Yeah.

I wore it. Shup. Listened to "Hot Schtuff" close to 89 times that morning. Put on a fake tattoo on my "Davids" (Right next to the hip bone. I picked the Chinese kanji for "courage", which I figured I needed.) Got to the theatre. Went over my blocka-blocking. Put everything on. Did some push-ups and sit-ups backstage before going on. Had a mild panic-attack when I thought the saddle bags were, in fact, hanging loo-right as the song started. (They weren't. At least I don't think they were?) Heard one laugh. Threw my clothes off every which ramshackle way they'd go in what I had hoped would be the semblence of rhythm, sultryness, and practiced skill. (I'm laughing at myself for actually writing that last bit)

And that was that.

Quite liberating. Really. I was told later that the dance was "above adequate". One of the follow spot guys said "No one told me what you were doing, so I just kinda went with it." Which I translate into a whirling dervish of a striptease.

The next day I woke up with what felt like a swollen knee, torn groin muscle going down to said knee, frassy neck, and a sore set of teets + arms. (I did a lot of push ups. A lot.) And shit, I wasn't even in a Jiu Jitsu tournament.

One more show to get it right, then it's off to either Holy Land or the Chutney Indian buffet.