Party Like a Rockstar.
[Eating disorder triggers.]
Tonight Today pretty much blew, from start to finish, including work.
In trying to cut the electric bill as much as possible, I woke up hot, from a ninety-degree day being blown into our bedroom by the fan we were using. It is a most uncomfortable feeling, being jolted (cheated) out of sleep by heat. Excellent. Not off to a good start.
Next up, a pestering boyfriend, PMS, and a urinary tract infection. Two dogs who both have pustules spread over their bodies in some sort of rash (we think nettles) and one dog refusing to eat wormer-laced anything.
I had the rare occasion of getting stoned last night (Thursday) which led to bingeing my brains out. Which led to eating-disordered behavior. Which led to more bingeing. Repeat, rinse, repeat. It’s been a long time since I ventured there. Like riding a bike. I hate that. So the general task for me today was eating normally, which I accomplished, like most every other day now.
It was still a “fat day.” A day where I feel like my belly hangs a little further over my pants, my thighs rub a little more against each other, and just a general feeling of But…how did I blow up to this overnight? and I wonder what the hell people pay me for. and Get it off. and How the fuck have I allowed myself to gain 40 lbs? Needless to say, I didn’t exactly feel like getting naked in front of people all night.
But I kind of had to, seeing as bills don’t stop just because Piper had a bad day. So, off to shaving and getting ready for work. Thank god that was uneventful, I guess, hm? It isn’t always.
The scabs under my nose are getting worse. It’s just something that my skin does, not a runny nose, or some other irritant. I’ve had them for well over a year, but I just cover them with makeup at work, and the people I see frequently know what they are. It just blows. Even with the makeup it still looked like there was a trail of coke out of my nose.
So, there’s been a police informant, apparently, in our club lately. Not good. The city I work in has been trying to shut down the club for some time. They tolerate it only because it’s at the edge of the city on a road with little traffic and there’s little they can do without evidence. Unless, you know, there becomes evidence. Anyway, a snitch still could cost me my livelihood, should something happen. It’s a minor worry of mine.
Tonight was rejection after rejection, all night. I made an average night’s earnings, but felt like I should have made another couple of hundred, with the somewhat large crowd we had. Around 2:00 (a.m.), I just didn’t want to get turned down again, and plopped my ass and sore feet (from shitty shoes that need to be replaced) in a chair.
I had one guy who told me that he’d be right back and was getting money for dances (a common pre-dance occurance where I work), and he left. I wasted 10 minutes waiting for him.
I even had some asshole hand me two twenties and count out eight ones deliberately for $50 in dances we did. I called him on it, yeah. I wonder whether he really needed it.
Bought an outfit I didn’t need (as in, did not desperately replace something absolutely no longer useful) for $30, knowing I could have used it to tame stress from bills, and justifying it by saying I wear the same goddamned two things all the time.
Chewed out an old regular via text, finally, thereby probably ending monetary possibilities from him. The money has long stopped flowing from that well, anyway, I guess.
When I went to pay the house their portion of what I’d collected from my dances, I’d been overcharged $10. I could have called them on it, made the manager look at the tapes tomorrow (which he would not have appreciated), paid it tonight anyway, and collected my $10 back tomorrow. Instead, I kept my mouth shut, because it’s not worth the hassle of pissing off bouncers, a door girl, and a manager over $10. Yeah, I need it. But it’s probably an asshole tax for not tipping more than the minimum every day—which I feel justified in doing, because they don’t do much, and they’ve not protected me when I needed it most. Whatever.
I tried to reassure a pregnant/alcoholic dancer, gently, that she could quit drinking. That I still cared about her, loved her. It’s heartbreaking. It’s going to be more heartbreaking when she either has a miscarriage, or delivers a child with FAS. The dancer just can’t quit drinking. She has to drink to do her job, and do her job to appease her probably-abusive boyfriend, and support her older child and herself, while keeping the pregnancy a secret so she doesn’t get fired. I saw the guilt and the pain today…which is hard to see in this girl.
And, the night ended with me having apparently pissed off another girl. She said I shook my ass at some customer she was working. As in, intentionally, to draw that customer to myself. It’s frustrating…because I didn’t. I wouldn’t. I’m not “that girl.” I didn’t drop anything all night, so I’m not sure how I was shaking my ass, as is. Any other day I would have nodded and apologized for the sake of keeping the peace and getting whatever asschewing the girl believes I deserve over sooner, even though I didn’t do it. Today, I was just sick of taking shit, from life and the club and people and everything else, altogether. Why end the night letting someone else chew me out for something I know I didn’t do? Let that top it all off? I mean, it’s not like she knew I’d had a shitty day, so it wasn’t totally fair to just argue instead of walk away anyway. But fuck.
And onward to restless sleep and things I could have said and how I could have handled the whole day better and…
I get to wake up and do all of that shit again tomorrow, with all of the same people.
Here’s to hoping tomorrow works out a little better.
