so I was asked out by an axe murder...

I only get writers block when I don't want to talk about something and it's usually something that's really bugging me. I had writers block for months till I decided to come back to this.
People get offended by what I write, it's not their version of the truth, or it's not how they would paint the picture. I'm not making anyone out to be the bad guy in my writing, that's never my intention. Somehow it happens though people think I'm making them intentionally look bad. I end up hurting someone's feelings, then I end up getting really upset, then I don't write because I worry. I who bravely asks men if she can put such little space between them she can feel their heart beat, or determine what they ate before they came in. She who can talk about religion in her underwear. I'm a bad fucking bitch, and I worry about hurting a few peoples feelings, when I forget, that I'm not real, anyway...sadly however this whole damn thing is from my point of view.
 This week I met a very nice Indian Man who reminded me I should probably write about how to and not to date strippers again.

This guy was handsome, had an English mixed with Indian accent it was cute. He was also well dressed interesting considering I'm accustom to nerdy Indian dudes wearing axe body crap and express shirts, so this was a nice change of pace. He also got my sense of humor so that's a big thing since apparently my sarcasm isn't the easiest to get at times...So we are chatting and he asks me out not after asking me if I think he's a psychopath or a serial killer. We have a chuckle about this since I have literally the worst taste in men and tend to think that if you gave me a line up of men I would choose the serial killer. So as we are joking about serial killers he decides it would be funny to illustrate the way in which (man this sounds crazy when I write it down and I'm beginning to regret it) I may find myself in a less then pristine death, sadly he's not a poison you slowly die in your sleep type of guy. Anyway, his idea of a date is hanging out down at the pier after work. This is the part he's not kidding about apparently he loves the pier, and the Ballard locks. He's a water guy.

I mention to him that although a good serial killer joke is funny here and there maybe not the best idea to very seriously invite someone to a deep body of water after dark...Especially a member of society that is typically not deemed to be the most productive member and someone that a serial killer may choose as a target but what do I know I'm just a stripper.

promises promises

I promise to start talking about funny shit again rather than these self affirmations I'm not a stripper self help book. However I guess with the horn tooting comes the exuberance to talk to everyone again and with that comes the funny stories again...like the guy who only wants dances from skinny girls who look mean who will spank him. He wears a button up, glasses, a tie, and windpants...he crakes me up.
OR middle aged Asian guy who only talks to your boobs.

Get a band-aid and an ice pack or stop being a little bitch part 2

In the conversation Winter and I had this weekend she reminded me how seriously I take my job sometimes and that can be a really bad thing. 1. I get to invested in the people I work with. 2. I get really invested in my clients and I take on all the emotions and stress of everyone around me.

This weekend Corbeau thought I blew him off that I pretty much said go fuck yourself even after I had been making plans for weeks. That's not what happened. As you all know I went for a very long run with no bra and the improper footwear which will make a person late. I told him to go do something else in the mean time since I was going to be late arriving. This crushed me when he wouldn't get back to me especially after all the speeches of how great I am and blah, blah, blah, and how I deserve better, where as he is dumping me in a group with some stupid strippers.

So...crushed, just felt the lowest...I felt like a stupid stripper...skirt stop the bus, I'm far from stupid and although yes I'm a stripper. I am not a stupid stripper, nor am I like the stereotypical stripper. I and I hate to toot my own horn...am way better than a lot of girls. Although every girl is totally different and also better than me in a lot of ways. For the sake of argument and based on what a lot of people tell me I'm different and I'm better. (To anyone from my club I don't mean this in a fuck all you bitches way). That being said I need to quit beating myself up for people projecting the fuck ups of other girls, I've got to let that shit go. If it makes them change their minds and totally ruins my weekend and I end up with a rental car and a hotel so be it, and even if part of it was from a friend of mine being wishy washy about going. Whatever...I'll stop talking about it now. This is the client investment I was talking about. I've got to quit and remember I sometimes serve the purpose of scapegoat, catalyst of self discovery, distraction, creator of all evil. The last one may hold a little more truth.
I need to bring back the shot gun approach, start banking on my looks and my sense of humor again and my interesting little brain. How can I expect any of you to buy a dance from me when I forget the good in me sometimes since I'm so busy trying to find the good in everyone else I'm rad as fuck. Sometimes in this job  I'm just spongeing up everyones emotions around me which is what I've been doing, I have once again forgotten that my job is suppose to be fun...I think it's hilarious I have these little epiphanies whilst writing at night, which subsequentely quell my anxiety I get every night on the way home thinking I haven't done enough...Which yet again ends today. Today as always I am changing the way I do things. I guess that starts with maybe sleeping...Then remembering I'm the baddest bitch up in this bitch and beating all you other bitches at a friendly game of who can make more money on paper.
I wish Dejavu would leave the dance sheet out so I knew if by how much I'm crushing the game.

Winter is my damn hero and she gave me some really good advice that I need to start using my resting bitch face more often and to my advantage. The stories of this weekend are slowly sliding out my fingers as the embaresenet of pulling such a rookie move wears off.

Any way moe on last night Mahal brought up a good point I talk all this shit about how I want guys to act a certain way at work but really if they did I would just have a bunch of whiners on my hands and I don't want that. I just want you all to be mildly mindful and okay with supporting the charity of me...I'm rambling so lessons learned. Funnier stories when I wake up.

You can either get and ice pack and a band aid or stop being a little bitch part 1

The story is too long and convoluted to really explain all of my feelings behind the whole thing. I guess at a later date you will all here about it after I wipe the embarrassment off my face for being such a dumb ass.

So lets start with this...

Imagine me red....running in a crop top jeans and sandals holding my boobs since I have no bra on to make it to a car rental place on time, to be late. To then find out that I forgot my drivers license to run again with no bra back to get my drivers license to grab it off my dinning room table to run back with no bra still in jeans sweating to make it to pick up my rental by just one minute. I can run damn fast. Also I've never had so many people yell at me out car windows I literally thought I was trailing hundreds behind me. If I had been wearing a skirt and tights I would have thought it had been tucked in.

Only to find out that I did everything in vain, that my whole weekend was ruined and I was me being blown off by a custy....I'm super upset by the whole thing I sincerely hope they didn't blow me off because something awful happened to them. I hope it was just some stupid custy shit that they eventually tell me what happened.

Something good is totally on the way...why because I fucking said so...I have not laughed as much as I did this weekend in a long time. It totally flipped my perspective on things which has been happening a lot lately.

I mean luckily I had a car so I could get most of my shit from the cheeses house....not without getting stuck in the sea fair parade route. Luckily police officers understand double parking when you are trying to get things back from a totally uncooperative person. Of course I get stuck in a parade I suppose I should have pulled a ferris bueller that would have been more appropriate.

I've got a little writers block again because again I don't feel like I can write about what I want to. I need to get over it again, that's always what it is, it's my fear of hurting peoples feelings but with that filter on this whole thing feels so fake and blah no one gives a shit about the fluff, ya'll want the good stuff, which I haven't delivered this week, maybe after a day on the water I'll be able to put my hands on straight again and get some writing out. Also I sort of moved the blog but it wouldn't open the other day so stand by. I swear I'm being productive.

Also even though I had the biggest blow off ever...I have been extra funny at work. I had a huge talk with winter and she basically said "You can either get an ice back and a Band-Aid, or stop being a little girl"

I can't sleep...A reminder to my stiletto sisters that we are some bad bitches.

I keep thinking about work, and what I want, and how I can make things happen and also how proud I am and how funny things can be. This isn't a pity party over here I don't have a mini disco ball and a box of tissues.
Preface anytime anyone hit's me with "I want to but..." "I'd love to but..." "You're so pretty but..." I have to try not to laugh on the outside. Maybe the next time someone says something like that I'll try and finish their sentence. So please know since sometimes tone gets lost...I'm working on it. It's one of my "challenges" this is suppose to be kind of funny, and very "high fucking, five, fuck yeah...we are going streaking through Westlake Center"

1. I need a break. I need time away from work. I need to be an adult 1st and foremost but then I need to take some time for me and forget about this crazy night world. So soon, very, very, soon I hope.

2. I want to change the way the world sees strippers. I want people to know and believe when I say I'm working towards something be it school ( a million years of school). To know that we aren't all fuck-ups. I guess with the changes I'm making I'm hoping to start a dialogue about it. Fellow former strippers any stories, comments, anything...bueller...bueller.

3. I want people to see us as people and remember that saying no polietly is great. But don't give me the "no but" I think you are beautiful, I can't hand my apartment managers a million notes saying that everyone thought I was beautiful. I want people to remember that...WE ARE SO GOD DAMN BRAVE FOR WHAT WE DO. We do something a lot of people can't, we get up and take our clothes off for people we don't know. We do the impossible we ask people to accept us to be close to us, to let us get all up in their bubble and...what's even braver, we hear "no"....and we sit there in your lap as you tell us why you are saying no, sometimes you say no before I can find out one fun, interesting, cool fact about you, you say no because drum roll please... you have a girlfriend, you don't pay for it, youre just looking, you just got here, you don't like me, I'm too smart, come back later, in some time, I'm not in the mood, I wish I would have met you earlier, I'm broke, I'm here for my buddy. I'm about to leave (you don't you get a dance from toothless tami)...You know what we do, we look at you, run our fingers through your hair... and say...
"It's no big deal, maybe I'll come back later, thank you so much for the compliment, let me know if you need anything...k" and we do it all without flinching all without showing you any sign that a a normal girl would show you if she had the balls to walk up to you in a super skimpy ass outfit since you can't wear your underwear in public, and ask you if you want to have her shove boobs in your face, and run her smoking hot yoga body down yours, and donate to her charity known as school, or independent women not depending on a man and living alone, or the stereotype of single mothers, or any other way you want to spin what we do into our very own charity work that any woman would be proud of... and you say no. A normal girl who has a body
 like mine.
So a normal girl would probably cry, call you an asshole and tell you that you're a god damn idiot, that a million guys would be happy just to talk to her and a million guys would do whatever she asked, and she doesn't know why she even came over here to talk to you because you look like a total stupid nerd... I mean whatever I'm not a "Normal girl" I mean I wear underwear under my dresses to strip clubs and know your vagina should not resemble anything that swims.
You know what we are some brave, bad, bitches, because we don't do a god damn thing but tell you to have a good night, hope that in some way we made you feel better about yourself and that one of our colleagues will tickle your fancy, and go out our night. Our feelings don't get hurt until we hear "no" about 10 times or more then we start to take it a little personally, but even then you aren't going to see us crying on the floor to you begging you to like us. We might ask what's up and if there is something we could change...I mean Dejavu doesn't let us use their glasses we aren't good enough so we have these red and white cups. One night I had heard no one to many times and I asked a guy what I could change and he said I'm turning you down because there is something about you holding a paper cup, I don't know what it is but I don't want a dance from you because of it. CRAZY, but whatever man. Even then I can't tell him the company won't let us have glasses and probably for good reason someone would get shit faced and break one every night and then there would be broken glass all over the locker room the following items in italic are boring things about profit and shit I'm sure it's a liability thing for the club, but now their liability solution is a profit liability to me and subsequently a liability to them....blah blah blah boring shit. Anyway I was turned down because of a cup...and countless other reasons. A normal woman would have thrown her drink and you and said look at me you dumb fuck, are you fucking serious? You are? You look nothing like Tom Brady, Ryan Gosling, Or Channing Tatum, but whatever bro. A normal girl would be crazy, because normal girls are crazy. (Sidebar Stripclubs are great for that reason you can tell super hot chicks no, and not feel bad about it, since we are fucking tough as nails when it comes to that shit) A normal girl might even leave the club go home, cry, and wonder what's wrong with her. but we don't, we hope for the best, tell ourselves secretly while we smile, run our hand down your chest and say have a good night, that really you would have been a douche canoe that we totally avoided and the next guy will be better because hey...there is always tomorrow. That and there is nothing wrong with us, and that is one thing being told no a million times teaches you, there is nothing wrong with you, and the worst thing that's going to happen when you ask someone for a dance, or a date, or whatever is that they will say no. the nice thing about me hearing no (not that I'm encouraging more no's I'm just looking on the bright side so don't get any crazy idea's) is it gives me a chance to move on to the next, and really it's their lose if they don't want me all smashed up on em'.
 We are the strongest, bravest women in the world. Honestly I'm really fucking proud of myself for making the choice to do this. I feel really lucky sometimes when I sit down and remember that it's not normal to be confident, and it's really not normal to take rejection so well. So mad props, and big ups, kudos and shit to my fellow stiletto sisters. Bitch you bad.
Also because pole tricks hurt like a mother fucker and we try to keep our sexy faces on, or our totally emotionless faces since we are focusing on not making it look like we were punched in the boob...that's a hard one too. I have to be up in 5 hours for breakfast, and to start the ol' blog move...scary, and exciting.
Hopefully I get to see dear friend corbeau today for a hot second before he goes to deal with some bullshit, it's always nice to see a friendly face before a lame ass flight.
I've been really lucky lately batman, has totally provided me with ideas to write about, motivation to do so, encouragement and compliments, also letting me hide out, which has totally helped me clear my head of the other noise that happens all while in disguises that make me look like I'm going to Cochella, but whatever. I'm infinitely appreciative of quite a few people in my life for sticking out this past year with me, change is a coming.