Then, one day, after the break, I got called into the principal’s office at school. They had website pictures of me hanging out at a nightclub, and the person who sent them in said that I partied and stripped. If I started crying and asking for forgiveness, they would have let me stay in school. Instead I told them they could kiss my ass. I was 18, wild, and a bitch, earning what I thought was a ton of money. My mom was upset, my father was out of the picture -- daddy issues! I moved into my own apartment, got my high school diploma at a public school, married a tattoo artist, and kept on dancing.
I loved it from the start, but it could be hard. Early on, I’d sometimes go into the bathroom at work and cry. Those were the nights when I’d be on stage four times, walk around the club practically naked, and nobody would buy a dance. You feel like a cow at a meat market when nobody wants steak. They’re all eating chicken, and I’m like, “What the fuck?” Plus, you’d get some unusual guys. Wearing silk shorts to a strip club is an Ohio thing. I remember seeing a guy in the shorts, and saying, “You’re not wearing underwear.” I didn’t give him a dance. It was just too much.