Vacation Part Two: Stripper Reunion

There’s nothing like balancing out a whirlwind sexcapade with some overdue girl time during the same vacation. The fact that the girls were once strippers 20 years ago? Well, that makes it even better.

It doesn’t matter if you were college roommates, volunteered together in the Peace Corp, or worked the shower stage together in Waikiki, to reconnect with old friends is a true gift to the people we’ve become. We see our [younger] selves in their eyes, and through walking hand-in-hand down our memory mazes, we tap in to the part of our spirits we thought were long gone.

Freedom tastes sweeter the second time around.

As former strippers, there’s a perfect storm of brass balls and naïveté we young gals possessed. We knew enough to balance the tightrope of mischief and debauchery, but not enough to realize there was no safety net below.

To reunite with my stripper sisters last week was nothing short of fabulous. We marinated in Chianti and memories. We drunk-dialed old boyfriends (she’s seeing him later this year), imitated our boss calling us to the stage over the loud-speaker, and marveled at stories about limo rides and drug-induced bravery.

“Didn’t I try to sleep with you once?” Our waiter suddenly came by with the water pitcher more often after I blurted that out.

“Oh my God, that’s right!”

“Patrick got a kick outta that one.”

“Of course he did.”

“Didn’t we all try to fuck each other at one point?”

“Ahh… we were high, who cares…”

She was right. The sixties had free love, why couldn’t the Ecstasy induced 90s give us the same?

The reunion continued, as did the wine. Then our night was turned up a notch, as Deanna and I discovered our waiter sharing a joint with Layla in back of the restaurant.

The night just got better and better – ending with yours truly dancing naked in the hotel room, holding a chicken nugget. It may have been the pot, but Layla couldn’t stop laughing at the sight of me gettin’ my groove on, while holding that little bite sized piece of poultry.

Irony is never disappointing when ex-strippers hang, as I was dancing to Same Mistakes, by The Echo Friendly. Quite the performance.

In the blink of my bloodshot eyes, I was at the airport wondering where the time went. Although I was a little blue that my adventure came to a close, my heart was still smiling with the experience of it all.

It’s no fun getting back to reality, when all you want to do is play with the fantasy of putting life’s responsibilities on hold. But there’s something to be said for being able to differentiate between the two.