Strippr

I just downloaded a vibrator app and now all the girls in the dressing room are downloading their own.

This is exactly what men think we do back here.

Stripper win.

Ugh. I hate dancing with new girls. Being dumb isn’t going to work for this one very long. 90lbs of stupid ON A HOLIDAY. No, stripper gods, no.

Ugh I hate dancing with hot guys, or, at least, the ones I find attractive. I wind up trying to impress them and stumbling over myself like a schoolgirl. And I don’t know why I try! Stupid chick hormone bullshit goddamn it.

I haven’t had sex in like…over a month. I think I just need a good fuck and I won’t be tripping over the hot ones that come in.

Why can’t all the dudes that come in be like in their sixties and bald and overweight and loaded?

The same cunt that asked me if I was pregnant three months ago just complimented me (sincerely), asked me what I do to work out and what diet I went on.

Bitch had to eat her words today. Ha!

My mother called this evening. She asked whether I wanted some fabric thing that’s supposed to keep the wearer’s neck cool, if I wanted it for running.

I (very kindly and gently) declined for that reason, because of the risk of throwing my body off. Bodies are pretty good at regulating themselves. And when they aren’t, it’s time to stop.

Buying miscellaneous stuff that I don’t need is my mother’s way of trying to either apologize or say she loves me. Always has been; most of the big things I’ve received in life weren’t because I earned them or because I needed them or because someone wanted them for me. It was because it was better than saying “I fucked up, I’m sorry, and I love you.”

So…I offered to try it while mowing the yard, out of trying to accept her weird way of apologizing or loving me. Granted, I might wind up with a wacky tan line, but…I can take it off. Or simply not use it.

I tried working on communication with my mom. I tried every tactic in the book. I tried teaching her about “I” statements, about saying what you mean to say, about really listening and paraphrasing what you think you hear, about being kind even when you’re angry. None of it worked. My mother is a therapist’s worst nightmare when it comes to communication. …Not that she’d ever go, because nothing, clearly, could ever be wrong with her.

She’s the adult, I’m the child, and I’m clearly the problem. Jeez, look at my life—I’m happy. My choices in life are clearly inferior because they don’t involve the ultimate sacrifice for children and a (life-long) career, so of course I’m the problem! I even havepets.

So, I speak with her maybe once a month, tops.

For Mother’s Day, I put in my obligatory three hours and brought the obligatory overpriced, store-bought perfect card with a vague message, signed it with love and My Name. We wound up watching a half hour of Oprah and an hour of Undercover Boss (not my idea of “spending time together,” but if that’s what hers is, it was Mother’s Day, and who was I to argue that?), while I tried to convince her to go to a nice dinner.

I haven’t had the greatest luck at the club, but I brought cash to spring for dinner for my mother. Nevermind that she has never used a single gift card I’ve given her for her favorite restaurants, shops, and coffeehouses. Nevermind that she’s refused 95% of the times I’ve offered to take her out for birthdays, holidays, or the occasional Sunday afternoon. Strapped for cash, I still brought some to take her out for a nice dinner on Mother’s Day, to try again.

She whined about having to leave the house. She whined about the restaurant I suggested after she refused to have any input. She threw a tantrum after I called the restaurant to confirm that there was plenty of availability. My dad and I practically had to tie her up and gag her to get her to leave the house. And upon getting to the restaurant, she refused to eat but ordered and then complained, complained about her drink, whined about furniture that she (apparently) wanted for awhile, whined about my running/job/house/dogs/anything that makes me happy, and then sat and threw what I call a “silent tantrum” (refusing to speak while angrily picking through her food she wasn’t eating and not touching her drink).

After I ran out of ways to make it less awkward, we all parted ways.

Today was the first time I’ve heard from her since. And now, during a phone call out of the blue, she wants to buy me something she saw at a craft show somewhere once upon a time that is, in all reality, probably all hype and no result.

I don’t get it.

I don’t “get” how to communicate with this woman. How in the hell did she give birth to me?

My dad’s genetics, I definitely have: a tendency toward addiction, apparent social ease while still feeling constantly awkward and trying to make up for it, rancid farts, snoring, a love for beer and carbs, an inability to accurately cook a piece of meat, money management skills, resourcefulness, being a nightowl, and a mule’s stubbornness.

My mom’s, though? You mean I was actually tied to this woman by an umbilical cord? Not only do I not remember that part, but I don’t remember the part where we’ve ever communicated well.

But I’m sure I’ll have a new cooling scarf soon.

*

So there. Childhood of a stripper. Imagine that. I had a childhood. Ta-da. Magic.

Ran 11 miles and felt pretty good doing it yesterday. I shouldn’t have too much of a problem with the race in two weeks. Then off to dinner and shopping with Mister last night.

…I had one martini, and I was starting to feel a little tipsy. A half a glass of wine, and I was somewhere between so tired I could barely keep my eyes open and much more tipsy.

Oh yeah. My alcohol tolerance plummets when I decide running from one city to another and back is a good idea. It’s already low, from not drinking much.

So then I tried drinking two cups of coffee—I never have coffee—to no help. I feel bad for not being able to put as much into the evening as I should have. I try so hard to be fun when we go to dinner…and I just…feel like I dropped the ball.

By the time the final goodnights were said, I was past being very ready for sleep. I went home, put my leftovers away, let the dogs out and back in, and crashed for 14 hours.

That’s a long fucking time to need to sleep. What am I, thirteen years old again?

I’m sore from head to toe from working out Saturday and my long run yesterday. My neck, quads, abs, outer calves, and upper back are furious with me for my weekend.

My right hip isn’t working like it should. Fingers crossed that it’s just tight and sore.

*

I’m also going on day 12 of a period that wasn’t supposed to happen until the end of the month. Mine are usually 4-5 days and regular enough to know which week they’ll happen.

I had this happen once before, when I was 18. I was severely underweight, and it lasted something like 38-40 days before I went to a doctor. That doctor put me on  a triple dose of birth control, which caused chaos in my body (but did make it stop). Because of dancing, I can’t afford the unavoidable weight gain that comes with birth control. I also turn into a constant ball of fury and frustration and fiery hate on hormonal birth control, and that just won’t fly in my life anymore.

I’m hoping it stops on its own soon…I hate working on my period. I’m always paranoid that my tampon will show or I’ll bleed through it onto someone or my outfit. And being tired all the time blows.

I’ve had four dances tonight. Two hours left. This shit has got to pick up soon. I can’t train for these races and work a ton, but I can’t pay for the races without working more if it’s going to be THIS shitty.

Stress stress stress stress.

Things I do at 4am:

Watch “Jockeys” on Netflix, miss my horse, and have the urge to clean five saddles, two dozen girths, six bridles, and four pairs of boots. Decide against that. Go many pages through the “atheism” tag and try not to likeallof the posts. Consider going through posts under the “stripper” tag and decide against it, because the dissent is already real life and I don’t need more. Strategically place the fan so the morning shade kicks the morning sun heat out of the house. Snuggle with two puppies. Remember that sometimes Tramadol gives me energy instead of knocks me out. Chew more nicotine gum. Wonder why I’m still awake. Check the weather. Again.

Man. I need to go to bed. Staying up all night is sometimes a huge waste of time, but my sleep schedule is so far settled into it that I just can’t sleep otherwise. Work tomorrow night, so sleeping in will be productive.

My night really turned around when my friend came over and showed me half a dozen ways to make people listen to me at the club. By that, I mean weak spots in human anatomy, nerve bundles, ways to restrain customers so we can “chat,” ways to get away from dudes that try to hold me down, and even a way to drop a full-grown man to the ground (easily—and the friend is 220lb).

I’m armed and ready.

Work is going to be so much fun tomorrow.

*

Basically, guys, if you don’t act like gentlemen at the strip club, I’m learning a ton of ways to make you have to explain why you’re now injured or disfigured.

I’m done playing nice to guys that aren’t willing to do the same.

How do you find pals as a grown-up? I work a job that isn’t conducive to making friends (all of my coworkers are also competitors, and I’ve since learned that it’s just a terrible idea), I’ve been out of school for many years, my hobbies are solo sports (running, poling), I work at night, and I don’t drink/smoke/use drugs/eat junk food. Now what? It’s getting rough to maintain friendships I’ve got! The not drinking and not eating at restaurants is…um…well, kind of what people DO, where I’m from.

I, um, I mean, it’s not like I can ask someone to drive to my house in the middle of nowhere to drink water and eat bananas.

I had a couple of drinks last night. I was just missing the comeraderie. I was missing being out, among people, just for fun instead of work. I had a good time. I don’t miss drinking. I miss being around people that aren’t coworkers or customers.

Six weeks of not drinking (or so…I haven’t been counting) meant that I paid heavily for the two beers I had over three hours last night. Still, it was worth it.

*

There was another ad posted on a billboard site asking for information about me (under my stage name), which included my club name and a tidbit about my giving great blowjobs in VIP. The stupid thing is — I don’t give good head in my personal life. Second, it’s probably just someone who’s fingers I threatened with breaking for trying to touch my pussy, but it’s irritating.

That person doesn’t realize the hazard that their ad is for me. Customers will come in, expecting a certain amount of contact from me, and when I don’t give it to them, they’ll get mad. I already have to regularly deal with the threat of sexual assault and rape. Posting ads to piss people off enough to want to do those things to me makes me mad.

I flagged it several times. A friend flagged it. But the billboard site isn’t known for taking shit down, and it’s frustrating. I had to ask three times the last time.

Do I leave it up and post a witty reply about suckers and pussies who post ads because they didn’t get what they wanted? Do I try reporting it to the site (probably to no help), again?

If my boss sees it, I could have some questions to answer, but I’m well-trusted enough to not lose my job over it. If girls see it, I’ll lose respect I’ve gained. If other customers see the ad, it could initially bring in business, but at the risk of being assaulted when someone gets mad about not getting what they want.

I’m too irritated to even go back to check on the ad to see whether it’s been removed. I’m currently pretending it doesn’t exist.

*

I’m nervous about these races. Really nervous. I’ve never attempted anything like this duo of races before, and never under the specific conditions of each race. I’m pretty worried. Worried I’ll get hurt, worried I’ll let my team down, worried I’ll be late on my bills, worried that business at the club won’t pick up to make the money I need ASAP.

*

My appetite, between not feeling great physically and having a day off from training, is nearly nil. I had a half cup of cottage cheese and a few Wasa crackers with a few tablespoons of hummus. Meat doesn’t sound good at all, and neither do any of my former guilty pleasures. I feel like having water for dinner.

*

I shouldn’t have taken a half-hour nap earlier. I’m totally going to be up way later than I want to be, and doing it alone. Fuck.

*

At least…there’s work tomorrow. Money, maybe. People, definitely, whether I like them or not. Entertainment, somewhat.