My first book, G-Is for String, is now available on Amazon! g-isforstring.com. The audiobook version is in production.
Save One Bullet is now available on Amazon Kindle!!
Take Me to Church
My life had been slowly falling apart since meeting my current boyfriend, Jake, in July. In my head I knew what had to be done, the rest of me hadn't quite caught up though, and my heart was breaking. I needed to search my soul and knew exactly where to do that.
Gotta Get a Gimmick
In the second year of my exotic dancing career, my agent in Rochester decided it was time for me to experience working on the road, and booked me into the Ohio theater circuit. In 1975 I was twenty-one years old, sophisticated, and mature, thinking I'd seen it all.
You've Given Me a Million Reasons
I'd been booked into a hotel with a strip club in Hamilton, Ontario for a whole month at the end of December 1976. Hamilton was my boyfriend, Jake's hometown and he still lived there with his wife- who I pretended did not exist.
Snakes, Nudity and Snowstorms
My last booking for 1976 was in Hamilton, Ontario at a historic hotel that had been around for over a century. Hanrahan's had once been home to gangsters and underworld characters in the early 1900s, who were making money on bootleg booze that was shipped by boat to Buffalo, New York. Now, its existence was hanging by the frayed elastic on strippers' G-Strings, hoping to make it another hundred years.
Every Breath I Take
It was early December in Ontario 1976, and the weather had been on and off rain and ice for the past few days. The 401 had been shut down between Toronto and Hamilton due to multiple wrecks and road conditions. It had also turned out to be a bad week for strippers in Ontario, as the Provincial council had just voted to allow nudity in the clubs. Fully dressed bureaucrats had decided that to increase the tax revenue from alcohol sales they would force exotic dancers into baring it all onstage. In one fell swoop, our G-Strings had been yanked off by pencil pushers in a faraway office building.
The curse of modern-day existence assaults me daily. One website or another nagging me for a new password. I can barely remember what I've had for breakfast and they want me to use a unique password for every stinking site. I'm not even sure of what ID I've used for these sites, let alone the passwords. If I only had to make up a new one I'd be fine. But they expect me to remember something I'd made up six months ago when I was annoyed and bothered by their constant whining, 'reset your password'.
Is it I could care less, or I couldn’t care less?
Stripping adventures in Quebec City In January of 1976, I had been booked at a big club in Quebec City as a feature stripper for the first time. What should have been an exciting time for me had turned into an unbelievable mess.
This is my reality. I love men. The deep timbre of their voices, their angles, and broad shoulders, beards, and mustaches, and that tuft of hair in the center of their chests. I love men's muscled arms and chests and their strength. (Especially when I'm trying to open a pickle jar.)
Clowning Around With a Married Man
Crisscrossing Ontario in a G-String The strip club at the Oshawa Hotel, where I had been booked into the Summer of 1976 was the size of a Bingo Hall. The men’s room had no door on it, and the stage was situated right within sight of it. If my eyesight had been better I could have had a nice show. There was no ladies’ room in the club. If a lady accidentally stumbled into the bar, she would have to hold it until she ran out to the restaurant on the other side of the hotel or out to the bushes in the back parking lot.
Fight, Fight, Fight
Shortly after my return to dancing at the Bottom's Up club in Rochester, New York, my ex-boyfriend, Frank wandered into the club and tried to rekindle our old, whatever it was. It sure hadn't been much of a romance. He had dragged me across the country, lying, cheating, and beating me, until he dumped me in the middle of Arizona for a middle-aged barmaid. I'd been nineteen and he was thirty-two.
Dolls, Wild Things and White Satin
I had been sidelined from my dance career for three months by a dislocated knee and had to move into a women's shelter because my funds had been taken by a dancer I'd been staying with. It was truly one of the lowest points of my life. I hated depending on other people for anything and that was just humiliating. I was at the shelter for exactly one day before getting a job at a newspaper typing classified ads.
The Things One Finds at the Bottom of a Cliff
It was a fine day for watching migrating birds, so my hubby and I made a trip to our local bird-watching site, Sage Creek promontory. We had bundled up in thick, wooly sweaters and hiking boots for our jaunt. The air was crisp and smelled like burning leaves and the sweet, rotting apples that dotted the ground in the field on the other side of the road.