shape of a square with his finger. Their reaction only cemented my decision never to hang out with them.

I still listen to my Pink Martini CD sometimes, but am really disgusted by their mocking and dismissive reaction to me not feeling comfortable hanging out with them at 4AM. I also don't respect losers who hang out in strip clubs for entertainment purposes without getting paid to be there. I'm actually thinking about throwing away my Pink Martini CD now that I'm reminiscing about this night. If they were decent people, the response would've been:

“Ok, we respect your boundaries. You're a great dancer. Here is some more money. Have a great night and stay safe.”

Celeb Mashup: DebraJean Danger

I met DebraJean Danger almost as soon as I became a stripper in April of 2006. We both danced at Cabaret on Burnside, in downtown Portland. I didn't know who she was at all. She was one of the founding “Suicide Girls” models, and also a filmmaker. She did a project with Jim Goad some years ago. She was a friend of Sophia Amorusa before ShopNastyGal and her stupid “girl boss” term was created. DebraJean was always very nice to me, and protective of my naivete at work. She would always check in on how I was doing and listen to me. She was a few years older than me, and I more or less looked up to her as a “cool” older-girl-relative archetype.

I was so naive in the beginning, that I continuously stored my money in an unattended bag on the locker room floor as I made it throughout the night. I didn't think I needed to invest in buying a lock for the lockers, and I don't like carrying a bag around with me at work. On my 20th birthday, near the end of the night, I opened my bag to discover that someone stole all of the money out of it. While I do enjoy stealing from corporations and retail stores, it never occurred to me that one of my coworkers would steal from me, because I would never do something like that to any of them. I was very upset about it. In order to make me feel better, DebraJean got me a box of VooDoo donuts with birthday candles in them. I can look at my 20th birthday two ways. I can be angry that someone stole all of my night's earnings out of my unattended bag. I can also be thankful that someone as kind and accepting as DebraJean went out of her way to make my first birthday in my new life feel comfortable. Since that night, I either carry a bag around with me, or I lock my valuables in a locker.

DebraJean Danger did not shave her armpits or body hair, and it made me feel comfortable enough to be myself at work. She always had a casual, confidant, hipster manner about herself that emitted an aloof kindness. She put me into contact with some Suicide Girls photographer, and offered to have me model on the site. I decided not to go forward with that, because I dislike the fake-subversive, misogynist, poser nature of Suicide Girls culture, and I didn't want to be a part of it. DebraJean and I worked at another club together in Portland, but mostly never talked. We never really became friends.

A couple of years later, I was in the Fred Meyer bathroom on Hawthorne in SE Portland. I was sitting in one stall, when I noticed a fur coat on the ground in the stall next to me. Whoever was in that stall was taking a shit, straining, and making noises. As I sat in my stall, I wrote a note that said “Fur is Murder,” and put it on the fur coat while the person was pooping. A few minutes later, after I was out of the bathroom, DebraJean came out of the bathroom wearing the fur coat. I was shocked and nervous to realize it was her from the stall. I think we both got on the same bus too, coincidentally. I'm not sure if she realized that I was the one from the stall next to her, but she didn't say anything to me on the bus. She might not have even recognized me from having worked together in previous years.

DebraJean isn't that big of a famous person, but I still enjoyed meeting her and finding out about her work in the entertainment industry. There are a lot of indie-famous or internet-famous people who work in the strip club industry. I wanted to make this DebraJean post to highlight and celebrate the pattern, and let DebraJean be a representative of this type of a dancer. I don't know what she would think of my labor rights stuff these days, but I doubt she would like it. Back then, I used to say things to coworkers such as, “we should have a union,” without even knowing what misclassification is, or why contractors can't be represented in a traditional way that employees can be. I didn't understand any of the legality of the issue whatsoever, and didn't realize that there are some people who dislike unions. Judging from DebraJean's friendships with libertarian yippie types who love the work of Ayn Rand and Sophia Amorusa, I doubt she would like my opinions, and that's ok. I don't like her fur coat. I still remember her fondly despite our differences, and am happy to have met her.

Celeb Mashup: An Introduction

I’ve been feeling very depressed lately. One way to lighten the mood is to focus on celebrities. This mini-series will focus on examining the celebrities who I have met in strip clubs over the years, discuss labor rights in conjunction with their public images, and have a fluffy, light-hearted mini-series. I’ve been wanting to compile a list like this for a while, and publish my comments.

Madison Rae Gladstone's Comment

Madison Rae Gladstone made a comment on Justine Marie Cox’s facebook a couple of years ago, during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs. It said,

“Hey! It’d be super cool if you’d message me back and be honest and forthcoming about basically screwing me over”

Cox never replied, and the comment was deleted shortly after it was posted. I am wondering what Gladstone was referring to, and if it had anything to do with their reaction to the series. If anybody knows, please tell me. Thanks.

Monica Lewinsky

In 2021, FX released a fabulous series about the Clinton-Lewinsky scandal. I wrote an article about the series, around the start of Mouse’s Ear Memoirs. My Lewinsky article definitely needs some editing and clean up, but I’d like to share it here. I don’t know where else to put it. Here it is:

I remember November 4th, 1992. I had a troll collection, age six. Our next door neighbor had a stripper friend named Tammy, who my mother used words like “tramp” and “bimbo” to describe. That was the year my mother celebrated her 30th birthday party with a large bash at our house, a few months before the election. I have a lot of early life memories. One of my memories is my mother excited when Bill Clinton won. I was rooting for Ross Perot during that time, primarily basing my support off of my fondness for Russ Troll dolls, who Ross Perot resembled. Bill Clinton was celebrating on the television that morning of November 4th, with a young fan also named Bill. Bill and Bill were telling the cameras that they were both named Bill, Clinton's ruddy face and fluffy hair singed into my memory for eternity. Many things about the Clinton administration are singed into my memory for eternity, an inevitable outcome of seeing him on the television so often during my formative years. I can't say I've ever cared for Bill Clinton. One person I've vocalized unwavering support for since the 90's is named Monica Lewinsky. FX's series “Impeachment: American Crime Story” brought it all back in a ten-episode run this past Autumn of 2021. While watching each episode, I laughed, I cried, I thought about how the scandal shaped me as a person. Since the 90s, so much of my conversations regarding Monica involved me having to defend her, involved telling people she's a person just like anyone. So much of the media depicted Monica as the contrary. That is why the perspectives portrayed in the FX series are so deeply satisfying. Monica is finally being portrayed properly by the mainstream, with actress Beanie Feldstein in the starring role. So is Paula Jones, Juanita Broaddrick, and the whole of womankind in relation to the Clinton scandals.

I remember seeing Paula Jones on the TV a lot when I was a young child. I remember Paula Jones being a knock-out with her big auburn hair and flashy outfits. She reminded me of one of my Barbie dolls. My mother angrily called her a “bimbo” a lot who was harming Bill Clinton. I didn't know why or what that meant. I didn't know why everybody seemed to hate the pretty lady on the TV. Now I understand that it was victim-blaming rhetoric, misogyny, and slut shaming. Annaleigh Ashford did a great job playing Paula Jones in the FX series, with vulnerability and empathy. The CPAC press conference re-enactment when Paula was being harshly questioned about sexual harassment is particularly painful. The Penthouse modeling re-enactment that she was pressured to do after financial constraints caused by the scandal wrecked her, and her husband's accusations and victim blaming were all a painful reminder of the reality of Paula Jones during the 90s.

Much of the language used on TV during the 90s to describe Clinton's predatory behavior was confusing to me. I did not know what terms like “exposing oneself” and “oral sex” meant. None of my dictionaries or encyclopedias were able to help me out. Back then, I thought the word “subpoena” had something to do with male genitalia. After all, the word “subpoena” was used on the news a lot in conjunction with taboo Clinton topics, and it sounded like it had the word “pee” in it. I instinctively knew that these ladies at the center of the scandals, which the news slandered, were good people. I sensed they were being treated poorly for some reason, and none of that was OK with me. For Halloween in 1998, age twelve, I decided to dress as Monica Lewinsky out of my support for her. It wasn't motivated by mockery or disdain for Monica, rather I thought she looked nice on television and seemed cool in interviews. I didn't understand why it upset or excited certain people in school when I did that, and still was not informed what oral sex was. Molly Shannon was one of my favorite comedians during the 90s. Back when SNL was good, she portrayed characters such as Mary Catherine Gallagher, Sally O'Malley, and of course Monica Lewinsky. I stayed up late watching SNL during that time, trying to decipher what so many terms on the television meant that I didn't understand, trying to understand why Monica's existence was a joke to so many people.

As a teenage girl during the Bush administration (which he stole from Al Gore), perhaps after switching to cable internet from dial-up, I looked up The Starr Report on some search engine like Yahoo or AskJeeves. I read the entire document in detail, and it was then that I understood more fully what was happening during the Clinton administration in previous years. I still didn't think differently of Monica, only more fiercely defended her from the puritanical and misogynist public abuse that she endured. Of course, I didn't know the word “misogyny” yet. I wouldn't learn that word until age twenty, during my 2006 Summer Marxism class at Portland State University, taught by professor Elisabeth Ceppi. The Starr Report was certainly one of the most vulgar things I had ever read at that time, but I did not care, and did not derive excitement out of it. I only wondered what kind of a sick pervert Ken Starr had to be in order to prod so deeply into someone's intimate life like he did. In 1998, Larry Flynt of the Hustler empire offered Ken Starr a job, due to the salaciousness of his prose. It is funny to me that Larry Flynt's Hustler Club in Las Vegas is the first strip club that I ever sued.

Throughout the decades since the scandal, I've checked on Monica, to make sure she was doing OK. I've watched every special or interview she's done. One of my favorites was when Tom Green and Monica Lewinsky went to Ottawa in the year 2000, searching for the perfect fabric for her handbags. It was good to see her out having fun. Her 2002 HBO special, “Monica in Black and White,” was an absolutely superb forum in which she describes her experience and mistreatment to a theater of people. It is also the first time Andy Bleiler, the predator who was Monica's teacher, is accurately discussed as the predator that he is. Previously in the media, the Bleiler issue casted Monica in a slut-shaming manner for being preyed upon by her teacher.

Monica probably wouldn't agree with me on this one, but I've never hated Linda Tripp. I can certainly understand why Monica would. However, I can understand Linda's perspective-- she lost her dream job, she wanted to blow the whistle on a disgusting predatory man in a powerful position, and doxxing Monica was collateral damage to doing what she thought was right in the broader context of trying to stop an abuse of power. Linda was a working class woman who chose a certain path that she thought was right. Monica is from an economically privileged background, and Linda assumed that Monica had the resources to recover. From a class perspective, it bothers me that Monica was able to use a family connection at age twenty-two to get a White House internship, have a sexual relationship with the right person, and have the UN subsequently contact her about a possible job. It makes me wonder how many other people at the UN, or in high profile White House positions, got there the same way Monica did without getting caught.

I was sad when I learnt of Linda Tripp's 2020 death. She was one of the first people I ever heard about secretly recording coworkers to take down the boss. It's certainly been a practice that has benefited me for matters of labor rights. As the years climb, I get sad when I learn about the deaths of every one of the players in the Clinton impeachment scandal, no matter what side they were on. Vernon Jordan is gone, Bill Ginsberg is gone. I think fondly of them like distant relatives lost in the mist, lost in the abyss, if only because they played such an integral role in my childhood years glued to the television, trying to understand them.

In the FX Impeachment episodes, Linda Tripp's character notes that Monica is different from the other victims of Bill Clinton's advances, different than the other victims of Hillary's subsequent character assassinations. As mentioned, Linda states that Monica will quickly recover because of her resources. Linda underestimated the power of the internet, of course. Monica suffered immensely, but one thing Linda was right about was that Monica IS different than the others. Monica is openly liberal, not a Trump supporter like several other victims of the Clintons, and she did not allow Trump to use her suffering as a political ploy in the 2016 presidential election. Monica has publicly stated that she voted for Hillary in 2016. Monica has successfully created a career in anti-bullying activism.

90s star Mira Sorveno is almost unrecognizable in her Impeachment portrayal as Monica's mother, Marcia Lewis. It is poignant to see Sorveno in this FX role, redeeming her career after being blacklisted from roles by rapist Harvey Weinstein, a Clinton supporter who sexually harassed her in years prior. Today, Weinstein sits in prison where he belongs.

Welcome back, Mira. Welcome back, Monica. Please stay a while; your opinions and impacts are valid and important to my aging self, to my inner child, to me and certainly millions more who watched you. In 2014 after Monica returned to the public spotlight in Vanity Fair, her haters tried to silence her. They told her to go away, like the baby boomer misogynists that they are. I'm glad she didn't listen to them.

In episode 9, “Stand By Your Man,” a heartening moment comes after Hillary learns of the Lewinsky affair and still maintains her commitment to attend Bill's birthday celebration at Vernon Jordan's house. Bill tells her she doesn't have to go, but she replies that she sticks to her commitments. She attends the dinner with dignity, just like she attended the Trump inauguration in January 2017 as first lady, just like she has done what she thinks is right her entire life, diligently, dedicated, strong and resilient in the face of humiliation. This series gave me a whole new appreciation for Hillary that I never had before, despite our differences, despite my utter disdain for her. I have been called a shrew, sarcastic, a bitch, many times, just like Hillary. Hillary was correct that the pursuit of her husband's impeachment was a vast right wing conspiracy, even if some of their findings on Bill's sexually predatory behaviors were true. I look back now at the resources, time, and tax dollars that the GOP spent on trying to destroy Bill Clinton, and I bubble over with anger at the time lost during the 90s that could've been spent combating global warming or any number of societal problems. It's not like Ken Starr or the republicans truly cared about Bill's victims.

The series has a delightful and charming amount of political foreshadowing of future events. A photo of rapist Bill Cosby with Vernon Jordan is zoomed in on during the scene in his office when Monica meets him to discuss job prospects. Al Gore was never to become president, even though he won the election, but in episodes 7&8 of the series, there is discussion of Clinton resigning and Gore taking over. It's sad to look back now, knowing about the tragedy of Gore's presidential run. Bin Laden's name makes a debut in episode 7. Bill Clinton's legacy has been tarnished by the notion that he could've stopped Bin Laden before 9/11, if he wasn't so bogged down with his personal life and scandals. However, we know that Clinton tried to kill Bin Laden in 1998.

Episode 9, “Grand Jury,” displays the creepy questions Monica was subjected to, the misogyny that Ken Starr's attorney Karen endured, and the lack of regard for Juanita Broaddrick, who was raped by Bill Clinton during the 1970s. After episode 9 aired last Autumn, Juanita Broaddrick tweeted a fitting quote from Sun Tzu's Art of War:

“If you wait by the river long enough, the bodies of your enemies will float by.”

When asked on twitter what she misses about the 90s, Monica replied,

“nothing. absolutely nothing.”

If I could use a time machine to go back to 1998 and talk to Monica, I'd say-- Hey girl, we've all been there-- the dude who low key messes around with you and then publicly accuses you of being a stalker-- we've all been there. It'll be rough ahead Monica, but know that you are loved and seen by many. Monica, you can find solace in the fact that the Clintons were booed in Kentucky at a 2021 event, because people no longer believe that Bill Clinton feels their pain like he stated he did during the 90s.

90s baby boomer shitlibs calling Monica and Paula bimbos are fading away. I saw them for what they were when I was a little girl. As someone who has watched Monica develop into the public advocate she is today, I'd just say to her: You're doing great honey, just like I always knew you would. Keep going. We see you, Monica. We're adult entertainers, activists, feminists, and we hate what happened to you-- the media, the Clintons, Andy Bleiler. It wasn't your fault. Leave Monica alone. Leave Britney alone, too. Thank you Monica. Keep going. Don't stop thinking about tomorrow.

Monica. That woman-- that wonderful, brave woman. That woman-- that survivor. That one and only:

MISS LEWINSKY.

Joel Wheelock and His Unattractive Fiance

I haven’t been keeping up with the Joel Wheelock Watch tumblr, and I think I forgot the password. The link is still available at the top of this page, but I’ll post about Joel on here if there’s something new and interesting to report.

He’s engaged again, this time to a woman named Michelle Schilling.

Joel’s choice to get engaged to a visibly aged ugly woman with manly muscles and limited curves is actually really interesting to me. He used to constantly berate me over the microphone for not being curvy enough to his liking. He made it a point to announce over the microphone how much he wanted to have sex with curvy women, try to embarrass me and make me feel unattractive. Working with his constant microphone vulgarities and explicit discussion of his sexuality was so grotesque and depressing. I don’t think I’ve ever fully healed from his cruelty. He also usually went for women who were much younger than him, easier to manipulate and impress with his stupid wigger behavior.

Michelle Schilling looks like a non-op transwoman. I am so fascinated with their relationship. Joel did express before that he is a fan of Janis Joplin and Alanis Morrisette, who are both kind of butch in an unfeminine way. So, maybe his relationship with Michelle Schilling is a manifestation of that side of Joel’s preferences. I wonder what Michelle Schilling thinks about Joel’s rap lyrics describing giving a woman roofies and digitally raping her, or Joel’s friendship with Sexual Predator Jeremy Chase. I have so many questions. Whatever the case may be, Michelle’s probably also a piece of shit for validating the existence of someone who celebrates working for a company as evil and disgusting as RCI. I’ll bet they only stay together three more years, tops.

In recent pictures and videos, Joel appears fatter, out of breath, tired, and sagging. It’ll be interesting to see how much longer he lives before getting cancer or c.o.p.d. Hopefully it’s not too much longer. At least he’s not pretending to be a Native American any more.

Harold Presley

This man’s name is Harold Presley. He is a sexual predator.

Harold Presley has a hard time meeting women who will talk to him for free, so he frequents strip clubs. I lived in Champaign-Urbana from early 2020 until mid-2022. I left, because I ran out of half-decent strip clubs to work at within a 1.5 hour driving radius from my home. Within that time frame, I bumped into Harold Presley at multiple adult entertainment establishments.

When I say that Harold Presley is a sexual predator, I mean that he routinely tried to rub his hands on me and other women without consent. He also forced hugs and wrapped his arms around women’s necks. Harold Presley was never able to understand that in a strip club, rules of consent are just like anywhere else. That is— do not sexually caress, hug, or fondle someone without their consent. I never saw a single bouncer, manager, or strip club staff member 86 Harold Presley from any establishment ever. Presley is mild-mannered and sluggish enough to bypass the oaf-like security at all of the places. His assaults weren’t too aggressive, so he was allowed to stay.

I gave Harold Presley a couple of lap dances one time. He’s usually too cheap to buy dances or tip very much, but every once in a while he’ll shell out some cash. Unsurprisingly, he repeatedly tried to touch me. He had a hard time keeping his hands to himself during the dance. I was forced to back away several feet from him to continue the dance. I knew that the turd managers and security wouldn’t ever do anything to stop him, and they would likely try to punish me instead. Most of the time, some dumb cheap whores will call me “cold,” with the support of security staff, when I don’t let predators sexually assault me.

I danced for Presley because I wanted his money, but also because he claimed to be related to Elvis Presley. I wanted to hear more about his genealogy, and I think he looks like an uglier version of Fat Elvis.

Presley’s current facebook has him in a relationship with an unattractive woman. I’m guessing she has to be pretty lonely, ignorant, and desperate to be in a relationship with a guy like him.

Normally customers don’t tell me their full names. I’d be doxxing a whole lot more of them if they did. But, with Presley being so proud of his famous name, he just had to tell me. Anyway, I hope he dies soon. A disease or an accident— I do not care, so long as it happens.

StripperWeb is Gone.

StripperWeb.com disappeared from the internet last year, during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs. I’m still really sad about it. I’ve been using StripperWeb to research my jobs since about 2008. I have been fortunate enough to meet a lot of long term forum participants.

Laurie C., former owner of Carnaval and Golden Dragon in downtown Portland, was one of the first people to introduce me to StripperWeb. OregonChick was her avatar name. HoboStripper, otherwise known as Tara Burns, came to Portland in 2008 and worked at Carnaval with me. Her StripperWeb name was Lena. They were two of the first StripperWeb people to be kind to me, with many more around the country to follow.

One of my favorite things about StripperWeb was the club review area titled “mileage.” Mileage meant how many disgusting cheap whores worked at the club, scabbing and letting gross men touch them in exchange for small sums of money. Clubs like that were called “High Mileage.” StripperWeb dancers could put a description of just how grotesque the situation was. When searching for a new place to work, I deliberately sought out “air dance” mileage clubs, or “light contact” mileage. High Mileage prostitute-fake-dancers are often mean to dancers who have boundaries. High Mileage prostitute-fake-dancers often have raspy voices from using hard drugs, bad boob jobs, cliche tramp stamp tattoos, facial deformities such as weak chins, and thin lips that make them look like sock puppets. They are only able to make money by letting rapey men touch them. Their ugly rapey customers don’t like to spend a lot of money on beautiful women, or pay them simply for existing. So, lurking on StripperWeb was a way for me to avoid those kinds of fucking creeps and the bouncers who validate their existence.

I needed StripperWeb, and it’s gone now. As much as I dislike Reese Piper, she wrote a fabulous article about the site that wonderfully describes StripperWeb. Here is the link: StripperWeb.

Ridiculous Lying Labor Law Article

Some labor guy calling himself Dr. James Castagnera messaged me during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, to give him a quote on some question about strippers. He then wrote an article for some journal that took my quote out of context and chopped it up. I usually write dismissive, mean replies to emails like his, but I broke my own rules by talking to him. I cannot find the article now, nor can I remember what it was about. But, if anyone ever finds it out there, just know that I didn’t approve it and regret being a part of his paper. This guy creeped me out even over email. I wish weird loser men would stop speaking for strippers.

Star Garden and Magic Tavern Unionized!

Star Garden is in Los Angeles, California. Magic Tavern is in Portland, Oregon. Both clubs unionized recently. While I did drive down to Los Angeles in the Summer of 2022, I am respectfully not talking about it. Congratulations to all involved though! Google and social media can provide great optics and more information on both workplaces, if anyone is interested.

Drop Weapons in Iraq and Afghanistan

I started working in strip clubs in 2006, so a lot of my customers were soldiers on leave, between deployments. Often times, they’d have large sums of money, with no interest in saving it for their futures. Many soldiers during this time frame preferred to spend their money on strippers. While I did protest the Iraq war and said “fuck the troops” in my free time, I also enjoyed learning about serial killers. I enjoyed spending candid moments with traumatized U.S. soldiers in VIP rooms. For the most part, they were some of the most high spending, respectful, docile customers I have ever had. One thing I remember learning about early on in my stripper career was drop weapons. If a soldier accidently killed a civilian, he was often instructed to just plant a weapon on the dead body. That way, the solider would be able to have a self-defense argument and wouldn’t get in trouble. After the U.S. pulled out of Afghanistan a couple of years ago, I re-visited this time in my life, and read a lot of new articles reflecting on that time. I thought it was interesting that many of the things I had privately learned about by working in strip clubs— like drop weapons— were relatively unknown to the public.

I am still trying to figure out how to do a podcast, and am interested in speaking with any strippers who worked during that era. I’m also interested in speaking with former soldiers from that era on the podcast. If anyone would like to talk about that publicly, please message me.

Strip Club Shooting Google Alerts

Early on during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, I made myself a Google Alert with the term “strip club shooting” and related terms. I was thinking I’d get a few alerts during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, save them, and do some kind of post about their specifics. I used to save each article that came up, about the different shootings at different clubs. However, the alerts became so overwhelming in numbers that I stopped saving them. I didn’t realize that strip club shootings happen almost every night around the country, until the alerts brought them to my attention. Normally they occur in the parking lot areas, involve male-on-male confrontations, and occur at clubs that are more open to inviting in rap culture. But, shootings can happen anywhere. I’m hesitant to continue attacking the Second Amendment without first attacking Big Pharma and SSRIs. I’m hesitant to attack The Constitution, without first examining the cultures which romanticize gun violence. But, it’s definitely still disgusting how often shootings occur at strip clubs, and how little the strip club owners care about such issues.

In November of 2022, during Mouse’s Ear Memoirs, I worked at a club that had a parking lot duel. A man was shot dead in the parking lot, while staff and dancers locked themselves inside the club. The woman owner of this club didn’t care about the safety of her staff or dancers. The only security she usually had working was her daughter’s boyfriend, who stood around stoned, texting most of the time. Another time at this same club, a drug dealer pulled out a gun, looking for a dancer he disliked. Another time, all of the dancers, myself included, had to hide in a makeshift safe room, as a large fight broke out in the parking lot and club. Fortunately, this woman’s club was closed down a couple of months ago now. I’m definitely planning to do a series about her.

In my experience, there are some key things that clubs can do to prevent shootings. Here’s a short list:

#1: Hire professional security

#2: Scan guests with a metal detector wand

#3: Pat guests down to check for weapons

#4: Prevent rap culture from proliferating within the club. This can be done by inviting in bikers who display Celtic and Norse tattoos, playing music that does not sound like rap and hip hop, making hipsters and other high-income tech nerds interested in patronizing the establishment.

In my almost eighteen years of experience at around two-hundred clubs in seventeen states, those simple actions can save lives, and prevent a whole lot of unwanted workplace violence. I’d love it if data scientists did some kind of study on strip club shootings. If anyone is interested in brainstorming with me, don’t hesitate to reach out. It’s a fascinating topic that deserves more attention and solutions.

Why is Reese Piper So Obsessed with Me?

Reese Piper is the fake name of an internet personality and prostitute who sometimes works in strip clubs. She is envious of the media attention that I get from suing strip clubs, so she spends time posting negative comments whenever she finds an online article about me that positively describes stripper labor rights. While Reese has limited experience working in strip clubs, she thinks that dancers fighting for our legal rights and unionizing is a bad idea. She does encourage forming “collectives,” although with her autism and tendency to sell sexual intercourse to nasty gross rich guys in NYC, she has never formed a collective business herself. Her true goal is to become a famous writer and retire from “sex work.” But, she sucks and can only score lame podcast appearances with horny male losers who nobody cares about. She is also weird looking. She will likely continue to take dick from random gross dudes for a long time to come. I’ve reached out to Reese with hate mail over the years, but she’s yet to respond directly. She’d rather talk shit about stripper unions on twitter, and track down articles about me. What a weird person.

If anybody knows Reese Piper’s real name, or any other information about her that I might be interested in, please contact me. Thanks!