My very favorite month.
Your humble stripper is in much better spirits than in her last post.
I'll be dancing in Philly in about 2 weeks... I am very excited. I miss it. I miss the money. I miss getting naked for strangers. I miss having stories to tell.
I'll have some new ones for you soon darlings
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Sunday, September 20, 2009
The End (?)
I had planned on writing an entry about one of my favorite customers today, but my heart just wasn't in it. I hope you will all forgive me for straying from my normal, stripper stories and indulge me while I air some personal business.
I have mentioned vaguely in this journal my boyfriend M. Well, he is no longer my boyfriend. After four years, and 13 days of a wonderful relationship I broke up with him. Not because I didn't love him, or because I had found someone new, but because after such a long time with him, I no longer knew who I was without him.
I still love him immensely, but I am very, very young and need to experience the world for myself before I go committing myself to someone.
For the first time in four years, I am single. I do not know what to do with myself. I am shattered, but quickly realizing how to pick up my pieces. Despite my loneliness, I feel a certain hesitant optimism. Some joy. Some freedom.
I was planning on auditioning soon, but with my new-found solitude I don't know if I could handle it emotionally. Also, my grades should be my first priority right now.
Now back to your regularly scheduled broadcast.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
*Jersey
“Wow Bella! You look good! Have you lost weight?”
“I guess I must have, everybody keeps commenting on it.”
“You look really good. I mean, not that you were fat before, but shit girl, you look good.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“Like, really fucking good!”
“…Thanks. You’ve lost a lot of weight too!”
“Yeah, Mike* told me that I was getting fat so I decided to lose a couple pounds. I look fucking hot right?”
“Yeah, definitely. So how did you lose the weight?”
“Dope.”
I stared, dumbstruck for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s been working for you.”
“Fuck yeah. But I’m not addicted or anything. If I start spending any more than $20 a day I’ll quit.”
“We all have our limits I guess.”
“Yeah, I handle it pretty well. Like, Rose* was talking about doing it and I told her not to. She would just go crazy, you know? Just wile-the-fuck-out, you know? I’m used to this shit so I can deal. Bella, I’ve been making so much fucking money.”
“That’s really great.”
“Yeah. So how did you lose your weight?”
“Um, I guess since I left school I’ve just been more activ-“
“Yeah, that’s cool. Dope’s so easy though. I mean I’ve been making so much fucking money. I think I’ll get my son back from my mom.”
“…you have a son?”
*Just a side note, yes this conversation ACTUALLY occurred. I had danced with this girl for months and had never once heard her mention her son. This dancer in particular was one of the more fucked up people I worked with and I always felt a mixture of pity and disgust for her. Pity, because she had such obviously low self-esteem and disgust because she was one of the people who made my job harder by offering extras in the back room.
“I guess I must have, everybody keeps commenting on it.”
“You look really good. I mean, not that you were fat before, but shit girl, you look good.”
“Aww, thanks.”
“Like, really fucking good!”
“…Thanks. You’ve lost a lot of weight too!”
“Yeah, Mike* told me that I was getting fat so I decided to lose a couple pounds. I look fucking hot right?”
“Yeah, definitely. So how did you lose the weight?”
“Dope.”
I stared, dumbstruck for a moment. “Well, I guess it’s been working for you.”
“Fuck yeah. But I’m not addicted or anything. If I start spending any more than $20 a day I’ll quit.”
“We all have our limits I guess.”
“Yeah, I handle it pretty well. Like, Rose* was talking about doing it and I told her not to. She would just go crazy, you know? Just wile-the-fuck-out, you know? I’m used to this shit so I can deal. Bella, I’ve been making so much fucking money.”
“That’s really great.”
“Yeah. So how did you lose your weight?”
“Um, I guess since I left school I’ve just been more activ-“
“Yeah, that’s cool. Dope’s so easy though. I mean I’ve been making so much fucking money. I think I’ll get my son back from my mom.”
“…you have a son?”
*Just a side note, yes this conversation ACTUALLY occurred. I had danced with this girl for months and had never once heard her mention her son. This dancer in particular was one of the more fucked up people I worked with and I always felt a mixture of pity and disgust for her. Pity, because she had such obviously low self-esteem and disgust because she was one of the people who made my job harder by offering extras in the back room.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Krystal
She sat, artfully concealing the creases under and around her eyes with powder. Drawing on lips, contouring cheekbones and creating lashes where there were none before. She teases and backcombs newly processed hair, the real color of which hasn’t been seen in over 20 years.
She talks about a time when dancing was just that, dancing. When girls didn’t need to be whores to make money. When customers were real gentlemen and paid for her company with cash, champagne, and jewelry. When she could pay all of her expenses for a month off of one night’s work. When the girls knew how to move. When they didn’t just grab themselves and hump the air.
She has a teenager at home. A girl. A good girl, she says. She’s got enough saved up for her to go to college and she doesn’t even like high heels. A good girl, she says, she can’t really even put on makeup.
She pulls on her lycra bikini, scrutinizing. She’s held up well out here in the sun, but her knees ache and her back is tight. She gave up the night shift years ago. Too many young girls, and too much drama, she says. She has her regulars, and she still makes her money. But the money is slowing down and the world is speeding up. Her feet are swollen and she doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.
She could move back home. She could see a real rainstorm for the first time since she left. Get away from all the dry heat and go someplace with real trees and rivers and damp. She could take her daughter someplace nice. She could find another job. One that wasn’t so demanding. But what has she got? No real job skills, no real references. She could find something.
She puts on her shoes and stands. She aches. What has she got? She’s got legs a 19 old would envy, and the ability to walk in heels. She’s been walking in heels for most of her life. She could walk through fucking hell in heels.
On stage she dances and thinks about the rain.
-Bella 9/10/09-
She talks about a time when dancing was just that, dancing. When girls didn’t need to be whores to make money. When customers were real gentlemen and paid for her company with cash, champagne, and jewelry. When she could pay all of her expenses for a month off of one night’s work. When the girls knew how to move. When they didn’t just grab themselves and hump the air.
She has a teenager at home. A girl. A good girl, she says. She’s got enough saved up for her to go to college and she doesn’t even like high heels. A good girl, she says, she can’t really even put on makeup.
She pulls on her lycra bikini, scrutinizing. She’s held up well out here in the sun, but her knees ache and her back is tight. She gave up the night shift years ago. Too many young girls, and too much drama, she says. She has her regulars, and she still makes her money. But the money is slowing down and the world is speeding up. Her feet are swollen and she doesn’t know how much longer she can do this.
She could move back home. She could see a real rainstorm for the first time since she left. Get away from all the dry heat and go someplace with real trees and rivers and damp. She could take her daughter someplace nice. She could find another job. One that wasn’t so demanding. But what has she got? No real job skills, no real references. She could find something.
She puts on her shoes and stands. She aches. What has she got? She’s got legs a 19 old would envy, and the ability to walk in heels. She’s been walking in heels for most of her life. She could walk through fucking hell in heels.
On stage she dances and thinks about the rain.
-Bella 9/10/09-
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Ambiguous
“Hey! Bella! Come here for a second.”
I buckle my shoe and adjust the bandage on my right pinkie toe before getting up.
“Yes Mike*?” I smile at him the same way I do at some customers. Sweet, obedient, non-threatening.
“Tell me something." He looks up at me from his computer screen, the necklace perpetually stretched tight across his wide neck reflecting his myspace page. "Do your friends know you do this?”
“Well some do, I gue-“
“No I mean, like your family and shit. Do they know that you dance?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, well we’re going to be taking some pictures for our website and I was wondering if you wanted to model for it.”
“Naw. Thanks anyway though.” I smile sweetly.
“No problem doll. I’m asking everybody.”
I buckle my shoe and adjust the bandage on my right pinkie toe before getting up.
“Yes Mike*?” I smile at him the same way I do at some customers. Sweet, obedient, non-threatening.
“Tell me something." He looks up at me from his computer screen, the necklace perpetually stretched tight across his wide neck reflecting his myspace page. "Do your friends know you do this?”
“Well some do, I gue-“
“No I mean, like your family and shit. Do they know that you dance?”
“No, why?”
“Oh, well we’re going to be taking some pictures for our website and I was wondering if you wanted to model for it.”
“Naw. Thanks anyway though.” I smile sweetly.
“No problem doll. I’m asking everybody.”
Monday, August 24, 2009
I am not Barbie
I do not want Ken, or a dream house, or three best friends each of a different ethnicity.
So why do I want to look like her?
I'm a real person. I have a soft stomach and jiggly thighs. I'm pale. Right now, I am the most tan I have virtually ever been.
I'm not currently being paid to be naked, so why do I still care about being perfect? When it was all about making money, my low self-esteem and perfectionist nature just seemed like good business sense. Now, it is, once again, another manifestation of my intensely low self-esteem.
I need to come to terms with myself. And not just physically.
Look Through Me
When you look at me, remember, I’m not looking back at you. Oh, it may seem like you have my full attention as I slither around on stage, or while I sit curled in your lap, but really, I’m not looking at you. I’m looking through you.
On stage I look through you to the mirror behind your head. While I give you my sexy eyes, I check my reflection right next to your head. I pout, and sway, and pose, and check myself. My hair, my clothes, my body. I am not looking at you.
In your lap I look through your head. I let my eyes relax, my pupils dilate. I give you a blank, inviting stare, smiling like a doll. I think about all the money I will make. I visualize my will melting over you like warm butter. I impose my desires on you. I make you think that what I want is really what you want. I stare through you and tell you that you want a dance. You agree.
On stage I look through you to the mirror behind your head. While I give you my sexy eyes, I check my reflection right next to your head. I pout, and sway, and pose, and check myself. My hair, my clothes, my body. I am not looking at you.
In your lap I look through your head. I let my eyes relax, my pupils dilate. I give you a blank, inviting stare, smiling like a doll. I think about all the money I will make. I visualize my will melting over you like warm butter. I impose my desires on you. I make you think that what I want is really what you want. I stare through you and tell you that you want a dance. You agree.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Not that anyone does
but if you read this, and have a twitter, feel free to follow me!
www.twitter.com/fragilebella
www.twitter.com/fragilebella
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Binging Again...
I haven't done this shit in a while.
Stress from moving, worries about starting a new school, and fighting with my boyfriend have been making me binge-eat like crazy. I really thought that I had gotten control of my eating habits, but apparently stress can still make me go off the deep end.
Despite good feelings about my new college, I've been eating WAY too fucking much. I can't start starving myself again though. I've come way too far. I'm so much happier with my body now, I can't let binging fuck it all up.
I don't want to be fat. I don't want to over-eat. I hate how food takes such control of my life during times of upheaval. I just want to be okay. And I want to be skinny for my first day of classes... (especially if I want to try out at a club soon.)
Stress from moving, worries about starting a new school, and fighting with my boyfriend have been making me binge-eat like crazy. I really thought that I had gotten control of my eating habits, but apparently stress can still make me go off the deep end.
Despite good feelings about my new college, I've been eating WAY too fucking much. I can't start starving myself again though. I've come way too far. I'm so much happier with my body now, I can't let binging fuck it all up.
I don't want to be fat. I don't want to over-eat. I hate how food takes such control of my life during times of upheaval. I just want to be okay. And I want to be skinny for my first day of classes... (especially if I want to try out at a club soon.)
Monday, August 17, 2009
I'm not dead
Things are moving very quickly in my life right now, and I'm frustrated that I haven't had the time to update. I now have a back-log of information that will probably (knowing me) never make it into this journal.
But, I am back from Montreal, and I had an absolutely wonderful time there. I met my favorite author (SQUEE) and had him sign a work of short fiction that he wrote.
I am now an official resident of Washington DC. I'm currently sitting in a mostly empty, half-painted, studio apartment less than a mile away from my college. I'm terrified of the loneliness I may feel, but I'm excited for school to begin. I want a purpose again. Most of this summer I have felt like I've been drifting. No real job to speak of, and no school to keep me productive has meant an increasingly common feeling of malaise and malcontent. I will be glad for this to be over.
There are several strip clubs near me, but I'd like to see how much school work I have before jumping into dancing again. I really really really hope that I'll have the time. DC is an expensive city, and I can't keep running up to Philly every time I need some cash. Hahahaha I guess I could get a "real" job, but if I don't have time for stripping I doubt Ill have tie for a part-time job... you know, the lac of flexible hours in a normal job really sucks.
But, I plan on updating more frequently, sharing more of my past stories of dancing and hopefully a few more people will start reading this, despite my obvious lack of creative ability.
But, I am back from Montreal, and I had an absolutely wonderful time there. I met my favorite author (SQUEE) and had him sign a work of short fiction that he wrote.
I am now an official resident of Washington DC. I'm currently sitting in a mostly empty, half-painted, studio apartment less than a mile away from my college. I'm terrified of the loneliness I may feel, but I'm excited for school to begin. I want a purpose again. Most of this summer I have felt like I've been drifting. No real job to speak of, and no school to keep me productive has meant an increasingly common feeling of malaise and malcontent. I will be glad for this to be over.
There are several strip clubs near me, but I'd like to see how much school work I have before jumping into dancing again. I really really really hope that I'll have the time. DC is an expensive city, and I can't keep running up to Philly every time I need some cash. Hahahaha I guess I could get a "real" job, but if I don't have time for stripping I doubt Ill have tie for a part-time job... you know, the lac of flexible hours in a normal job really sucks.
But, I plan on updating more frequently, sharing more of my past stories of dancing and hopefully a few more people will start reading this, despite my obvious lack of creative ability.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
I'm in Montreal bitch!
its raining and I'm kind of drunk
onto the botanical gardens tomorrow.
I'd update more but nobody reads this... oh well
onto the botanical gardens tomorrow.
I'd update more but nobody reads this... oh well
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Working again!
And making pretty god money! Not as good as I would've liked but I try not to be greedy. If I walk away from this weekend having made $800 I'll be very happy.
It was interesting falling back into the routine of dancing last night. Walking through he dressing room I was hit by waves of deja vu. I made $380 last night, and that's pretty good for me. If I had stayed until close I would have definitely cleared $400.... but I guess thats life.
A lot of the dancers I knew have left, and the ones who are still there only remembered me after some reminding. I guess I shouldn't be surprised, but it's still odd having to reintroduce yourself to an entire club.
Last night (like every night) was full of interesting customers, including H., a redneck from Oklahoma who fell madly in love with me by the end of the night, and J., a high school English teacher who repeatedly asked me if I thought I was better than the other dancers working.
I get his type alot. The guys who love to tell me how smart I am, and how much better I am than all the other girls. Guys who like to say things like "Wow, you look like girls I hang out with," subtly implying that we could realistically be friends despite the fact that they're 30+ and married. I never know what to make of these guys. Are they good-hearted but generally misguided, or are they just arrogant douches? I don't know.
Stripping has certainly jaded me to men. Daily objectification isn't good for one's faith in humanity, but despite it all, I still enjoy it and I will be going in again tonight. I'm just glad I have a wonderful man in my life already who routinely reminds me of the good in the opposite gender.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
This weekend
I'll be heading back up to Philly for two nights working at my old club.
I miss the money, the glamor, the feeling of empowerment. I'll be staying with a friend who I met working, and who still works there. It promises to be a rip-roaring good time with much drunkenness for all. Unfortunately, parking in the city is super expensive and I'll probably end up spending close to $60 for parking and highway tolls (not to mention gas). It puts a bit of pressure on me to make enough cash to justify the trip, but maybe that'll just improve my hustle.
I have two new outfits, I'm in as good or better shape as when I left, and I have a friend to help me make money. I'm feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. Wish me luck and lotsa financial success.
On a totally separate note, I've started packing for my move to DC and it's really fucking with my head. Moving is making me really look at what's most important to me in my life, and how much of that I want to bring with me.
The idea of living alone with no roommate or family members is a little scary, not because of concerns for my own safety, but because I've never done it before. I'm a creature of contact, I need human relation and I'm terrified that living alone will push me farther into the solitude I've found myself growing accustomed to. I feel oddly alone right now, and I can't decide if it's a bad thing.
Maybe its time for me to do something on my own. Maybe its time that I learn how to be alone without completely self-destructing. Maybe its time for me to learn how to balance solitude with a social life. Up until now I've always been either super social or totally removed from society. Finding balance is something I've never been able to do. Maybe now I'll have to.
I miss the money, the glamor, the feeling of empowerment. I'll be staying with a friend who I met working, and who still works there. It promises to be a rip-roaring good time with much drunkenness for all. Unfortunately, parking in the city is super expensive and I'll probably end up spending close to $60 for parking and highway tolls (not to mention gas). It puts a bit of pressure on me to make enough cash to justify the trip, but maybe that'll just improve my hustle.
I have two new outfits, I'm in as good or better shape as when I left, and I have a friend to help me make money. I'm feeling pretty positive about the whole thing. Wish me luck and lotsa financial success.
On a totally separate note, I've started packing for my move to DC and it's really fucking with my head. Moving is making me really look at what's most important to me in my life, and how much of that I want to bring with me.
The idea of living alone with no roommate or family members is a little scary, not because of concerns for my own safety, but because I've never done it before. I'm a creature of contact, I need human relation and I'm terrified that living alone will push me farther into the solitude I've found myself growing accustomed to. I feel oddly alone right now, and I can't decide if it's a bad thing.
Maybe its time for me to do something on my own. Maybe its time that I learn how to be alone without completely self-destructing. Maybe its time for me to learn how to balance solitude with a social life. Up until now I've always been either super social or totally removed from society. Finding balance is something I've never been able to do. Maybe now I'll have to.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
I know, I know
Never ever meet a customer outside of the club. Never give a customer your phone number. Never let a customer drive you home... etc etc etc
These are the rules, and I have never broken them... except once.
I tentatively went out to dinner with B. the other night and he was an absolute gentleman. I was pleasantly surprised. He took me out to a 5 star restaurant, opened all doors for me, and treated me like a goddamn princess. He knows that I have a steady boyfriend whom I love very much, and he knows that I will not stray. He didn't put the moves on me, and insisted he merely wanted to be friends.
Maybe I'm naive, but I believe him.
More to come on B.
These are the rules, and I have never broken them... except once.
I tentatively went out to dinner with B. the other night and he was an absolute gentleman. I was pleasantly surprised. He took me out to a 5 star restaurant, opened all doors for me, and treated me like a goddamn princess. He knows that I have a steady boyfriend whom I love very much, and he knows that I will not stray. He didn't put the moves on me, and insisted he merely wanted to be friends.
Maybe I'm naive, but I believe him.
More to come on B.
Friday, July 10, 2009
Chubby Stripper
Walking into the club, I am confident. I have a cute outfit with me, my hair is newly dyed, and my makeup is wonderful.
A bouncer tells me to get changed and follow him onto the floor. I sit by the bar and wait for someone to come tell me when I’ll go up to audition. The dancer onstage (I think her name was Isis) is thin, with small pert breasts and a tight athletic butt. I look down at my soft, pale stomach and fidget.
No matter, I’m just a different type of beautiful. Not necessarily athletic, but soft, curvy and feminine. I sit, a bouncer offers me water, which I accept and do not drink. Another dancer begins her routine. Similar in build to Isis, this girl is thicker through the torso, but with larger breasts. She too has a toned stomach and tight ass.
I slowly begin to realize that I am undeniably the largest girl in this club. There are girls here with pouting bellies and sagging breasts, but none with the amount of fat that I have. The longer I wait, the larger my thighs seem to become, and the manager keeps me waiting for close to an hour.
Looking around I realize the chances of me being hired are slim, but all the same I strike up a conversation with a customer, flirting to the best of my ability, and showing anyone who may have been watching that I could hustle and that I could make them money.
I audition to Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie. It is one of my favorite songs to dance to, but even it couldn’t kill my self-doubt. During that one song, I felt more self-conscious than I did my first night dancing.
The bouncer told me that they’d “give me a call.” I’m not stupid, I know what that means.
A bouncer tells me to get changed and follow him onto the floor. I sit by the bar and wait for someone to come tell me when I’ll go up to audition. The dancer onstage (I think her name was Isis) is thin, with small pert breasts and a tight athletic butt. I look down at my soft, pale stomach and fidget.
No matter, I’m just a different type of beautiful. Not necessarily athletic, but soft, curvy and feminine. I sit, a bouncer offers me water, which I accept and do not drink. Another dancer begins her routine. Similar in build to Isis, this girl is thicker through the torso, but with larger breasts. She too has a toned stomach and tight ass.
I slowly begin to realize that I am undeniably the largest girl in this club. There are girls here with pouting bellies and sagging breasts, but none with the amount of fat that I have. The longer I wait, the larger my thighs seem to become, and the manager keeps me waiting for close to an hour.
Looking around I realize the chances of me being hired are slim, but all the same I strike up a conversation with a customer, flirting to the best of my ability, and showing anyone who may have been watching that I could hustle and that I could make them money.
I audition to Living Dead Girl by Rob Zombie. It is one of my favorite songs to dance to, but even it couldn’t kill my self-doubt. During that one song, I felt more self-conscious than I did my first night dancing.
The bouncer told me that they’d “give me a call.” I’m not stupid, I know what that means.
Friday, July 3, 2009
Israel Pictures
Israel was amazing... I wish I could write all my experiences and impressions, but that would take weeks. More than anything though, Israel just reminded me how great and beautiful the world can be, and how some things are still untamed.
Nothing makes you feel smaller than standing in the middle of the desert.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Death of Pop
After watching all the news coverage regarding Michael Jackson’s death, I have realized something. For me, it is far sadder to watch his old music videos than to realize that he is dead.
The Michael Jackson we all loved, respected, and were in total awe of, died many MANY years ago. His talent was almost frightening, but it became so easy to forget that because of his actions. Now, I’m not going to weigh in on whether or not he molested children, but I will say that he let down his fans through years of bizarre behavior and increasingly mediocre music.
When I watch videos like “Beat It” and “Thriller” it saddens me that someone can fall so incredibly far. It is sad that I, and most of the people my age, have to remember that at one point Michael Jackson was a living legend. It is hard to remember a time when Jackson’s talent overshadowed his outlandishness.
So while I am sad that he died before he had the chance to remind all of us why we gave him the title “King of Pop” I am more sad that we forgot it in the first place.
The Michael Jackson we all loved, respected, and were in total awe of, died many MANY years ago. His talent was almost frightening, but it became so easy to forget that because of his actions. Now, I’m not going to weigh in on whether or not he molested children, but I will say that he let down his fans through years of bizarre behavior and increasingly mediocre music.
When I watch videos like “Beat It” and “Thriller” it saddens me that someone can fall so incredibly far. It is sad that I, and most of the people my age, have to remember that at one point Michael Jackson was a living legend. It is hard to remember a time when Jackson’s talent overshadowed his outlandishness.
So while I am sad that he died before he had the chance to remind all of us why we gave him the title “King of Pop” I am more sad that we forgot it in the first place.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
I would never admit this but...
the first club I auditioned for, didn't hire me.
Maybe it was the short hair, maybe the tattoos, maybe my slightly larger than desirable belly. Regardless of the reason, I was told by the manager that they would "call me in a few days" to let me know their final decision.
Even as I said goodbye to the DJ and he assured me that I was "totally cute" and that they'd "totally call (me) back" I knew with a sinking despair that I, in fact, did not get the job. I tried not to think about why I didn't get the job, I didn't need anymore blows to my already fragile ego, but despite myself, that night, before I went to bed the only thought on my mind was why they didn't like me.
This has been an ongoing question throughout my life. Why don't they like me? Am I too loud? Too overbearing? Do I talk too much? Am I too fat? If someone dislikes me, it is never because they are in the wrong or because of a simple personality clash, it is always somehow my fault. I am a thorough and complete people pleaser. It started early in life and has, as I have come to realize, damaged me a great deal.
Maybe it was the short hair, maybe the tattoos, maybe my slightly larger than desirable belly. Regardless of the reason, I was told by the manager that they would "call me in a few days" to let me know their final decision.
Even as I said goodbye to the DJ and he assured me that I was "totally cute" and that they'd "totally call (me) back" I knew with a sinking despair that I, in fact, did not get the job. I tried not to think about why I didn't get the job, I didn't need anymore blows to my already fragile ego, but despite myself, that night, before I went to bed the only thought on my mind was why they didn't like me.
This has been an ongoing question throughout my life. Why don't they like me? Am I too loud? Too overbearing? Do I talk too much? Am I too fat? If someone dislikes me, it is never because they are in the wrong or because of a simple personality clash, it is always somehow my fault. I am a thorough and complete people pleaser. It started early in life and has, as I have come to realize, damaged me a great deal.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Jetlagged....
Getting home from the airport took about twice as a long as it should have due to the front driver's side wheel of my car being completely FUCKED. It was thumping for a while before my drive to the Airport, but my mechanic told me that it was just an uneven tread. Well, to make a long story short, two of the four bolts on my wheel had broken off and my wheel was close to FALLING THE FUCK OFF by the time I found out. So, rather than waiting for a towtruck, I decided to tighten my belt and the bolts on my tire, and drive home at 30 miles an hour. So, instead of a 3.5 hour drive, I had a 7 hour drive.
FUCK.
But, despite that, Israel was amazing. That deserves its own post, which will be coming as soon as I can upload pictures and sleep. I am beyond tired.
So, a more positive post to follow. OH! And I have my first follower. I am geeking out with joy.
Thanks for reading!
(OH! And more news about dancing...)
FUCK.
But, despite that, Israel was amazing. That deserves its own post, which will be coming as soon as I can upload pictures and sleep. I am beyond tired.
So, a more positive post to follow. OH! And I have my first follower. I am geeking out with joy.
Thanks for reading!
(OH! And more news about dancing...)
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Israel
I'll be in Israel in four days. I am so stoked.
Don't get me wrong, I've never been terribly religious and am in no ways a Zionist, but I love to travel. I think there's an extra wanderlust gene that I inherited. The older a place is, and the more history it has, the more I want to go there. Travel is one of my greatest passions. It makes me feel really small, and I don't get that feeling enough.
If your ego ever gets too big, just go to a different continent where no one knows or gives a fuck who you are, and business is conducted in a totally different way. It's humbling, and enlightening, and inspiring. I love to travel.
This trip means that I'll probably HAVE to start dancing again to pay for shit. Oh well, it's totally gonna be worth it.
Don't get me wrong, I've never been terribly religious and am in no ways a Zionist, but I love to travel. I think there's an extra wanderlust gene that I inherited. The older a place is, and the more history it has, the more I want to go there. Travel is one of my greatest passions. It makes me feel really small, and I don't get that feeling enough.
If your ego ever gets too big, just go to a different continent where no one knows or gives a fuck who you are, and business is conducted in a totally different way. It's humbling, and enlightening, and inspiring. I love to travel.
This trip means that I'll probably HAVE to start dancing again to pay for shit. Oh well, it's totally gonna be worth it.
Monday, June 8, 2009
The New Girl...
That's what they used to call me. Even a few days before I quit.
When I first auditioned, the dayshift manager told me that I'd make good money; that I looked "fresh." And I guess I did. I didn't have 10 different lycra outfits, 6 different pairs of heels, and the professional smile that all the other girls had. I still don't. I also didn't have that distinctive hardened look that comes from years of cigarette smoke, late nights, and a bad diet. I still don't have that either.
I never really got my "hustle" down pat. I was getting better, realizing how to talk to customers into getting dances, rather than making them think I wanted to be their girlfriend, but then I had to quit. School was over for the semester and I had to go home. I only worked for about 6 weeks, but it felt like forever.
Now I've transferred to a new school in a different city. Stripping is calling my name. Not just because of the quick money, but because of the rush. I miss putting on my face, and a different woman's personality. I miss the ritual of it all.
I want to dance again, but I doubt I'll have the freedom I used to have at my old club. The city I live in now tends to have higher standards and stricter business practices. Also, I'm not sure I'll have the time.
I don't quite know where this post is going so I'll just end it here.
When I first auditioned, the dayshift manager told me that I'd make good money; that I looked "fresh." And I guess I did. I didn't have 10 different lycra outfits, 6 different pairs of heels, and the professional smile that all the other girls had. I still don't. I also didn't have that distinctive hardened look that comes from years of cigarette smoke, late nights, and a bad diet. I still don't have that either.
I never really got my "hustle" down pat. I was getting better, realizing how to talk to customers into getting dances, rather than making them think I wanted to be their girlfriend, but then I had to quit. School was over for the semester and I had to go home. I only worked for about 6 weeks, but it felt like forever.
Now I've transferred to a new school in a different city. Stripping is calling my name. Not just because of the quick money, but because of the rush. I miss putting on my face, and a different woman's personality. I miss the ritual of it all.
I want to dance again, but I doubt I'll have the freedom I used to have at my old club. The city I live in now tends to have higher standards and stricter business practices. Also, I'm not sure I'll have the time.
I don't quite know where this post is going so I'll just end it here.
Friday, June 5, 2009
News
The Bad...
I had a headache yesterday and instead of taking normal Tylenol I took TylenolPM... I was groggy for the next 8 hours
The Good...
While groggy I cleaned out my mother's refrigerator. There were things in there that hadn't been moved in over 3 years
The Bizarre...
Some girl on myspace randomly messages me, asking me to block her boyfriend because he had been looking at pictures of my and masturbating. Subsequent investigation revealed that I had met this dude 4 YEARS AGO and he was STILL looking at my pictures. Creepy.
Needless to say, I blocked him and made most of my pictures private.... not that any of them are even close to pornographic.
I do not understand men. Why fantasize about some innocent girl, minding her own business when there are MILLIONS of naked women all over the internet placed there for that very reason? Porn seems like its probably easier. I feel mildly violated, amused, confused, and perplexed all at the same time.
When I danced, I understood why dudes looked at and objectified me, that was my job. But out in the real world, when I have clothes on? Come on dude.
I had a headache yesterday and instead of taking normal Tylenol I took TylenolPM... I was groggy for the next 8 hours
The Good...
While groggy I cleaned out my mother's refrigerator. There were things in there that hadn't been moved in over 3 years
The Bizarre...
Some girl on myspace randomly messages me, asking me to block her boyfriend because he had been looking at pictures of my and masturbating. Subsequent investigation revealed that I had met this dude 4 YEARS AGO and he was STILL looking at my pictures. Creepy.
Needless to say, I blocked him and made most of my pictures private.... not that any of them are even close to pornographic.
I do not understand men. Why fantasize about some innocent girl, minding her own business when there are MILLIONS of naked women all over the internet placed there for that very reason? Porn seems like its probably easier. I feel mildly violated, amused, confused, and perplexed all at the same time.
When I danced, I understood why dudes looked at and objectified me, that was my job. But out in the real world, when I have clothes on? Come on dude.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
It's hot...
It's hot... ungodly hot. I lay naked, stretched across damp sheets, tentatively reveling in the foreign-ness of it all. I roll and stretch, and the pools of sweat that formed in the hollow places of my hips and collar shift into running streams, flowing across my shoulders and haunches.
I rarely see myself fully nude. I hop from clothing to shower without more than a glance at the mirror. I stroke my wrist; its sad how foreign my own body has become. I notice now, the swells of my breasts and the stretchmarks faintly visible only when I lay down.
A stray hair clings to my chest, long and dark, and definitely not mine. My breath pushes it down, a lone tumbleweed on the open expanse of my torso. The soft slopes and hills I so despise while standing are now akin the to Midwestern plains I have only seen flashing by through train windows.
The hair rolls, peaks on my hip and tumbles off my thigh. Maybe I am beautiful.
I rarely see myself fully nude. I hop from clothing to shower without more than a glance at the mirror. I stroke my wrist; its sad how foreign my own body has become. I notice now, the swells of my breasts and the stretchmarks faintly visible only when I lay down.
A stray hair clings to my chest, long and dark, and definitely not mine. My breath pushes it down, a lone tumbleweed on the open expanse of my torso. The soft slopes and hills I so despise while standing are now akin the to Midwestern plains I have only seen flashing by through train windows.
The hair rolls, peaks on my hip and tumbles off my thigh. Maybe I am beautiful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
