Las Vegas Weekly

February 14, 2010 · 10:46 AM

The learning curves happen at school, but also at the strip club

By Justice

Illustration: Justice

In the white glow of a cold cloudy morning, I pressed my nose against my dog's warm, silky, pumpkin-pie colored ear. He was sitting on my lap looking out the window while we were on a trip to the vet, where I am leaving him for the next few days while I go out of town. I held him close to me with a renewed appreciation for the moments spent with loved ones. Yes, I am leaving town again. Disneyland this time. My brother is going to China to teach English for several months and I thought it would be nice to take him to Disneyland before he left.

I am writing from a school computer between classes. I have a ton of stuff to learn as classes become progressively harder. There are probably a million bones in the human body. I’m keeping up, though. Recording my lectures and taking tons of notes. I found this drawing in my old notes and I thought I'd share. I think I draw the most when I’m not supposed to be drawing. This particular drawing, I believe, was when I was brainstorming for a blog drawing during a genetics lecture.

I have one more easy class ahead of me and then I'm packing for my short trip.

Stripping has been good, albeit surprisingly anticlimactic, for the amount of people that were allegedly in town for the recent concrete convention and the people who were supposed to be out celebrating the Super Bowl. In previous years the concrete convention was a total goldmine for strippers. The recession of course, took its toll on the construction industry.

It seems like no matter what convention I prepare myself to expect, my customers end up being a bunch of guys from a Canadian bachelor party.

Anyway, everything is fine with me. After I had too many rounds of tequila shots one night at work, I began crying black streams of make-up tears while I told everyone about my dead mom. I completely lost it. I have no memory of doing that. Apparently my friends dressed me and walked me to my friend’s car, another memory that escapes me. She took me home with her and fed me soup and I got a chance to talk about the death. I guess it had to come out of my system one way or another. I’m so thankful that they had big enough hearts to rise to the occasion. The story goes that they were practically fighting over who got to nurse the blubbering mess I was back to sobriety. One girl even put her own shoes on my feet so I wouldn’t have to walk out in the high heels I wore when I came in. You find family in the most unlikely places. In this case, the lockerroom of a strip club.

Share This