Chameleon, Mosaic, Kaleidascope tumble of colours, a girl in a monster in a fireball. Fireball whisky, cinnamon sting on the tongue and racing down your throat.
My personality disorder rules my life, so I choose a life that gives it room. Some days I am all over the place, full of fire and liquor, spinning fire around my hand and hips. Other days you will not see me at all as I evaluate the patterns in the ceiling and give myself nine hundred reasons not to get out of bed.
Travelling is in my blood, and too long in one place makes me itchy and lethargic. I live for adrenaline...
"I'm not a faery, but I need more than this life so I became, this creature representing more to you than just another girl..."
Reality is but an interference pattern on the wavelength of the universe's vibrations... I would love to interfere with your vibrations and send you into the seventh dimension.
I love boys, I love girls, but I will warn you I am probably the strangest girl you have ever met. If you are a true freak like me, well, let's talk.
I don't make friends easily, I will either love you intensely or be indifferent to you. Sorry, I don't fake it. In or out of bed.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Do you ever really feel like you made it?
Is there ever a day when you wake up and feel successful? When you say, "Damn, I did good!"
Friday, April 2, 2010
sadness is a slippery fish
2 weeks ago...
Friday:
Tired. My fifth day in a row. Working this much is draining. Bored and tired, I sit by the door. A group of young oil boys comes in, sits in front VIP, one little pregnant girl with them, laid back and comfortable, even here. One of the floor dudes comes over and tips me off that they have ordered a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.. after a few minutes to let them get settled, my hustle buddy and I go make friends.
Several shots later, I'm pulling one after another back for a dance or 4. Hannah and I do a double. I dance for the pregnant chick- she wants to hang out sometime. I leave most of the walls up.
The vodka lubricates my tongue, and the club is busy. I pound, pound, pound, pulling guy after guy to the back. I head home exhausted and happy.
Saturday:
We are supposed to go to a potluck at his friend's place. I feel nauseous. People can't meet the real me, rough and dirty and awkward. I panic and cry. We don't go.
Last night:
I drag my ass into work. After scheduling drama last week, I didn't work at all. I lay on my couch. I went to the gym a couple times. I drank a lot. I made the effort, showed up, enjoyed myself. I did my show, played on stage, smiled. Talked to a few people on the floor.
In truth, I just don't care. I can't bring myself to move, to get off the floor, to dream or push or even push the buttons. I am only upset about the fact I am so apathetic. There is nothing to be sad about, I just can't move.
"You really only have two choices," he says. "You can deal with it yourself, or we can call the asylum in the morning and they can take care of everything." His words are joking.
what he really says, is, "I have tried to fix you, and now I am going to give up. You aren't fixed and that's your own fault for not trying hard enough."
I laugh. I am pragmatic about things, but I am tired. The reality is I cannot fix myself, I need professional help, but I am too tired to find it. So I laugh, the short, dry, humourless laugh of the desperate. I ask for help to find a middle ground.
Later, he grumbles about something, and then lets it go. "There. See how I did that? I dealt with it. You should just deal with it."
For a moment, I panic. I run circles around with a knife bleeding and screaming. I lock down the tears, the panic, the expression. I'm just too tired. Instead, I let everything drain away, dissociating further than I have in a long while, staring at the ceiling unable to move.
A line from a song I can't remember repeats itself in my head, and I contemplate the perfect suicide. The one where no one I know has to find my body, clean the blood out of the bathtub, pay for the funeral. I wonder what a lethal dose of alcohol and ketamine is. The song repeats, repeats, I try to remember to take a few shallow breaths.
Eventually sleep comes. I have lots of reasons not to want to die. I'm just so, so tired.
Friday:
Tired. My fifth day in a row. Working this much is draining. Bored and tired, I sit by the door. A group of young oil boys comes in, sits in front VIP, one little pregnant girl with them, laid back and comfortable, even here. One of the floor dudes comes over and tips me off that they have ordered a bottle of Grey Goose vodka.. after a few minutes to let them get settled, my hustle buddy and I go make friends.
Several shots later, I'm pulling one after another back for a dance or 4. Hannah and I do a double. I dance for the pregnant chick- she wants to hang out sometime. I leave most of the walls up.
The vodka lubricates my tongue, and the club is busy. I pound, pound, pound, pulling guy after guy to the back. I head home exhausted and happy.
Saturday:
We are supposed to go to a potluck at his friend's place. I feel nauseous. People can't meet the real me, rough and dirty and awkward. I panic and cry. We don't go.
Last night:
I drag my ass into work. After scheduling drama last week, I didn't work at all. I lay on my couch. I went to the gym a couple times. I drank a lot. I made the effort, showed up, enjoyed myself. I did my show, played on stage, smiled. Talked to a few people on the floor.
In truth, I just don't care. I can't bring myself to move, to get off the floor, to dream or push or even push the buttons. I am only upset about the fact I am so apathetic. There is nothing to be sad about, I just can't move.
"You really only have two choices," he says. "You can deal with it yourself, or we can call the asylum in the morning and they can take care of everything." His words are joking.
what he really says, is, "I have tried to fix you, and now I am going to give up. You aren't fixed and that's your own fault for not trying hard enough."
I laugh. I am pragmatic about things, but I am tired. The reality is I cannot fix myself, I need professional help, but I am too tired to find it. So I laugh, the short, dry, humourless laugh of the desperate. I ask for help to find a middle ground.
Later, he grumbles about something, and then lets it go. "There. See how I did that? I dealt with it. You should just deal with it."
For a moment, I panic. I run circles around with a knife bleeding and screaming. I lock down the tears, the panic, the expression. I'm just too tired. Instead, I let everything drain away, dissociating further than I have in a long while, staring at the ceiling unable to move.
A line from a song I can't remember repeats itself in my head, and I contemplate the perfect suicide. The one where no one I know has to find my body, clean the blood out of the bathtub, pay for the funeral. I wonder what a lethal dose of alcohol and ketamine is. The song repeats, repeats, I try to remember to take a few shallow breaths.
Eventually sleep comes. I have lots of reasons not to want to die. I'm just so, so tired.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
Nothing tonight
Tonight... was a write off. I showed up at 8, dressed in my shiny bra and a garter belt, extensions and makeup perfectly done. At 8 pm there were about 5 cars in the parking lot and about as many people inside the club.
As the night wore on, I talked to everyone in the club... until about 10. Then slowly I got more discouraged, talked to a few different people, managed to pick the people who were interesting but didn't have any money. More and more girls showed up... it's only my 2nd night back, but I knew less than half of the dancers. The only people making money were the top earners/features.
I left with $25 (a table tip) and no dances sold at 12:30. On tuesday I had only sold 2 dances as of 1:30 and I stayed and still made $200. But tonight there were too many girls and I was already getting tired and frustrated.
I feel like a quitter. But at least I showed the fuck up. Oh well. Another day tomorrow.
I start stage shows on Monday! ai. Exciting but scary.
As the night wore on, I talked to everyone in the club... until about 10. Then slowly I got more discouraged, talked to a few different people, managed to pick the people who were interesting but didn't have any money. More and more girls showed up... it's only my 2nd night back, but I knew less than half of the dancers. The only people making money were the top earners/features.
I left with $25 (a table tip) and no dances sold at 12:30. On tuesday I had only sold 2 dances as of 1:30 and I stayed and still made $200. But tonight there were too many girls and I was already getting tired and frustrated.
I feel like a quitter. But at least I showed the fuck up. Oh well. Another day tomorrow.
I start stage shows on Monday! ai. Exciting but scary.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
Back to work
Soooo I'm back! I returned to work last night, and it's hard. Their is a tragic reality that I still feel a sense of heirarchy, a sense of whether or not I'm as good as the next person. (In all aspects of life.) Words stumble and tumble abruptly from my lips when I try to have conversations with people. I have no sexy answer. I don't know what to say.
"Be yourself," you say.
Myself is sharp and abrasive, sarcastic or oblivious, self-effacing and sometimes shy. I don't know how to respond to peoples' questions or what to say to rude comments or empty silences.
But I showed up. And I tried. And I didn't sit too long by myself, only for a little while. I didn't go to work tonight because IT'S MY BIRTHDAY and I bought myself shoes on a really great sale :) They are amazing and adorable... <3 I also bought an iPhone and case and junk... damn those cases are expensive.
I am back tomorrow. I want to be good at this. I want to show up and dance. I want to make a lot of money. I want to manage it well, get out of debt, blah blah blah. Pay taxes?? If I have to I guess.
I used to write well but then I got distracted by the interwebs. dammit. More stories soon.
"Be yourself," you say.
Myself is sharp and abrasive, sarcastic or oblivious, self-effacing and sometimes shy. I don't know how to respond to peoples' questions or what to say to rude comments or empty silences.
But I showed up. And I tried. And I didn't sit too long by myself, only for a little while. I didn't go to work tonight because IT'S MY BIRTHDAY and I bought myself shoes on a really great sale :) They are amazing and adorable... <3 I also bought an iPhone and case and junk... damn those cases are expensive.
I am back tomorrow. I want to be good at this. I want to show up and dance. I want to make a lot of money. I want to manage it well, get out of debt, blah blah blah. Pay taxes?? If I have to I guess.
I used to write well but then I got distracted by the interwebs. dammit. More stories soon.
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