strippers...they're just like us

A common question: You live in Vegas? OMG. Is like everyone there a stripper?

My stock answer: Life off the Boulevard is as ordinary as life off the strip in any small town. It as much a slice of Americana as Piedmont, North Dakota and Youngstown, Ohio. We have dry cleaners, mailboxes, and Dairy Queens. We have Targets, school crossings and bike lanes. We have churches, parks, and girls next door, even if the girl next door is in all likelihood a stripper. Or the sister of a stripper. Or the roommate of a stripper. Or even the girlfriend of a stripper, which is another topic altogether.

The one deviant variable off the strip in Vegas is the number of strippers per capita who are buying groceries, standing in line at the bank, and showing up at Starbucks barefaced wearing Juicy yoga pants. Still, even in plainclothes you can't really miss these women. They are always perfectly tan and pedicured, and if their Amazonian proportions don't tip you off, then the rolls of cash they pull out of their Fendi and Ferragamo bags will.

I happen to have befriended a few real live strippers since moving here. The evening I met them at a birthday party I threw for a mutual friend felt momentous, not unlike the days I knew I was going to the mall to meet Santa Claus, or more recently the day I shook the hand of the President. As someone whose starstruckability* wore off years ago in New York, I was downright smitten when I sat down to make small talk with Fiona and Chrissie. What I found is that these women are ordinary--with as many wins and losses tallied as the rest of us.

Since that night I've met other women in the industry--as it is ubiquitously referred to here in Vegas. And while the fact that these women make three times what I do taking their clothes off brings up all kinds of icky feelings about the value of woman's body versus her brain, I've come to understand that they are neither as weak nor as strong as I had presumed. They are, however, amazingly resourceful when it comes to advice on how to repair a torn pair of fishnets and the best place to buy dresses for a night out. When it comes to matters of sequins and stay-put foundation, Fiona and Chrissie are my go-to girls, suddenly as invaluable as those other members of every girls' entourage--our gay hair stylists and our moms.

Which isn't to say that I haven't witnessed them behaving very badly, but bliss calls so...more on that tomorrow**.


*Yes, I made this word up. It's called a neologism.

** I really will write tomorrow. Admittedly I've been slacking with posting, though in my defense let me say that any one of you would be slacking as well if you were in my recent (unexpectedly) blissful position. Oh. Trust. Me. You would be.