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Strippers at the Met


Yesterday, Fern and I went Uptown. We slipped into our leave-me-alone outfits, hopped on the train and mingled with some dilettantes in the perfectly air-conditioned Metropolitan Museum of Art.

Since everything I see I relate to the magical world of stripping, I thought I'd show you all the dope-ass cunts who like money I found in the Western Art wing:

Here's the weird girl who always brings in weird snacks and offers to share them and everyone's like "thaaaaaanks" and throws them away:

These are the bitches who spend half their income on hair extensions and it almost makes me think it's worth it:

House Mom, silently judging you while she sews your g-string back together:

This is the girl who listens to other girls in the dressing room saying whack and wildly misinformed bullshit. But she knows better than to say anything, so she keeps her mouth shut and carries on twirling her hair:

This is the manager who wants to pretend you're not talking by refusing to make eye contact with you:

This is the girl who thinks she's aaaaaaall thaaaaat. She doesn't have any friends and she can't dance. 

This is the new girl who has yet to learn that you don't have to try so hard:

These are the inseparable besties, Trish and Amber. They sit together at the bar all night. Their highest ambition is finding a guy to buy them mozzarella sticks. They are really nice:

This is when it's slow and everyone is vying for House Mom's attention in the dressing room:

This is the genius who acts really drunk when she gets in the Champagne Room so she doesn't have to do anything:

This is the girl who gets in the Champagne Room and the guy's like, "take your dress off" and she's like, "Nah."

This girl is really smart. She hates everyone and I just want her to like me:

This is a shitty manspaliny/manspready guy who doesn't tip well enough given how expensive we know his shoes are:

This is the dream client: Rich, old, soft... hands neatly clasped in his lap. 

This is me, in my denim leave-me-alone outfit, taking a picture of my Dreamboat client, Charles (Doesn't he look like a Charles?).

These are the under-21 strippers who show up to work rolling on Molly:

This is Fern, who alleges that the museum-goers are more interesting than Ancient Roman Flatware:

This is the girl who is pursuing a career in "fashion" and has yet to learn that guys hate "fashion":

Off-duty strippers:

This is my friend, Anna. She's hilarious and I miss her. 

PS. If you don't already have a leave-me-alone outfit, I highly suggest you get one (or seven). They are ESSENTIAL for New York City summers.