Day 894.1
Part 2 (The Literal)
After my previous date with a stripper, I vowed to swear them off again. As I said… It’s never EVER different.
And then I got a call on Sunday night. A stripper that I used to know and would call a friend had moved back to town after being in Florida for the past 3 years and was back at her old club. She missed me. She wanted to see me. She begged me to come down & see her. I relented.
The last time I’d seen her was her birthday party about 3 or 4 years ago. She had invited me along with a few other of her friends out with her & 3 co-workers, one of whom was also celebrating her birthday. We were going to some bar in the South Side & they had gotten bottle service & a VIP booth. Fancy shit. But drinking on a stripper’s tab is a rare thing & we had become friends. This was her second straight birthday that she’d invited me to. The OtherJoe had come along too. Spread the wealth & all that shit.
We had lost touch after Facebook decided I wasn’t a real person & deleted my account. So her finding my number again was a pleasant surprise. I relented & even though I don’t make it a habit of going out on work nights now that I’m closer to 40 than I am 30, I decided to go see her.
She was excited to see me & refused to let me go for almost 20 minutes after she started hugging me. She threw herself down in the chair next to me, kicked her legs up onto my lap & joined me at the stage to hang out. She made it pretty clear that I was there as a friend, not as a revenue source.
We talked & drank for hours. She caught me up on what had been going on with her & everything that happened while she was away. I got her caught up on my life. We laughed about how awful our dating lives were. It was a good time.
Then she asked me to go out to dinner. I accepted.
Mistake #1.
She had some baggage, but who doesn’t? I damn sure do. And from what she had shared about her personal life over the years of us knowing each other, it was wholly different, but probably weighed about as much as mine when it was all added up. I figured it couldn’t hurt.
Shortly after midnight, I called it a night & told her to quit drinking. She seemed pretty unstable on her heels when she had walked back into the room after being upstairs for a smoke. She hugged me goodbye & I went home.
The next day, I get a message:
“I made the news last night”
This can’t be good.
“I’m going to jail. I just don’t know for how long”
She wrecked her car on her way home from work the night before. Over a barrier. Onto the train tracks. Told you there was a literal trainwreck, even if the train itself didn’t wreck. Cause, you know… wreck… on train tracks… Oh, fuck you guys, it’s close enough.
So… I’m going to go out on a limb & say that I sincerely doubt that she & I will be going out for that dinner. And it’s probably the universe’s way of saying “You fucking know better than to date strippers. Stop trying”
So until I have another fit of stripper-induced Alzheimer’s and somehow come to the conclusion that “sure, it’ll be OK this time”, I’m again swearing off strippers.
Or maybe it’s just because I suffered a lot of head trauma when I was younger. I’ll blame it on that, right? Cause otherwise, what the fuck is my life?
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