Stairs, stares and more stairs.

I can't ever keep track of how many dances I get at a strip club, so I marvel at how the Landing Strip's (LS's) valet remembers each and every patron and his wheels. I could understand if there were only several cars, but he sometimes manages to memorize 20 to 30 patron/vehicle pairs. My amazement at his seeming photographic memory is second only to my wonderment as to why he dislikes giving patrons a ticket stub. Regardless, I always insist on getting paper proof that I've turned over my car keys to this car-memorizing sevant.

Enough about parking details and on to my visit: I climbed the stairs up to the dance floor level and planted myself on a bar stool, ordered a bottle of Coors Light and did the awkward 180 seat swivel to watch the stage performance. There were four dancers on the premises during this early Thursday afternoon visit.

"L**h" (stage name) was dancing and she was the only one of the four that sparked my interest. She was a solid Latina 7.34/10.00 (if the valet can remember cars into double digits, I'll counter with three significant figures on my dancer assessment). I smiled and winked at L**h, we stared at each other for a good 10 seconds, and then she blew me an "I'll-come-over kiss".