People,

So today is 12-Gauge's birthday. Last night in celebration myself, Brendo Frendo and the Gauge himself all headed out to celebrate at that bastion of male fantasy, the strip club.

Now, prior to last night I'd only been to three strip clubs and had never had all that good a time. I'd like to say that it's because I worry about the girls and their mental state and so on and so forth, but that's not really true. Do I think stripping and doing lap-dances for countless strangers who come in all shades of creepiness is damaging to one's self image and dignity? Yeah, probably. Do I think it's my business to pass judgment on people and tell them what they can and can't do to earn a living? Absolutely not.

Anyway, the real reason I fear strip clubs is my antisocial personality, which is primarily rooted in how awkward I feel talking to people I don't know. Add to that that the people I'll be talking to are A.) women and B.) naked and you've got your classic anxiety producing situation. I mean, let's be honest here, it took me the greater part of 20 years before I found any naked woman I could be around without being an embarassing mess, so having 15 of them around me all at once offering me all sorts of stuff is still a little disconcerting.

Oh well, I vowed to have fun with the fellas and put my general aversion to stripping, er, sorry, exotic dancing, away. BF and 12-G were very helpful in that regard. I mean, these two are like strip club pros. They know where to sit, what to do, what to say, where to put your hands so you don't get your ass kicked, etc. And after about 45 minutes I found myself having an OK time, an OK time in the way you have an OK time at a casino. You know what you're doing is probably stupid and is definitely pretty gross, but you roll with it.

After a while, BF and I bought 12-G a couple dances. 12-G in turn bought me a dance after a lot of arm twisting. Again, it wasn't that I thought it was wrong per se, but the thought of it made me feel how I felt around girls when I was 14 - awkward, stupid, shy and embarassed although without the pimples and non-stop sweating.

There was no need to worry, however. Pete picked a very nice girl who was probably all of 20. She was actually very sweet and sat on my lap and did her thing to 50 Cent's "P.I.M.P." Mom would be so proud.

So, my first lap dance. It was nice in the sense that a pretty girl is pretending you're handsome and charming and that she wants nothing more that to be naked for you. It's also weird as all hell if you stop to think about it. So I chose not to. Instead I found myself thinking about the nature of infidelity. I had Ladyfriend Sarah's full permission to go and do my thing at the club but I still felt weirdly guilty. I mean, were this act to be taking place backstage at a show it would absolutely be cheating. But somehow, because it's in a nasty Providence strip club and I'm paying for it it becomes acceptable. That's a mindfuck, people. I think this is the only situation where I can come home smelling like a hooker and admit that someone rubbed their boobs in my face and be greeted with a laugh. Life is weird.

After my dance I went to buy a soda. I chose Snapple pink lemonade. It was five dollars. WTF? I asked the bartender if she was kidding. She said no. I asked how much a beer was. She said five dollars, but you could get 2 for 8. Could I get two lemonades for 8? She said no. Dag.

Anyway, Brendo got another dance, 12-G and I played Golden Tee and we called it an evening. All in all, I have to admit that it was pretty fun, even though I can't for the life of me get the stripper stink off me or that $100 back in my wallet.

Happy birthday 12-G.