“Why aren’t we getting finger banged in a church parking lot right now?” I asked my burlesque dancing brethren.
I walked into a restaurant in full glitter makeup with another performer, Max Darling. The cashier started talking to us because she recognized that we were Stripteasers. A few minutes into our conversation she said “Thank you!” I asked for what?
She explained that the first time she watched one of our shows she also happened to be on her first date with her current boyfriend. They were both so turned on by our show that they ended up getting dirty in a church parking lot afterwards.
I was jealous, I never get any action due to my show, I just end up tired and eating dinner at 3 am alone. I want to get finger banged in a church parking lot, dang nabbit!
We are sex facilitators
People are always having more fun than me. I feel like it’s nearly impossible to have a bustling sex life when you are a burlesque dancer. Our confidence scares the shit out of most people. It seems like the only people who have the balls to hit on us are absolute creeps or fawning fans that are just plain doing it wrong.
I am in the business of making everyone else horny, which is great, but by the time I change into my street clothes and count my money the party is over. We are sex facilitators.
It feels good to go to an event and not be performing, hosting, or volunteering it. Just to let loose and enjoy yourself for once. Generally, I will go to a cool art event once and then be like “omg I have to be part of this! I have so many ideas” then that’s it, I’ll never really enjoy it the same carefree way ever again. That’s how I became a burlesque dancer and festival organizer.
To serve and entertain
I am also a bartender. Again, being paid to bring the party to the people. To serve and entertain. Midnight. New Year’s Eve. Everyone else is about to have their kiss and I’m pouring champagne. Missing the party cuz I am the party. Someone needs to stay at least sort of sober to make it all run smoothly.
July 3rd parties at my parents house were always my one big shin dig of the year. It was tough because I had to stay sober enough to keep shit under control. The neighbours and my mom still got mad, half my friends would be naked in the pool and the other half passed out drunk on good times and strong as fuck jungle juice.
This year was the first year since high school that I did not throw the party and my friends were shocked. It was bittersweet. I went to a music festival instead and got crazy and enjoyed myself fully. I mean it was cool to have an annual party that people looked forward too, but I couldn’t hang anymore.
One day it might be nice to step back and let someone else take the stage
I’m either too tired to party or ready to party when everyone is too drunk. I recently hosted and performed at an art party called Peepshow. The end of the night was approaching and our show had killed it. The peenyata (giant phallic piñata) was smashed and the keg was nearly kicked over. People were dancing their faces off, smiling and cheering. Then, over in the corner on the squishy beanbag-like tentacles, was a pile of tired and heavily glittered burlesque dancers. We had once again given it our all.
Work to live not live to work. Working during shows or family outings is the worst. I love my job, don’t get me wrong. I do all of my jobs with absurd passion or I don’t do them at all. I wouldn’t trade any of it for anything.
But one day it might be nice to step back and let someone else take the stage. Let them entertain me. Let someone else hang their art, dance to their own beautiful beat, and most importantly, serve me drinks.
But that day is not today. The show must go on and it will be fantastic. It’s what I breathe. It’s my life and inspiration.