The Cost of New York City // Field Study

A single ride to Lower Manhattan on the MTA: $2

Seeing Ground Zero on September 11, 2008, sending out a prayer at St. Patrick's Cathedral, and getting a free Jazz show at City Hall Square: Priceless.

One hour bike ride through Central Park for two: $20.

Riding through Central Park in the rain: Priceless.

Late night cab ride from Brooklyn to Jamaica then ANOTHER cab ride from Jamaica to Great Neck: $70

Getting a private dance lesson from a self proclaimed "hoodrat" from Barbados: Priceless.

Admission for one student to the Museum of Sex: $8.25

Seeing a turtle masturbate with a staircase: Priceless.

One paperback copy of The 48 Laws of Power by Robert Greene: $18

Having 5 hours of quiet on the flight home to just read: Priceless.

Missing 6 days of paid work: $692.16

Spending 10 days in New York City with my best friend: Priceless.



eL <3 OG beb forever.

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Sin City Cabaret & Restaurant.
09.18.08

Researching pole technique, possible outfits, and the vibe of a true Gentleman's Club.

While it was a hands-on experience, I was surprised that the security guards weren't really doing shit. Up in the VIP room my girl was able to snatch a fistful of ones that were flying in the air. If I was dancing in the VIP room I would get a freakin' bodyguard or something. That way someone's watching out for me and my money at all times.

As demeaning or immoral as the whole occupation sounds, I think that some of the dancers really find their job fulfilling. To put it bluntly, some of us females are just freaky like that. At one point I was watching someone get a lap dance near my table. I immediately made eye contact with the guy and, without taking his eyes off me, he spanked the dancer's ass on both cheeks! I'm talking bare assed discpline. It was the hottest thing I had ever seen.

There was a good population of females in attendance that night too. On the way to our table, I was knocked over by a group of huge black women trying to get to the stage so that they could tip their favorite dancer. Speaking of the dancers...

The dancers were just how I like them - round, meaty, and classy. (With the exception of those dancers who opted to wear nipple tassels. They looked gaudy.) My favorite dancer wore a purple leotard that was ripped up in strategic places. It left something to the imagination as she danced and was easy to take off once it came time to strip. Homegirl had an ass so fat you could see it from the front. There was very little pole dancing, unfortunately. It was Stripper Idol Thursday aka Amateur Night and I wanted to see what a novice pole dancer looked like on stage. One dancer held herself vertically upside down and was able to slap her thighs together mid air!! I noticed that the poles on stage were a lot higher than my current ceiling so I'm probably going to have to start with twirls and save the Cirque du Soleil acrobatics for later. Gives me time to build muscle. =)


And finally, Sin City was also the ONLY spot I hit up in New York City that had good-looking men. Maybe I'm attracted to well-dressed men with money or maybe the Bronx just got the swag that I like... I don't know. I would've given some of those fellas private dances any day of the week. Holler.

New York City. // Pole Dreams

Lift off in a couple of hours.

Nervous, yes, because I'm an East Coast first-timer.

Excited enough to bring 5 pairs of shoes, three of them stilettoes. I gotta knock them Brooklyn boys dead, ya dig? Bring a little West Coast swag.

Prepared to never come back because I fall in love with Big City Lights so easily.

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Isn't it beautiful? It's not mine, but by the time I hit quarter century, it will be.

For the past year I have been harboring dreams of becoming a stripper. Well, maybe not a stripper . . . shall we say an exotic dancer? A burlesque performer? A champion pole dancer?

Hate on me all you want. My sense of self, while not entirely complete, has progressed from that timid middle school girl that hid behind oversized jackets that covered my frame to a slightly Narcissitic young woman sporting cut-off wife beaters and a pair of killer stilettoes (see above).

I do not sing. I do not rap. I do not play instruments. And I am certainly no model. This I have come to accept over the years. But there is one dream that I am not going to let go unlived. This is my new obsession, my objective: performing on a titanium pole in stripper shoes. Again, hate on me all you want. Let society's stigma of half-naked dancing influence your judgments. I don't give a fuck. This is my dream, not yours. And my dream will not serve to objectify me.

That being said... my next big purchase (after, of course, the canvas art of Mos Def for my apartment) is going to be a removable dance pole and a set of mirrors for my living room walls. Now, I don't plan on making any money off of this dream. (Unless my boy Mac Boo makes it as a rap superstar and hires me to be backgroud eyecandy. Love ya, Boo!) I plan on living my dream in private for the sole purpose of personal self-development. I love to dance. I love to be sexy. I love when people watch me do both. Like I said, narcissitic. Not to say that I'll take my dream to the streets and offer it up to casual passersby or post performances on youtube for all to see. I wouldn't subject innocent bystanders to that. Oh no, this will be the special treat. The icing on my future husband's cupcake. Pa-dow! Some women can bake pies, others hem slacks. I'll be the only wifey on the block who can twirl. I've already got my first song picked out: In the Air Tonight by Phil Collins... that drum rift in the middle of the song is just sessy.

But, more important than whoever my Prince Charming may be... is the fact that when I picture that beautiful pole in the middle of my kitchen... I can't help but laugh. I can't help but think of all the fun that I'll have with it. I can't help but say to myself, "eL, you're fucking awesome." My dream isn't the most practical application of my hard earned money, yes, that much I will admit. But, neither are my tattoos. I'll leave practically to my mother.


Target Date to Live the Dream: March 1, 2009.

Until then...

Impatience.

My horoscope says to me today, "Romance does very well for the paired Fish but may appear to go on hold for some reason for those in new or non existent status. Opportunity appears to be delayed until the cosmos can work out the next encounter. Smile and know that the Universe is working on it."

Today I want to say "Fuck the Universe" . . . but I won't because I trust.

This only makes my impatient-demanding-addictive personality more agitated. A Pisces can only have so much patience before she packs up and leaves. Keep in mind... water douses fire and fire boils water to steam.

Smile, eL. New York City is less than a week away.

Sidenote: I just got my ticket and I found out that we're getting $900 for 9 days. Smile, eL. Smile.