May 30, 2004: As far as I know, that is the first-ever time I went to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition). I remember seeing the marquee driving home from The Store every Saturday. Once I knew what "Nude Girls" meant, I really, really wanted to go to there. And finally, while my parents were away when they went to Las Vegas for holidays (at least I think), I summoned up the courage to go into this seedy dive and see if there were any boobs I could see.
And there were. Specifically (and IIRC) I saw a cute black-haired, tattooed beauty just as she was leaving the stage. I didn't know the protocol of this place at the time, but as she was walking to the dressing room I gave her a buck as a stage tip. And that was it; (IIRC) I went in there right before bar close. And the ten minutes I was there (IIRC) was the perfect initiation to a place I was curious but unfamiliar with; not too much time whereby I would get so nervous I would freak out and leave and never come back.
I did. For the next 15 1/2 years I did. A bevy of beauties came and went, and for the most part they were hot. Stripmongers and the strip club-curious probably never set foot in the place because they concluding that the ugliness of the outside (and the surrounding area, at least until gentrification started spreading to the area, as I will mention below) had to mean that the roster was just full of heifers. Not at all. In fact, most of them were filled with babes who were working downtown and wised up to the lower tipouts and the relatively low stripper bullshit here. If people didn't figure that out and decided that downtown Minneapolis is where the tits are at, their loss.
But now the loss is ours. The clock started ticking in earnest when its sister strip bar, 22nd Ave. Station, got shut down by the city several years ago because the owner bought liquor at the store next door when his license forbade that. That sent the message that clubs of its kind were no longer allowed to stay in business as they were forever. But the end was in sight with the death of the owner. It appears as though (even though I never could find confirmation) that the entertainment license allowing strippers to strip at a place on that area in Minneapolis would not be allowed to be handed down from the owner to his son, to whom My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) was willed. Moreover, I hear that the son wasn't too keen on running the place, nor was he the greatest of owners. Finally, the condo boom that has transformed downtown Minneapolis in the past 15 years has somehow extended beyond its heart. We're talking close to North Minneapolis here, and yet I see a hip bar a block away and, within the past couple weeks, a new bar (non-strip-) crop up right alongside it, on the other side of the alley. My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) was a ripe target to be sold. And I have heard that the son sold not the club but the land underneath it.
I have had more ups than downs here. Sure, the customer service could be a bit surly. I sure as hell didn't like the inflation of the price of a cup of coffee; when I came it was just a dollar, but somehow now it's $3.25, more than it costs at Starbucks. There have been ugly strippers and there have been mean strippers, and there have been strippers who demanded five bucks for tips on-stage, to whom I stuck to my principles and refused to tip, just like most of the guys who go there and gawk but don't shell out the money. But the price of drinks here still are cheaper than what you would be charged for at a classic stripclub. The dances are, and have always been, $20 and out in the open, so there would be no temptation to do extras and, most important of all, no feeling of being burned when extras weren't provided. There was no cover -- I could walk in and be greeted by the bouncer and not have to pay for the privilege of taking a seat.
And, finally, I slowly ingratiated by way into the life of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division). I blogged one time here (I don't think I'll look for it) that, when push came to shove, I would be treated like some interloper instead of a regular. Well, fast forward to Saturday, when the place was packed (went there Tuesday and it wasn't packed; went there Thursday and while it was much more crowded for a typical worknight, it wasn't packed) and I gave two bucks to a girl who I knew would always demand five, and we started talking about missing this place once it's gone. I asked her if she would be coming around Sunday and Monday (aka yesterday and today), to which she said she would and made me promise I would come ... "Because you're family," she said. And we hugged.
That meant a lot to me, and what she said has stayed with me. I didn't make it out last/Sunday night like I thought I would because the stripper girlfriend who I asked to clean my house (who actually danced there many years ago) came late and stayed late. But despite the lack of parking I plan on being there some time in the late evening tonight and staying until the very, very end. I kept coming back to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) because I felt happy and, eventually, safe there. I belonged there because it provided me with two important things that nourished my soul: Naked women and no judgement. It truly became my home away from home.
And as of today, Monday, December 23, 2019, I will lose that home. And I don't know where the hell I'm going to go now. And the more I think about it, the sadder I get.
Rest In Peace, BJ's.
And there were. Specifically (and IIRC) I saw a cute black-haired, tattooed beauty just as she was leaving the stage. I didn't know the protocol of this place at the time, but as she was walking to the dressing room I gave her a buck as a stage tip. And that was it; (IIRC) I went in there right before bar close. And the ten minutes I was there (IIRC) was the perfect initiation to a place I was curious but unfamiliar with; not too much time whereby I would get so nervous I would freak out and leave and never come back.
I did. For the next 15 1/2 years I did. A bevy of beauties came and went, and for the most part they were hot. Stripmongers and the strip club-curious probably never set foot in the place because they concluding that the ugliness of the outside (and the surrounding area, at least until gentrification started spreading to the area, as I will mention below) had to mean that the roster was just full of heifers. Not at all. In fact, most of them were filled with babes who were working downtown and wised up to the lower tipouts and the relatively low stripper bullshit here. If people didn't figure that out and decided that downtown Minneapolis is where the tits are at, their loss.
But now the loss is ours. The clock started ticking in earnest when its sister strip bar, 22nd Ave. Station, got shut down by the city several years ago because the owner bought liquor at the store next door when his license forbade that. That sent the message that clubs of its kind were no longer allowed to stay in business as they were forever. But the end was in sight with the death of the owner. It appears as though (even though I never could find confirmation) that the entertainment license allowing strippers to strip at a place on that area in Minneapolis would not be allowed to be handed down from the owner to his son, to whom My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division) was willed. Moreover, I hear that the son wasn't too keen on running the place, nor was he the greatest of owners. Finally, the condo boom that has transformed downtown Minneapolis in the past 15 years has somehow extended beyond its heart. We're talking close to North Minneapolis here, and yet I see a hip bar a block away and, within the past couple weeks, a new bar (non-strip-) crop up right alongside it, on the other side of the alley. My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Version) was a ripe target to be sold. And I have heard that the son sold not the club but the land underneath it.
I have had more ups than downs here. Sure, the customer service could be a bit surly. I sure as hell didn't like the inflation of the price of a cup of coffee; when I came it was just a dollar, but somehow now it's $3.25, more than it costs at Starbucks. There have been ugly strippers and there have been mean strippers, and there have been strippers who demanded five bucks for tips on-stage, to whom I stuck to my principles and refused to tip, just like most of the guys who go there and gawk but don't shell out the money. But the price of drinks here still are cheaper than what you would be charged for at a classic stripclub. The dances are, and have always been, $20 and out in the open, so there would be no temptation to do extras and, most important of all, no feeling of being burned when extras weren't provided. There was no cover -- I could walk in and be greeted by the bouncer and not have to pay for the privilege of taking a seat.
And, finally, I slowly ingratiated by way into the life of My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Division). I blogged one time here (I don't think I'll look for it) that, when push came to shove, I would be treated like some interloper instead of a regular. Well, fast forward to Saturday, when the place was packed (went there Tuesday and it wasn't packed; went there Thursday and while it was much more crowded for a typical worknight, it wasn't packed) and I gave two bucks to a girl who I knew would always demand five, and we started talking about missing this place once it's gone. I asked her if she would be coming around Sunday and Monday (aka yesterday and today), to which she said she would and made me promise I would come ... "Because you're family," she said. And we hugged.
That meant a lot to me, and what she said has stayed with me. I didn't make it out last/Sunday night like I thought I would because the stripper girlfriend who I asked to clean my house (who actually danced there many years ago) came late and stayed late. But despite the lack of parking I plan on being there some time in the late evening tonight and staying until the very, very end. I kept coming back to My Favorite Stripclub (Non-Cover Edition) because I felt happy and, eventually, safe there. I belonged there because it provided me with two important things that nourished my soul: Naked women and no judgement. It truly became my home away from home.
And as of today, Monday, December 23, 2019, I will lose that home. And I don't know where the hell I'm going to go now. And the more I think about it, the sadder I get.
Rest In Peace, BJ's.
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