The only real question I had was where to begin.  Did I go out to Stars and revel with a room full of twenty-somethings and silicon strippers?  Or should I choose something a little calmer.  Perhaps emptier.

I put the question to my friend who didn’t hesitate.  Go for the lonely stripper, he said.  See how far it takes you.

Ah.  An interesting proposition.  Could I spend the stroke of midnight on a couch with a stripper.  THAT would be some story.

I spent the early part of the evening at the Winter Hawks game.  They usually do a pretty good job and games against Seattle are always entertaining.  Wednesday night was no different.  Lots of goals.  Lots of fights.  And plenty of folks hanging around having a good time.

The ultimate plan was to head over to Spyce.  I’ve been there once and figured that would be where I would find the lonliest stripper.  This was based on that one experience when I went in on a Saturday night and found two girls in the entire place and two customers.  That is a dead club.  To wet my appetite though, I hit the Hawthorne Strip first.

The Hawthorne Strip has become one of my favorite places in the last year.  It’s quiet.  It has sports on the plasma TV over the bar.  The girls are usually pretty good.  And it’s quiet.  Well, except for the music.  It’s one of those places with no dj, so the girls go over to a juke box and select their set just before hitting the stage.  There’s a fantastic sign on the front reminding girls that they’re in a rock and roll bar and maybe they should leave the emo crap at home.  Generally they stick to rock or 80s.  Either is generally fine by me.  It’s the rap that I can’t stand (*cough*Dolphin*cough*).

I parked in the back and played a little video poker while an innocent-looking brunette worked the pole in front of one guy.  In hindsight I should have parked at the rail since it turned out it was the girl’s last set of the night.  Oh well.  I finished even at poker while I waited for the evening shift to come trickling in.

I rolled over to the corner stage after a few tunes and parked in front of another brunette who I’d walked past as I came in the door.  She had hair almost all the way down to her butt.  It was something else to see.  Unfortunately her dancing style left much to be desired.  She was all frentic motion.  Like she didn’t quite know what to do with herself on stage, so she’d developed this little dance routine that she would go through.  It was like watching an endless loop.  Two times around the pole, walk to the rail, stick foot on rail, pose, walk back to corner, bend over…repeat.  So boring.

From a distance it looked like she had a couple of tattoo sleeves on her forearms.  They turned out to be sleeves from a shirt or something.  Perhaps she was hiding something else?  Or maybe it was her device so she could convince herself she wasn’t really naked while she was on stage.  Different girls use different things to get past that.  It’s interesting.

After her set ended, she lazily came over and asked if I wanted a dance.  She seemed a little off.  I declined.

Next up came a well stacked blonde.  She was solid.  Small breasts, but the rest of her looked great.  And speaking of devices to convince yourself youre not naked.  She wore this leather bondage-type top that drew attention to her breasts while covering parts of the rest.  Yeah, OK…she’s had a baby.  Big deal.  She’s far from the worst looking stripper in town.  Show it off, baby!

After her set, it was back to girl #1 and I’d had enough.

I made my way over to Spyce only to be thwarted.  Turns out every other club in town was also open and there was no parking to be found in Chinatown.  I’ll have to do my review another time.  I definitely want to check out their steak and lobster special one of these nights.  Apparently their kitchen is pretty good.

I headed back east and ended up at Sassy’s.  Not my first choice, but I didn’t really want to drive out to Beaverton or down to Milwaukie.  So Sassy’s it was.

The place was pretty full.  The usual mix of young couples and single guys.  The Vince Neil guy was back DJing.  He does a good job of keeping the girls and the music moving.  I grabbed my Coors Light and hit the stage.  First up was a petite little Asian girl.  I didn’t catch her name, but she was definitely a delight.  She was paying particular attention to an older guy back in the crowd, which was fine.  When it came my turn, she gave a fantastic show.  Great energy and enthusiasm.  You really can’t ask for anything more.

Next up was definitely the hottest blonde in the place.  She was tall and thin with a fantastic body.  Unfortunately, she hates her job.  Or at least that’s how it looked.  When she paused in front of a customer, she’d turn and stare into space.  No eye contact.  No “hi, how you doing?”  And certainly no selling dances.  Such a bummer.

Guys at the rail didn’t seem to care though.  They kept throwing money at her and she kept wanting to be somewhere else.  Blah.

Midnight arrived while the blonde was on stage.  She got into a liplock with another dancer which was intended to get the guys hot, but didn’t really seem to.  The guys with dates were all working their girls while the guys without dates were hooting with their free champagne, happy to be dateless at a strip club.

Had I to do it over again, I definitely would have made the effort to hit a couch somewhere.  But whatever.  I’m a little rusty.

Thanks for checking back in.  Here’s to good things in 2009.

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.