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