Work tonight was all about what we do when we're not stripping. It's a peep show, for God's sake, we're already nude to begin with. But also: yes, there was some on-stage banter on the logistics of enema administration and designer pubic hair bonsai, but also the satellite feature on Google Maps (are the best), and coming up with standards of worker/owner accountability, and how to hold an election for a new jukebox mistress so we don't all have to listen to three non-stop hours of [French Pop/cock rock/hip hop] on our shifts. I was grateful tonight to the mirror, for being able to splay myself out just-so, distractedly, looking at how my jawline was actually relaxed and my eyes had softened, knowing I could revel in the internal (calculating my next Big Life Move) while sating my customers with the external (sorta bored sexy), all at the very same time. The job's got a half-life, and what attracts me now more than anything is the lure of running my own business, which, right now, is a business that requires me to shake it, too. It's good for me, it's good for us all, to not have to have anyone on board who hasn't been there. But damn, am I getting more lately out of poring over arcane corporate documents and hashing out relations with the union than I am out of most any half-spied cum shot. The perils of the industry, folks -- the longer you're in it, the more you just can't shut up about how you just know you could run it better....

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