After three. Months or so of working at The Pink Poodle, I had shed my chubbiness by working out, eating sparsely and unfortunately snorting my way down to a very girlish 93 lbs or so. My unruly hair had grown longer. My breasts kept their perky B cups. (At that time, I was told I had the breasts photographers dreamed of photographing. But this was the early 80's. Implants had not taken over the industry...yet.). I also had 'Brooke Shields' brows, naturally. I was young, but was told that ...
I was going to write about what happened on my return to the Pink Poodle 3 weeks after I was offered a job in 1982. But today is my first day back to dancing for the 2012. I woke up feeling like I have allergies, so my memory of my return day is not as clear as I want it to be. So, I'll write in the present instead of the past. My eyes are red and swollen. I took a dance class that wasn't my usual pole or burlesque thing. It was a "swaggerific" exotic dance class. ...
My first audition was in March of 1982 at a club called the Pink Poodle in San Jose, CA. There were no lap dances then. We entered the stage through heavy velvet like curtains that were a reddish burgundy. Behind the curtains was the dressing room. The dressing room has a rolling rack of costumes that were hanging on hangers. I thought that they were provided by the club for the dancers to use while doing stage acts. WRONG! The dancers thought I was funny. An older dancer by the name of Diana, ...
Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Dorien Grais. I'm a 52 1/2 year old exotic dancer who has never had her body or face touched with surgery. I'm a remarkable acrobatic pole dancer and love what I do. I still have clubs wanting me to work for them! (Hard to believe, right?) I really enjoy what I do, so instead of writing a memoir, I will be writing while working. I'll write some historical articles, words of wisdom (well, some might think so) and just random musings. Happy New Year ...
When I left after my audition. I went back to my temp job. It was so boring. I was filing. As in old school filing; no computer-just big stacks of paper. I recall one of the young female workers at this office who was going somewhere exiting for the weekend. She seemed really happy. (Being a temp, nobody really spoke with me, so I just listened in on her convo with somebody else. Who also wasn't a temp). I came back the next Monday. She had been in a car accident and ...