An Important Phone Conversation Between Me and My Gay Friend Rick

OK. So, I just got off the phone with my gay friend Rick and I thought I would share a little bit of that convo. Please note, that I didn’t record our convo (I haven’t done that since that cops had to trace one of my exes) – so what follows is not word for word; it’s just way I remember it.

RICK: Heeeeeeeey, Lex!

LEXY: Why did you show up as ‘Restricted?’

RICK: Long story, gurl. Now talk to me… How you be?

LEXY: Down. I’m not feeling like myself.

RICK: Down? That doesn’t sound like you.

LEXY: I know. I just took a Dexatrim, so hopefully I start soaring soon. I hate being depressed.

RICK: What’s got you down?

LEXY: I dunno. Rainey’s, Bob, the blog…

RICK: Your blog got you down?

LEXY: Yeah. I guess I’m just really frustrated that all people ever want to know about me is about stripping.

RICK: Your blog IS called ‘Confessions of a Former Daytime Stripper.’

LEXY: Well, yeah. I know. Stripping is what I did; it’s a part of me. But it’s not like, WHO I am.

RICK: I get that. If you’re embarrassed, you should just shut it down.

LEXY: But, RICK… It’s not that I’m embarrassed. I see nothing wrong with stripping. I loved stripping and I was pretty damn good at it.

RICK: Sorry, Lex. I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.

LEXY: You’re not Chris Tucker and I wish you’d stop with outdated movie references.

RICK: Sorry.

LEXY: No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have snapped at you. ANYWAY, the thing that bothers me isn’t that I was a stripper. I love talking about it. The thing that bothers me is that people have a whole preconceived notion of WHAT a stripper is.

RICK: I think that Dexatrim’s kicking in.

LEXY: I’m not high…

RICK AND LEXY: … yet!

LEXY: Whatever. It’s 5 o’clock somewhere. And you’re not even listening!

RICK: I am. Lay it on me.

LEXY: Well, it’s like people just immediately judge you. Like: “Oh, I get it. You’re a dumb skank.” And I’m like: “I’m not DUMB. I went to college.” And they’re like: “You did?” And it’s like, yeah, motherfuckers. I went to the University of Wisconsin. I was a Woman Studies major, and had a Spanish minor. You deciding that I must be stupid because I have a great body and can work a pole is really judgmental and really hurtful.

RICK: Yeah. But aren’t most strippers stupid?

LEXY: That’s not the point! This is about me, and I am not stupid. 1 + 1 doesn’t equal 2 in this case.

RICK: I’m not sure what that means.

LEXY: Just listen. So was working last night, and this chick comes into Rainey’s and she’s all: “You should come check out my Burlesque show at Stage Left. It’s just down the street.” And I was like: “OMG. I love burlesque. BTWs, I totally used to be a stripper.” And then this chick gets all pretentious and she's all: “I’m, uh, NOT a stripper. I do burlesque. It’s theatrical. It’s all about beautiful costumes and making the audience want something they can’t get.”

RICK: Sounds like stripping.

LEXY: Right? So, I’m all: “Been there, done that, girlfriend.” And she was all: “No. Burlesque is THEATRE.” As if I am some sort of dumb ass! And I’m like: “Yeah, I get it. It’s all about the tease. All dancey, no touchy.” And she goes: “I don’t think you get it. It’s not like I’m some kind of whore.”

RICK: No, she didn’t…

LEXT: Yes, she did! And I was like: “No you didn’t!” And she was like: “Yes, I did.” So I was all: “Look here, Sasquatch Jones. The only reason you’re in Burlesque instead of stripping is because that Mae West body of yours requires that you cover up in feathers and try to make getting naked into something theatrical. At my club, the owner would have smiled at you, told you to lose 20 pounds, then handed you a mop if you still wanted the work. Let’s face it, you do burlesque at a community theater for free; I used to work a 7 hour shift and come home with enough money to pay my rent and get high.”

RICK: Oh my God. What did she do?

LEXY: She started to cry.

RICK: Well, yeah. That was pretty harsh.

LEXY: I know. I felt really bad about it. She wasn’t even 20 pounds overweight, more like 15. Nothing that a two week fast couldn’t cure.

RICK: You’re not still doing that are you?

LEXY: No, I hit my ideal. If I drop any more weight I’d lose it from my moneymaker.

RICK: Which part exactly is the moneymaker, again?

LEXY: Fuck off. You’re gay… what do you know?

RICK: …

LEXY: You there?

RICK: Yeah.

LEXY: What’s wrong?

RICK: I’m fuming.

LEXY: Don’t you mean flaming?

RICK: …

LEXY: Oh, come on. It’s funny!

RICK: It’s not fucking funny! It really annoys me when you say things like that.

LEXY: Like what?

RICK: Like: “You’re gay.” As if me being gay makes it impossible to see things the way other people see them.

LEXY: I just meant because I’m a woman and…

RICK: … and?

LEXY: Well, you know…

RICK: No, Lexy, I don’t know. You seem to be implying that I couldn’t understand a damn thing about a woman because I am gay. You seem to be implying that all of my thoughts have to be filtered through some sort of gay-vision that tints my world view.

LEXY: Well, doesn’t it?

RICK: It does and it doesn’t. I’m just mad because here you are complaining that no one sees you as a full person because you’re a stripper… then all of a sudden you’re coming after me with some antiquated stereotypical bullshit. Weren’t you the one who said it’s a part of you, but it’s not WHO you are?

LEXY: Well… yeah…

RICK: So stop diminishing me based on sex. You of all people should know how annoying it is when people diminish you based on sex.

LEXY: Yeah, like when people constantly refer to you as “My gay friend Rick.”

RICK: Or when people say: “You remember Lexy, the stripper.”

LEXY: You always introduce me that way.

RICK: This is a reminder for me to stop.

LEXY: But, yeah. That makes sense. I guess it’s important for people not to get caught up in what they think about someone else based on some tired old stereotype. Like, thinking you’re some sort of Robin-Williams-Birdcage-esque-queen right now.

RICK: Or thinking you can do nothing more then give a good blow job.

LEXY: Quick! Replace “good” with “great!”

RICK: You’re such a stereotype.

LEXY: Takes one to know one.

RICK: OK, Lex. I gotta run.

LEXY: Why? Is Project Runway on?

RICK: Did you just miss our conversation?

LEXY: It was a joke. And by the way, no I didn’t. I think it was good to talk about how people labeling and judging others without getting to know them is harsh and stupid. Like, just because I’m a stripper doesn’t mean that I’m some sort of dumb nympho, and just ‘cause you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re hot for sex all the time.

RICK: That one’s actually true for me.

LEXY: Ha! Me too. OK Ricks – gotta fly. Love you dearly.

RICK: Peace!

And that’s how that went. But it made me feel better. It made me feel like, fuck it. I don’t have to be depressed because I feel like the only people who read this blog are lascivious perverts who are too cheap to pull out their credit cards and commit to a porn site. Why do people think that just ‘cause ‘Stripper’ is in the title that the content is going to be erotic?

Oh, well. I’m not going to stop blogging, just because I fear what people think of me. I know me. And I know this: I am powerful and beautiful and sexy. I am the best me I can be, and I have a lot to give this world. It took a gay man to show me how to be out and proud… but I AM OUT AND PROUD. I WAS A FORMER DAYTIME STRIPPER, and you CAN’T kiss my ass. It’s all dancey and NO touchy!

xxxLex

Chuck Klosterman is the Poster Boy for The Decline and Fall of Man

I know this blog is about stripping, but I have something else to talk about today.

Let me take a moment to satisfy the people who come to this site to hear things like “I shaved the entirety of my mons pubis” or “As a rule, I never sleep with customers, but there was this one time…” Here you go: 1. I definitely rock the bald eagle. 2. I really didn’t have a rule against sleeping with customers. I slept with plenty. Word to the wise for dudes who want to take home a stripper: eye contact is a turn on.

OKAY, now here’s the real thing I want to talk about today: CHUCK KLOSTERMAN.

I just finished “Killing Yourself to Live” and I gotta tell you – it was the shittiest, self-gratifying-ist, narcissistic first person account I have ever read. And I know from shitty, self-gratifying, narcissistic first person accounts; I just read Lance Bass’ “Out of Sync.” Lance’s book was all about his formative years and realizing he was gay while wearing stupid costumes and thinking he ruled the world when he sang in N*SYNC for all of 5 seconds sometime in the late ‘90s/early aughts. The book was worse than it sounds, Chuck… and it was better than yours!

So let’s take it back just a moment. Just who is Chuck Klosterman? This guy.

Chuck Klosterman is a rock critic from North Dakota who apparently spent the late 80s/early 90s loving Ass Metal, and seems to be the only person in the world who hasn’t gotten over that phase of his life. It is NOT OK to like the same music you liked when you were 15 (especially if you’re a boy.) He seriously mentions rocking out to a ‘Skid Row’ song that wasn’t even ’18 and Life.’ What? CHUCK, liking horrible shit in an unironic way doesn’t make you hip, it makes you twee.

The premise of Chuck Klosterman’s ricockulous book is that he takes a road trip across the US for three weeks stopping off at all the places where dead rockers met their maker. (There are poor people in China who don't even have road trips!) Aside from the road trip aspect in a stupid car he names his 'Tauntaun', it sounds like it could be cool, right? Everyone loves dead rockers! But it wasn’t cool, not even for a moment. The book was about 3 women that Chuck Klosterman pines away for in exactly the same manner rendering them into mere symbols of some sort of fleeting femininity that Chuck Klosterman finds appealing. He loves beautiful quirky women with huge brains and big opinions about random stupid pop culture tidbits. OH! How he gets high and creates banal scenarios in which he tries to decide which woman is for him. If he chooses one, will he be forever lost to a world without ancillary beautiful women who can climb on rooftops in North Dakota in the middle of the night?

I’m about to go batshit just thinking about it. Chuck Klosterman is such a virgin that he thinks that all women will swoon over some randomly quoted Radiohead song! Chuck Klosterman spends pages wondering about a kiss. A KISS! Jesus, Mary and Joe Cocker. I can’t take a grown man seriously who’s singular obsession in life is women, who can’t even fantasize beyond a kiss. It’s so ridiculous; I ended up wondering if it was some sort of game. Like – is he writing like a douchbag because he thinks that women reading this book will think that it’s romantic? Well, Chuck – I don’t think it’s romantic; I think it’s cloying. I think you’re a bigger cheater for spooning that woman all night and loving every minute of it, while some poor retarded woman who pretends to like listening to you opine about Ace Frehly sits on the other side of the country believing she has your undivided romantic attention. If a guy I was dating told me that he messed up and bagged some chick he didn’t care about after a long night of shooters at Rainey’s, I would be pissed, but I would get over it. If my guy told me that he spooned some bitch all night and it made him think of the opening sequence of “Purple Rain” and he somehow felt complete… well, he better take a running start, because I am coming for his junk with the biggest knife I can find.

Here’s the thing I hated most about this book – it’s not actually about dead rock stars at all. Chuck Klosterman actually goes to these places that could be compelling (Chelsea Hotel, plane crash sites, The South) and only tells stories about himself. Is there really a market for people wanting to know the soundtrack of some rando guy’s life who was born in 1972. That’s not enough time to believe your opinion to be the second coming; I mean, I read Madeline Albright’s book and thought to myself: “Give it some time, Maddy. Time gives some perspective.” Also, is it really necessary to get Chuck Klosterman’s opinion on why people love “Led Zeppelin.” (Let me give you a hint, Chuck: Jimmy Page’s guitar make you want to take your clothes off and Robert Plant’s orgiastic voice makes you want to pursue the fastest, most animalistic, back-arching path to climax.) Chuck Klosterman thinks it’s because of Jimmy Page’s obsession with Alistair Crowley. Seriously? Once again, you can file Chuck Klosterman’s inability to get anything worth getting on the fact that he has the sexual maturity of a freshman in high school.

I do want to point out that “Killing Yourself to Live” came out in 2005. As of today, that was three years ago. I mention this, because I have been railing against Chuck Klosterman for being irrelevant and out of touch, et cetera… and while those things are true, it wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t mention that fact that I am three years late to the “This is the Worst Book Ever” dinner table. I do understand that criticizing something so entirely off the American Pop Radar is worse than Chuck Klosterman writing the original piece that got my thong in a twist. This trend, however, of digestible, media fast food that must be consumed the moment the microwave oven dings causes me alarm. It makes me wonder: if this book was going to be irrelevant a mere three years after publication, doesn’t that mean by its very essence, it was irrelevant at it's point of conception? I can’t accept that people can get away with saying stupid shit like: “Oh, that song. That was the jam of 2006. No one likes that song any more.” Bullshit that I don’t like “Hips Don’t Lie” anymore! I like it even more now because I’m not supposed to. (By the way – when will hip-hop artists ever learn that putting the year in your song is like putting a “Best Used By” date on your art? It’s like ‘Naughty by Nature’ and that damn ‘Nineteen Naughty One’ title. That said, OPP is still my jam.)

To sum up: Chuck Klosterman is a douche, pop culture cycles through at laser light speed, and I used to be a stripper. No, I didn’t forget that’s the premise of this blog. I used to be a stripper. I used to work the pole. I once made a $1200 tip. I wore high heels for 7 hours a day, changed my costume 6 times a day, and toyed with every Tom, Dick, and Sally who walked in the door. I was good at my job, and unlike Chuck Klosterman, I never took it for something that it never was. I took my clothes off to Motley Crue. You won’t find me spending pages upon pages expounding on the merits of “Theater of Pain” simply because I gave a lap dance to a Saudi Prince. That, Chuck Klosterman, is giving meaning to the meaningless, and I refuse to do it.

I gotta go. I’m still fucking pissed about this stupid book. The next book on my list is “The Spoils of Poynton” by Henry James.

Don’t worry – I’ll write soon about being a friggin’ stripper.

Until then… stay sexy!
xxxLex

Shot to the Heart, and she's to blame! Brooke Hogan gives women a bad name!

Sexy Lexy in the hizzy… and I’m fit to be tied!

Brooke Hogan is an idiot (and not because she gives the stripper look a bad name!)

Click this link. Brooke Says No Lady Presidents

Brooke Hogan thinks a woman can’t be President of the UNITED STATES because of her lady plumbing!

WTF?!!

I know that this might surprise some of you, but Sexy Lexy is a raging Feminist. (I was a Women Studies Major.) Just like ‘Pretty Woman’ – “I say who! I say when! I say how much!”

For those of you in the Dark Ages, who think that Feminism is about comfortable shoes and cleft palettes… please take a peek at the dictionary.

fem•i•nism
–noun
1. the doctrine advocating social, political, and all other rights of women equal to those of men.
2. an organized movement for the attainment of such rights for women.
3. feminine character.

I am down with one, two, and three! Why do you think I strip in the first place? Let me tell you how I do it:
1. I slap on a little “Thunderstruck” and trot on stage in my tiniest leopard thong – and men are at my mercy. Men pay dollar after dollar to look at me while I literally treat them like shit for wanting to do it. I know THIS stripper doesn’t make 75 cents on the dollar!
2. I’m in the union.
3. I do it all in clear heels.

I tell you what, I am reeling about what Brooke Hogan said. Women can’t be President because of shifting moods and periods?! That is the most sexist, uneducated nonsense I’ve heard since TamiLynn said that shit about Asians. Oh, you should have heard me go off!

The WORST part is, Brooke Hogan is a Woman (allegedly!) Can you believe that shit? I mean, it’s terrible sexist bullshit when a guys says it. But when a woman says it – that’s it! That is some real uneducated bullshit!

Ladies – it’s important that we stand together and not fall into male dominated mentalities. Like that stupidity Newt Gingrich would say about women in combat: “What if they had their periods in a foxhole? How could they fight?”

It's like - WHAT? When the hell are we planning on more trench warfare... is that the ‘Back to the Future’ plan, General 1918?

Also – did you know this? Menstruating strippers make more money! Gross, but true.

Bottom line: Brooke Hogan – you’re a misogynist. Bottom line number 2: Brooke Hogan, you seem too stupid to know what that word means.

I can’t tell you how much female-on-female crime bothers me. Ladies – stop saying anti-woman stuff! Stand up for other ladies! Stand up for your rights! And don’t judge other women – if there’s someone who knows about looking great and making money, it’s Sexy Lexy.

Stay Sexy!

xxxLex

She Who Dealt It, Plunge It

Sexy Lexy here…

One of the unfortunate things about doing the morning shift is that at times you become the hostage of what happened the night before. And on Mondays you can become the hostage of what happened the weekend before.

So Monday I walk into work, I go back stage and it smells just awful. Then to add insult to injury, the bathroom has a huge “OUT OF ORDER” sign on it. So I’m like “What’s going on?” and Jerry is like “One of the girls stopped up the toilet.” I know, right? GROSS!

Honestly, I don’t understand. It’s not like the plumbing in this place is state of the art. Everybody knows that the back stage bathroom is for #1’s only. ONLY! What are these girls thinking? I mean, WHY would you even want to? First of all, its poorly ventalated, so if you did "sit on the thrown", everyone would know what you were doing in like 2 seconds. And B.) If you are going to "make chocolate" at work, everyone knows that is what the Starbucks across the street is for! EVERY-BODY!

Who "drops their kids off at the pool" at work anyway? Not me. I go once a week. And if I go more than once, I start popping Imodium like they are tick tacks. One time I went three times in a week. THREE TIMES. I was so close to seeing a doctor. I thought something was wrong.

The biggest reason that the backstage toilet is a NO DOOZE ZONE is because Jerry is a cheap skate. If one of the bathrooms on the floor went out, he’d get a plumber A.S.A.P. But whenever something goes wrong back stage, he waits to get one of our regulars to come in and fix it for a little hands on time with one of the girls. Our regular “regular” Derrick is fighting with his wife right now and may not be able to sneak out of the house to fix it until Thursday. THURSDAY! (Oooh hope Derrick’s wife doesn’t have internet access. Sorry if she does D!)

So like now I’m mad. I want blood. I want names. But get this, NO ONE will fess up. Someone took a “morning constitutional” so massive it bursts the pipes and no one will have the stones to admit it?!? Well the only girls working over the weekend were Candi, Tyffani, Krysti, Dayzie, Danni, Bethani and Judith. (That’s right bitches; I just called you potential poop monsters out!) I know it’s not Judith, cause she spends too much time on the floor (if you know what I mean). She just bought her second IPhone.

And no one admitting it REALLY bothers me. You need to be able to be honest with the people you spend a majority of your day topless around. Just as true in the work place as it is in a relationship. Hell they could even get a perverse pleasure in taking credit for that. Last time I passed something that big, I named it Amber. HAHA! (Just kidding Ambi-pants. Momma loves you.)

So it’s time for me to take charge. To make sure this never happens again, I took my “Sparkle Candy Apple Red” nail polish and painted on the wall a huge reminder “DON’T SHIT WHERE YOU STRIP!” If these girls understand one thing it’s that.

Maybe now someone will think twice before they "drop a load" where they shouldn’t.

Sorry… Just needed to vent!

Stay Sexy!
xxxLex

P.S. The John Adams Mini-Series is off the hook!

One of Those Strippers Could Have Been Me!

Sup!

Sexy Lexy here…Well enough time has passed and the confidentiality agreements have expired so I guess I can finally come clean… I was almost on VH1’s Rock of Love 2, with Bret Michaels.

So close… It starts like things do with a late night and too much to drink. Seems Jes (who I loved on Rock of Love 1, and loved even more when she dumped Bret at the Reunion) and some of the other Rock of Love 1 Girls were doing some promotion at a bar down the road. (I would have gone but if I had wanted to spend an evening with drunk strippers I would have just gone to work.)

AnyWHO! So next day a couple of guys from VH1, stroll in to the club. (Apparently they had not slept yet). So “Pour Some Sugar” starts and I go on out. But instead of a tip from this one guy, I get a business card. And I’m like “What the hell?” and he’s like “ I’m from VH1” And I’m like “So” and he’s like “I’m a assistant casting director. Call this number and I can get you on TV. ” And I’m like “Bullshit.” And he goes “Call.” So I call and his cell phone rings and I’m like “Okay I got your number now, and I’m gonna keep calling til I get a real tip.” And he’s like “Okay.” So next day I call and I’m like “Okay Mr. Deville, I’m ready for my close up.” And he goes “Send me a pic, and I’ll get you an audition next month.”

So for the next month all anyone asks is the big question “Would I do Bret?” I can’t say I can’t say “No”. I mean Lord only knows what happens after half a bottle of Makers. I might do the Pope. Plus he’s not ugly. He wrote “Every Rose Has Its Thorn” and a number of other stripper standards. The show makes him seem cool enough. I’m not grossed out by his weave, unless it smells like wet cat. So me and Bret bumping uglies is not out of the question.

Then next it was “What if he picks you?” After a while I started getting self conscious. What if Bret was really cool and I did like him? I didn’t want to end up with his name tattooed on the back of neck and then he goes and picks the show’s only non-centerfold/stripper/pornstar. I think I’d be really sad. At the very least I have to take “Unskinny Bop” off my set list.

Unfortunately those questions will go unanswered, thanks to that dyke that interviewed me. I don’t like to stereotype but let’s face it sometimes cops eat donuts, ya know? Plus she was a bitch. First off, as she pointed out, my guy was an assistant TO the casting director. (Two letters, huge difference). And she was all “I don’t know why he thought you’d be good enough for the show?” The whole time I’m thinking have you seen the bitches waiting outside?

The girl I waited with, (WHO GOT ON?!?!?) was supposed be French. I couldn’t understand a word. All I could make out was “I’m FRENZ.” And I was like “friends with whom?” I did feel vindicated when she got kicked off the show for showing her “down there”. I guess in a room full of strippers and whores, Bret found her inappropriate. The sight of that thing must have scared the shit out of Bret.

Oh so the bitch! She starts saying I may not have the right look for the show (apparently I don’t pass for borderline trany). She goes the only thing I have going for me is my rack and that I work in a strip club. But end of the day I turned her down. I would have had to go to L.A. for a month and be away from my Ambie-pants and I couldn’t do that. So I told her “sit and spin, bitch” and I was out.

Who knows what could have been. Maybe next time. Til then every time I hear a Poison song, I’m gonna think only one thing. I never got my f-ing tip!

Stay Sexy!

xxxLex

Regular Spotlight: Meet Floyd

Sexy Lexy here… Happy Thursday!

This site has me thinking a lot about my life and some of the people who have come and gone down this long road called life.

I was thinking today about Floyd.

T. Floyd Collingsworth, that is.

You wouldn’t have thought anything by looking at Floyd. He kind of just looked like one of those old guys that didn’t have any one around any more. Always a little disheveled and a little unclean, Floyd would come in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday and park his Rascal right up by the stage between noon and four. (Kind of makes me wonder where he was on Tuesdays and Thursdays!)

Floyd was a good sort of customer; didn’t drink too much or do awful things under the table, and he was always generous with his dollar bills. One time, during an extra long lap dance (I always tried to get the DJ to keep all the songs down to 4 minutes), Floyd and I got to talking about how lonely he was and how he was looking for someone to love. I’m not the type to mix work and pleasure, so I told him to take a flying leap – but it did get me thinking: What would it be like to be at the end of my life with no one to love or to love me?

Floyd didn’t hold a grudge, and I was still his favorite “girl” until Ginger Lynn started working the day shift. (You think that’s her real name?) Ginger gave Floyd some special attention; she understood his war wounds and the way his mind worked. She said he reminded her of her grandpa before he passed, God Bless His Soul. Ginger even bought a stars-and-striped bra and panty set for good old Floyd.

And that was it. That’s when he knew it was love.

Floyd purposed to Ginger – even managed to climb out of that little scooter of his and get down on one knee. He said that he would love her for all his life, and we were all a little shocked when she said yes. Guess she was a little lonely, too. (She also took pills like crazy.)

Floyd and Ginger were married for all of 2 months before Floyd had the attack that called his heart home. Some people speculate that Floyd died during a sexcapade, but I don’t like to think about that. That’s personal, and also kind of gross. Good for Ginger, but I know I couldn’t have committed to being with an old man in the Biblical sense.

Ginger had Floyd’s wake down at the Club, saying it was his final wish; he loved that place so much. The daytime shift all danced a special number for Floyd in remembrance; Ginger wore her stars-and-stripes outfit one last time.

We were all toasting Floyd’s memory when Ginger knocked us over with her big news: Floyd made all his money in energy and left everything to her!

Money? Floyd?

Turns out, Floyd was the 203rd richest man in America and made all his money during the 70s oil crisis. How about that? He left his new bride with $336 million.

Jeeeeeeeesus Christ, that’s a lot of money! She got paid $4,200,000 a day to be with that old bastard. I’d do it five ways to Sunday for that kind of dough! I couldn’t help but be envious about how lucky it was that Ginger got married to an old guy who was going straight out the door! T. Floyd Collingsworth should have been my gold ticket to rich bitch heaven!

But, alas – luck was not on my side. I did 4 more years of Daytime Stripping after the passing of Floyd.

I kind of miss him. There was a bit of security in that schedule of his; something sweet about him parking his Rascal next to the stage to get his thrice weekly fill of tits and ass.

Pour one out to my homey, Floyd! Rest in peace.

Until next time… Stay sexy!
xxxLex

The Origin Story

Sexy Lexy here... about to drop knowledge on what it’s like to be a stripper.

As you guys know, my site is called “Former Daytime Stripper.” Why do you think it’s called that? Because I was!

How did I get to be a daytime stripper?

After college (yes, I went to college) my boyfriend and I moved in together. We were pretty much married – in everyone’s eyes but the state! (Girls: never fall for that “we don’t need a piece of paper to prove our love for one another” B.S. that guys are always trying to pull. You’re either married or you’re not… and in my case, I wasn’t! But, we’ll get to that.)

My guy never did like working that much (he was a Philosophy major), so I pretty much brought home the bacon. I tried a lot of jobs, but all of them seemed like tons of effort for no pay. One of my friends suggested stripping. Lots of easy money (if you don’t mind blisters on your feet and skuzzy old guys staring at your tatas!)

At first I thought: no way! I was a Woman Studies major (with a Spanish minor.) I thought, WHOA! There’s no way I could betray my fellow sisters! But, I had to face it: with my killer body and all-American smile, I could make up to $1000 a night. WTF? I needed the money.

After a couple years of “dancing” (that’s the big euphemism we use), I found out I was pregnant. That meant no more stripping for me! I thought I was going to quit stripping forever… except, when my daughter (Amber) was about 1 yr. old – my man up and left me. Turns out I needed that piece of paper after all! (PS – if you see that jerk ex of mine, tell him I’m still waiting for my back child support.)

Being a broke, single mom meant one thing: I had to make money. Although I vowed not to go back, I needed to make ends meet. Yes, folks, I headed back to the club.

Only this time, I requested to work days, so I could spend evenings with my kid.

And – boy – if you thought the life of a stripper was weird; you’ve never talked to a Daytime Stripper. You wouldn’t believe what you see out in the crowd at noon while you’re shaking it to ZZ Top.

I recently left the biz (this time for good) – and now I feel like it’s time for me to tell my story.

Hang on to your hat… it’s going to be a bumpy lap dance!

xxxLex

Confessions of a Former Daytime Stripper

Welcome to my Blogspot: Confessions of a Former Daytime Stripper!

My name is Sexy Lexy – and, up until about a month ago, I used to work the Daytime shift.

Ever wonder who goes to a strip club during the middle of the day?

Just as you thought: it ain’t pretty.

Join me as I discuss my former stripper life and talk about all things Lexy.