I'm not speechless often, so when it happens, listen up.

To my parents, if you are reading this: I'm sorry if what I'm about to write upsets you. It upset me, too.

I went out with some girl friends tonight, thought it'd be AWESOME to hit a male strip club in my area. Let me preface this blog by stating two very unequivocal facts about myself: 1) I don't like being touched. 2) I REALLY don't like being touched by strangers. You will never see me in a crowded mall at Christmas. Why? Too much touching by too many strangers. Let me begin:

It started with dinner: Delicious. We go to the "club." $20 to get in. I twitch as I hand my money over; I work pretty damn hard to give up $20 at the door, but hey...good times are to be had, right?? I'll go with the flow.

We get inside, and the first guy out on stage is (surprise!!!) a police officer. Then the real show starts. Some bachelorette gets dragged on stage and he does some ghastly stuff to her; things involving handstands and faux oral sex, not to mention all the dry humping and even boob-grabbing. And the whole time, this chick is "acting" like she doesn't like it. Little does she know at that same moment her beloved fiancee is probably getting a blow job in the champagne room of a strip club somewhere across town. At which point, I figured out some major differences between male strip clubs and female strip clubs:

1. Male strip clubs do not put on airs. Unlike females strippers, who pretend to be in school and to like you, with the dudes, there's no acting. They are there to be sexual and to get paid; you are there to give them money. There's no chit chat. There's only dick in your face (in some cases, quite literally). Pay up and move on.

2. Women bring cameras. Women feel the need to document their girlfriend's bachelorette party with a million pictures...yes, even those of the blushing bride getting faux-gang-banged on a table. She'll make a great wife some day! Guys, however, don't want proof. They know better.

3. Male strippers have retard strength. I couldn't help but notice that 95% of the women who got "private" dances (aka, dances on stage) were over 200 lbs. Yet, these guys picked them up, twirled them like batons and performed some of the raunchiest pseudo-sex acts I have ever seen, some even with the women being held upside down (and yes, I've watched Cinemax at 3AM on a Saturday night). Even though I was disgusted, I was impressed they could pull that off.

4. We all know that dudes like school girls. Apparently, in pseudo-sex world, women like mechanics...even when said mechanic is dry humping a tire on stage. ??? I just don't get it. Obviously, he's not very good at his job. He doesn't even know what do to with a TIRE. But it got the women hootin' and the show went on.

So now it's MY turn.

Dancer # 1 is dry humping a girl about 2 feet away from me. When he gets done, I can't help but notice he shifts a bulge in his boxer-briefs from his ass to the side. Hmmm...weird. He sees me looking at him, mistakes my look for interest and starts squiggling around me. I hand him a dollar (literally...I HAND it to him), and he keeps doing whatever it is he thinks is thrilling me. At this point I recognize his "cologne." It's "Heaven," by Victoria's Secret. I own it. He's wearing it. How bizarre is this dance becoming? I yell above the music, "What does your tattoo mean?" but he doesn't respond (see above - no chit chat). I can't help but think how gross and sweaty he is...and how he's wearing a woman's scented lotion. A minute later, he's done acting like a dying fish near me and my friends come over, hysterically laughing. My one bud points out that my shirt is unbuttoned a bit more than when I first came out tonight. Holy shit. I was so distracted by how alternate-universe it all was, I totally missed the fact he unbuttoned my shirt. Double EWWW.

An hour later I go to the ladies room. I come back and my friends are giggling. Suspicious. Two seconds later, the DJ guy comes over. I'm like, "Hey, what's up?" What's UP, is that he starts trying to do stripper-grinding things on me. He's fully clothed and I'm fully freaked out. All I remember, is at one point I yelled to him, "Does your mother know you do this?" shortly thereafter my dance is over. Big shock there. My friends are slightly confused. They say, "You agreed with us earlier that he was cute!" I said, "You should've asked for more details. That guy reminds me of MY YOUNGER COUSIN." Gasps all around, no one makes eye contact, and they paid him $20 to freak me out on a thousand different levels. It worked. Well done, girls. With friends like these, who needs enemies?

So that was my night, and I have survived. If nothing else, I've learned something I already knew, but never really got to prove in real life:

You want to turn me on? Throw a guy on stage who will cook me dinner. Show me someone who will make me laugh over something absolutely stupid. Put a guy in front of me who will give me a ginormous bear hug after a shitty day at work. But don't put a guy on stage in a mechanic's uniform dry-humping a tire, because that's just going to make me want to change my own oil.

And yet, guys still dig school girls. Some things are not meant to be understood.

Go ahead. Click on the pictures. Make 'em big. You know you want to.