Why I Live Across The Street From a Strip Club:

Here's the deal: You act like an asshole, I'm gonna call you an assshole.

And the fact that the bouncers also feel that you're an asshole does not reflect on me.

Therefore, you do not have the right to drive by me, twice, on the way home.

Or a third time.

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Advice to all single women:

Move into an apartment across the street from a strip club, and only go home at closing time.

If someone is harassing you, feel free to, quite literally, jump on a bouncer. Seriously, grab some bouncer, and don't let go. If it hasn't reached that point:

WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT LEAVE THE VICINITY OF THE STRIP CLUB.

I don't care how safe you feel. The shortest, slimiest, least-suspect guy will be the one who circles the block repeatedly.

Never Open Your Door Unless You Know Who's Watching You.

And that's life. I know it, you know it. We know it. We live it. We know that if I didn't hide myself with the stripclub patrons, then dash across the street when he drove around the corner (again), I would have deserved it, had he broken into my building and raped me.

He was at the same bar as me. That means I wanted to fuck him.

He spoke to me. That's damn near the same as pissing on a tree, that is.


Fuck it, I'm tired, I'm cranky, and it's way past my bedtime. And I'm not being to clear, am I? So here goes:

Really, this is it. All of it:

Him: Hey, bartender, that chick wants you!!!

Me: blank stare, followed by silence

Two hours later.

Him: Hey, Baby!

Me: You're an idjit.

Him: Why you sayin' that mean shit to me?

Me: What ev'.

Bouncer: He bugging you?

Me: No, he's just an idjit. You know him?

Bouncer: Fuck, no.

Me: Well, if you meet him, let him know that pulling this shit isn't gonna get him laid.

Bouncer: Alright. You okay?

Me: Yup.

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And that's it. That's all I had to do with this guy. Until he drove by, that is. And needed and "explanation" for why I was so rude. Or when he drove by the second time, with less accolade to my beauty. Or when he whipped around the corner, on the third round.

I love my strip club. I love it's patrons, that aren't willing to go home at closing, and instead mill around out front. I love the bouncers that are too fucking lazy to attempt to pack those millers off home.

Because, guess what? If I didn't go straight from the bar to the strip club, I could've been in real trouble. And don't tell me that Tool wasn't trouble, the boy was willing to circle the block THREE TIMES because of me.
Me and the fact that I stomped on his manhood by calling him and idjit.

What ev.
I don't have the energy to fight right now. If you don't get this, I can't explain. So I give.(Now let's hope like shit that he didn't see the building I went into, or I'm sure in deep doodoo, ain't I!!)