We're on the road to nowhere....

Hooray For Boobies.

Went out with a couple of friends, Lindsay and CJ, tonight. They arrived in Lindsay's truck, and I drove... that's the standard arrangement. I'm the only one that has a vehicle that carries more than two people. Lindsay and CJ are really good friends -- better friends than Lindsay and I are, and I hardly know CJ; I just know him well enough to know that he's just about the horniest bastard I've ever known. He's not a bad guy, he seems to be very loyal, but Jesus, he's horny. So horny he's lost all sense about how to act about it at times. But, barring that, he's a very nice guy, and I have nothing wrong with him. In other words, he and Lindsay are a lot alike -- great guys, but exceptionally horny and at times are unable to control it.

Lindsay and CJ regularly go to a local strip club called Charlie's. Every time I go out with Lindsay and CJ, they try to get me to go with them. I say no, because I really had no interest in going. Believe it or not, I'm not as horny as they are; sex isn't the primary directive in my life. Women make me nervous. When I do get horny, I take care of it myself. As good as it'd be to have someone help me out, I don't have that option, and it doesn't look like I'm gonna have that option any time soon, so I've gotta stick to the hand for now. That doesn't disturb me, or make me uncomfortable, or depress me at all. The idea that I'm sexually past my prime and haven't gotten laid yet disturbs me, but I don't dwell on it. That's another of those things that, if I were to think about it, it'd only serve to depress me more. But... it's not important to me anyway. But I'm way off tangent and I've lost my train of thought anyway, so I'm gonna get back to the point...

So every time I go out with Lindsay and CJ, they ask me if I want to go to Charlie's with them. And I say no, or make an excuse not to. I've explained this before, and I'm going to do it again -- I don't really like strip clubs. My reasoning behind this goes like this:

a) The Meatmarket theory -- I don't dig the women on display. Even if the women themselves are into it, I don't especially like the idea of it. A part of my brain is screaming that this is taking advantage of the girl. This is very hypocritical of me, because I will admit to owning a lot of fuckin' porn, which in its own way is more exploitative than a strip club.

b) Tip Rates -- From hearing Lindsay talk about it, I am an expert on how much to tip a girl for her services, and I am astounded at the prices. They're incredibly low. If I were a stripper, and I were showin' my boobs, I would demand at least a fiver for shovin' my ass in a patron's face and smackin' the guy with my boobs. Minimum. And as for a lap/table dance...? Twenty. Minimum. As it is now, tips are one dollar, and lap/table dances are ten.

c) This brings me to my next point... there comes a point at which this whole process comes eerily close to prostitution. Public prostitution, yeah, but it's there. It's the trading of money for a sexual favor. Does that make it wrong? Well. Shit. I dunno about that. Everyone's gotta make a living somehow. Could be there was no other way. I have no right to judge anyone but myself. But I have a hell of a lot of questions.

In any case... you get the idea. So we went out tonight because we were all bored. And the question was inevitably asked... "So... Steve... wanna go to Charlie's?" And... well, I was sick of being asked if I wanted to go to Charlie's. And I figured I sort of owed it to Lindsay and CJ -- they've asked no less than ten times, and I've denied them every time. They only want to include me in their fun, which is a nice thing to do, and I've done nothing but shut 'em down without giving it a chance. So I said sure. Let's give it a try. So we went.

Tell the truth, I'm not sure if I had fun or not. I saw a lotta boobs. The music was shit. Too much rap and Korn-type stuff. One of the girls had some taste and played some old Beastie Boys and Run DMC. I think I started to get into it when a really cute blonde girl with knee-high boots on came over, sat down beside me, and told me I had sexy hair. This started a little conversation between us.... it was really awkward because, like I said earlier, I'm afraid of girls, and when a pretty stripper starts a conversation with "Wow, you have sexy hair" and starts running her fingers through it, it flips a switch in my head that turns all my responses off. I'm not sure what the deal was with that gal. I hadn't tipped her or anything. We'd just arrived. She just came up and sat down and started running her hands through my hair. That was wild. And she only left when they called her up to strip. 'course, she didn't come back. But. Hell. It was a bit of an ego booster, later on, when I came to the decision that my hair was the most attractive thing about me. And here I'd previously thought it was too shaggy.

I had to tip that girl after that, while she was doing her thing on stage. I tipped a few other girls, drank a lotta beer.... I didn't get drunk. Beer doesn't get me drunk. I drank a LOT of fucking beer, but I did not get drunk. Bad thing is, the lighting in the place was rancid, and eventually my head started wigging out. It took a while, but it happened. When that happened, I told Lindsay and CJ it was time to go. Not too soon, either... Lindsay and CJ were too drunk to be seen with in public. Lindsay was getting loud, and CJ was getting stupid. So we left.... I came home home and started writing this.

I said I was having a hard time deciding if I had fun tonight, and that was the truth. The girls were really pretty, and I got some attention from one of them, but... hell, she was making the rounds, giving that same kind of attention to all the other guys in the place, so I don't feel special, even though I do appreciate the hair compliment.

Lindsay and CJ are expecting me to go back, now. I don't want to become a regular at the place. I'm just not that horny. If I ever become a regular at a bar or club, it'd be either because of people or music. Not boobs. That, and a Mexican guy hit on me in the bathroom. That's no good. Not a good sign.