Richard Thruster

Tons of other things going on.  I’ve not abandoned you!

I’m still fumbling my way through this MySpace thing.  If you’d like to be my friend, click here.

A reader sends along this link from a visitor who was in town a few weeks back.

There’s a hint of desperation and rock-and-roll who-gives-a-fuck to the folks dancing and drinking in these places in the middle of the day.

The Cabaret Lounge is especially grim. One might think that the naked girls dancing would be its main attraction. It is not; it’s the video gambling. The zombie brigade lurches in around 3pm, parking themselves in front of a screen with a cigarette in one hand, beer balanced on one knee. They glance at the stage sporadically and toss a few bills at the girl who might be hanging upside down on the pole, or contorted fully nude on the floor.

As such, the girls there have a bitterly philosophical sense of humor about it all; scrawled on the dressing room wall is, “We are not human beings having a spiritual experience; we are spiritual beings having a human experience.”

And that’s why you rarely see me in a club when the sun is out.

Another local dancer claims to have a blog, and I’ve stumbled across a few on MySpace (my MySpace page needs a little work…it’ll be up soon enough).  If you have one (blog or myspace) I’d be happy to add you to the blogroll.

Saturday Night Live worked in a bit about this study out of New Mexico. Do girls make more money when ovulating than they do the rest of the month?

So how much of a difference does ovulation make according to the study?

Miller’s team reported the women, mostly in their mid-20’s, made $70 per hour if they were in ovulation, $50 per hour during the days past ovulation, and $35 per hour in their menstrual phase.

I personally like to think I tip the hotter, friendlier girls a little more.  Maybe it’s biology that makes them hot and friendly.  Fascinating, no?

After finishing up the late shift this weekend, I wasn’t quite in the mood to go home yet I didn’t want to fight a Saturday night crowd anywhere either. It was a Hawthorne Strip kind of night.

The bar is located at 10th and Hawthorne, just a block or so west of the Burgerville. It’s in one of those hard-to-miss locations that you can never seem to find. At least that’s my problem. I finally circled the block and found a spot right out front. Perfect.

I wasn’t too sure what to expect from the place. The only real street-level advertising is the neon sign over the door and a sandwich board that occasionally pops up out on the street. Walking through the door, I was immediately greeted by a long hallway, no doubt designed to keep prying eyes out of the joint. A rack of Exotic Magazines sat at the far end as Tom Petty blasted out the door.

The room reminds me of a place The Librarian and I used to frequent in our college days. The bar dominates the far wall and there are four or five booths opposite. About half the seats were filled with guys watching the Red Sox game on the plasma screen over the bar or the Huskies and Sun Devils on a side TV. The stage and pole are almost an afterthought. There was literally one guy sitting at the stage. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that.

I parked at the bar, ordered my standard Coors Light, and handed the bartender a $20. He asked if I wanted any singles. Normally I would say yeah. but it didn’t seem like I’d be spending much money, so I just waived my hand and left it to the bartender to interpret. He handed back my change. It took me a second to figure out the beer was only $3.25. I can get used to a place with cheap beer and no cover. I placed a buck on the bar and headed toward the stage.

Located on the wall closest to the street, the stage is a cramped five-foot by five-foot area. Chairs are crammed so close to one another that when you pull one out, you take two others with you. Fortunately there was only one other guy at the stage, so it kind of worked out. The set was wrapping up as I sat down. All three of the girls working started to mill around the stage area. They were all cute and fit, not at all what I would have expected from such a small place. I figured the girls would be more 505 Club than Acropolis. How wrong I was.

I didn’t catch any of their names, so I made up my own. Itchy, Inky, and Hairy. Itchy was the girl on stage when I sat down. She was tall and stacked. A brunette with a confident smile. She had one big fan who looked just like Richard Branson right down to the facial hair and overbite. He couldn’t quit smiling. As she put herself back together, Branson got up to get ready for a lap dance.

Hairy was next. She came with her own fan. I couldn’t figure out the celebrity he most resembled. He’d punched in a bunch of Cure tunes for her to dance to. She was a cute one. Much more petite than Itchy. Perky. She removed her robe to reveal a two-piece outfit and thigh-high fishnet stockings. Oh my. She and the guy took turns mouthing lyrics as she worked her way around the stage. I sure wish more girls would move like her on stage. Slow and languid. Too many girls believe I want to see a rap video with lots of shaking and simulated sex. I really don’t. I just want to see a naked girl and enjoy my beer. Hairy gets it.

She worked her way through her three song set, taking care to give me plenty of attention. It was clear her bread-and-butter was sitting next to me, but she was still quite flirtatious.

Why is she Hairy? Well, she’s one of the few girls I’ve ever seen with a full patch of pubic hair. It wasn’t died. It wasn’t shaved into a wisp of a landing strip. No, hairy had a full bush. It was trimmed and neat and all, but it was still substantial. Oh man. Daddy likey. And I showed my appreciation with a few extra singles.

Her set ended with a smile and a thank you. She put her robe back on and headed back to the private booths for some one-on-one time with her new fan.

Inky was next up. Her nickname should be self-explanatory.  She had at least a half-dozen tattoos from her chest all the way down to her legs.  Lots of ink is a real turn-off for me so it’s hard to grade objectively.  She was a nice enough girl, I suppose.  He taste in music ran the gamut from “Hot Rod Lincoln” to punk.  A little ways into her second song, a friend showed up with proofs from a photo shoot of hers.  She spent a second talking with the photographer before the bartender told her to get back to work.  I thought it was funny, at least.

After Inky left, Itchy came back.  I was actually looking forward to seeing her as she seemed to be the cutest of the set.  As soon as she took the stage though, she seemed a little off.  She kept her balance for the most part, but she sure did hit a lot of walls.  Was there a substance involved?  Or is that just how she is?  I honestly couldn’t tell you.  She got through her set with nary a word or glance.  Just a lot of swinging on the pole.

I stuck through one more set from Hairy before retiring to the video poker machines in the back.  My machine was pretty loose, but I kept doubling-up one too many times.  So instead of walking out with $50, I walked out with nothing.  As I played, I heard some commotion back near the stage.  I didn’t think much of it.  There was a drunk walking around, but he didn’t seem to be much trouble.  After a few minutes though, I heard the sound of glass breaking and a scuffle.  I turned around in time to see the bartender come out from behind the bar and start hustling a guy out the door.  There were a couple of guys helping him.  A naked Hairy came out from the private booth next to me to see what the commotion was as well.  The guy had been seated right where I was just a few minutes prior.  I’m not sure how I would have felt about something like that happening right next to me.

As they escorted the guy out, all I could think about was my car.  It was right outside and all I really needed was some guy busting it up.  I let the poker machine take the last of my $5 and I hightailed it out.  The guy was still standing next to the door, bleeding from either being punched or having glass broken on his face.  And he was still arguing with someone.  Very nice.  I worked between the two guys, got in my car and headed for home.

The fight notwithstanding, I must say the Hawthorne Strip was a pretty nice little place.  The restroom was clean.  The drinks were priced right.  And the girls were cute and mostly friendly.  It’s a place I’m sure I’ll visit again.

Back at the beginning of the summer when I was just getting off the ground, Willamette Week ran an article focusing on two dancers from Sassy’s. Catalyst from City Business Church picked up on the story of Zoë, a Christian. It was certainly one of the more interesting angles of the story. It looks like Zoë found Catalyst’s thoughts and has posted an excellent follow-up to the Willy Week story and the affect its had not only on her, but with some of her friends as well.

I’m realizing that life is about being honest with yourself. When you ask the hard questions, and don’t give yourself slack; you gain perspective on things that really matter. If people are bothered, skeptical, sickened, ________ (enter feeling here)… by what I had to say; that’s their bag. I enjoyed the scary feeling of letting it all out… like a journal; but fully knowing that people would read it. All of it. I hope it gave some perspective that people might not have experienced otherwise…..

What a smart girl. I need to get in there again and look her up.

Dad, a blog regular, suggested I go check out Stars. He said it was cleaner and more upscale than the D2. Since they’ve all but quit advertising on the radio, I’d honestly forgotten they even existed. It used to be you couldn’t turn on the local sports station or the “guy talk” station without hearing an ad for Stars and their real “Las Vegas-style” entertainment. For some reason when I hear Las Vegas entertainment, I think topless showgirls with giant feather things on their heads. Turns out, not so much.

I made the hike out there Saturday night. During the drive, I found another place on the south side of Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway that looked to be jam packed. Hotties. Looks like it’s a juice bar. Great. Maybe after Blush. And the Hawthorne Strip.

I pulled into the parking lot around 10:30 or so with a wad of singles in my pocket and a plan to spend them all on Harley. Pulling in, I found a spot right up front. It took me a second to figure out it was a valet spot and I’d need to pay someone for the privilege of parking there. I’ve no idea why anyone would want to pay to park in front of a club. It seems like a dumb idea to me. I worked my way around back and found what I guess was a spot under a tree. There were no spots to be found anywhere.

I followed a couple through the door and up to the register. The lady at the door carded both of them and charged $6. Not too bad. She also asked me for ID and wrote down my birth year before taking my admission. I turned to enter the room and was immediately blasted with lights and music and girls. So this is what Las Vegas-style entertainment is supposed to look like!

There were four stages, each of them occupied by a girl hotter than the last. I’ve never seen that much Grade A talent in one place in Oregon. I’m guessing they had 20 girls working. One or two were 7s. The rest were 8s or higher. I’m not one usually one to grade so crudely, but in this case I think it’s warranted. These are girls who could easily be in magazines. And they’re all under one roof.

The room was absolutely packed. The crowd seemed to be much younger than crowds you might find at other clubs. It was definitely dominated by the under-30 crowd. Lots of big watches and collared shirts. Guys you’d normally find downtown on a Saturday night. It’s not my thing, but whatever.  They also had several hookahs available for use.  I guess this is the new thing among the 20-something set?  The DJ hyped them several times right along with the drink specials.

I made my way over to the main stage and parked right on the rail. The first girl up was Dad’s girl Harley.  She’s tall and stacked.  Like the rest of the girls in the place, she probably rates a 9.  I wish I could give you a better report on her, but as soon as she hit the stage, someone decided to turn on the strobe lights.  While the strobe was pretty cool in the 80s, it really has no place in today’s clubs.  This particular strobe was located right next to her head as I looked up, so if I tried to look at Harley, I just got a face full of strobe.  Maybe that was the goal, I don’t know.  I do know I spent her entire set squinting and fearful the strobe would be activated again.

As soon as Harley finished her set, it was time to run some sort of promotion.  Each dancer made her way to a stage with a “limited edition” Stars stocking cap.  Who in their right mind would wear such a thing in public is beyond me, but whatever.  Anyway, the deal was if you purchased 2 dances from a particular girl during the time allotted, you got to keep the cap.  I was going to grab Harley so I could report back to Dad, but alas she was the first one grabbed.  So I sat back and waited for someone to ask me.  And I waited.  And I waited some more.   I have to wonder sometimes whether I even get noticed.  I tip every song, I tip the waitress for every drink (whether it’s alcohol or a Diet Coke), and I’m polite to the girls.  Yet Saturday night, despite doing all three of these things, I only had one girl ask me for a dance.  Sales, people!  You have to wade through a lot of no’s before you get to your yes.  So whatever.

After the promotion ended, I bounced around from stage to stage, catching the girls I wanted to check out.  There was the young Hispanic girl.  There was the blonde who looked like my high school crush.  And there was the girl dressed as a secretary.  She had me going right up until she took her clothes off to reveal both arms sleeved in tattoos.  Oh!  And the strobe went off again.  So that was a double whammy.

All-in-all, I spent a couple hours in there.  Had a beer ($4.50 for a bottle of Coors Light…not too shabby) and gazed upon the hottest girls in town, bar none.  If you’re in the mood for Playmates and nothing else will do, I highly recommend Stars.  Just look out for that damned strobe.

I haven’t made it to Blush yet.  The place has always intrigued me because they used to advertise dancers at 7am.  I’ve seen the day shift at a couple of places around town.  I can only imagine what a 7am girl must look like.

It may be a while before I visit there.  Evidently police are looking for information about a possible assault that happened outside the club a few weeks back.  It could well be nothing.  It could be a rougher place than I want to visit.  Of course I survived the Exotica.  So who knows.

Anyway, if you’ve seen or heard anything, there are rewards being offered by both the police and the clubs.  Let ‘em know.

Hat tip:  The Bachelor Guy

Working on a couple new reviews.  They should be up in the next day or two…