On the Instagram feed of Da Club, there is a video of Natasha Nova, 2018 Entertainer of the Year, performing on an LED lyra.
If you were to watch it, you’d realize that on the other side of Natasha is the club’s reception area. Try to imagine me, if you can, in that reception area, wearing little other than massive red hair extensions, sparkly white high heels, panties and pasties.
Before you get all hot and bothered by that image, imagine that next to me sits my seventeen year old daughter in her black work t-shirt and apron, simultaneously fuming at me for putting her in this ridiculous situation and wondering how cool she’d be for Snapchatting the entire experience to her friends.
Imagine we are both completely mortified.
If you can imagine all that, you have a pretty good grasp of my Saturday evening at Da Club.
It’s a bit of a long story, but I found myself in this predicament when I realized that my daughter and I had both lost our keys at the same time and were locked out of our apartment. She had no place to go after she left work, giving me no choice but have her come to the club until I could figure shit out.
While a client waited patiently for me in VIP, I was on the phone in the lobby, frantically trying to find a place for her and me to stay the night.
After about 20 minutes of utter chaos, everything turned out okay when my keys turned up at the deejay booth. Immediately after the door slammed on the kid’s last dirty look, I heard the deejay calling my name. As I made a mad dash for main stage, two things were at the forefront of my mind:
1) I was one hot, frazzled mess.
2) I was following Natasha Nova’s performance YET AGAIN.
M O T H E R F U C K E R
When you find yourself dancing onstage to a packed house looking more like Mrs. Frizzle than Jessica Rabbit, there’s only one thing you can do:
OWN THE SHIT OUT OF THAT MOTHERFUCKING STAGE.
For the next two songs, I danced like Salome in front of a mad king. I gyrated my hips as fast and as far as I could stretch them. I got all on fours, stuck my butt in the air and twerked like my ass was having a seizure. I pulled out every pole trick I had up my nonexistent sleeves and improvised a few new ones on the spot.
That was the most money I’ve ever made on a dance. Overall, it was the most money I’ve ever made in one night.
My daughter, on the other hand, still isn’t speaking to me. It’s fine, though, totally fine. After Saturday’s shitshow, I’m very much enjoying the peace and quiet.