I just got back from a week in the Bahamas. My boyfriend is a professional poker player, and we were there for a tournament.
I like poker. Like stripping, it's part luck and all balls. I get nervous watching him play, though. I mean, I'm a pretty nervous person anyway, but money makes me extra anxious. He's such a calm person most of the time, so watching him get upset over bad hands is bizarre. It makes my stomach hurt.
Speaking of money, I missed CES so I'm a little worried now. I have just a few days to make a month's worth of bills. I keep reading my stripper friends' tweets and Facebook updates about how good this convention was. Our VIP rooms were completely packed with horny nerds.
It was nice to be in the Bahamas, though. My hotel room overlooked the beach. Right below our balcony was an aquarium full of stingrays and a river full of huge sea turtles. I swam with the dolphins and spent hours floating in an inner tube through the lazy river. I smoked hand rolled cigars on the balcony on warm breezy nights. I played in the white sand in the sunset with my boyfriend after going jet skiing in the clear blue water. He even gave me an unprovoked "I love you" for the first time. It was pretty dreamy.
And now I'm back in the cold desert in a quiet strip club that smells like cigarettes and lemony industrial strength cleaners.
I'm writing at work. I'm here early and there are just a few customers and a bunch of aggravated strippers.
A girl just sat next to me with a faded Disney tattoo that looks like she got it in prison. I would keep it covered. I'm just hating on her because she has really nice abs. And she just told me I look really hot like a naughty secretary and that I'm going to do well tonight. Her tattoo isn't so bad, I guess.