The last thing I want to be doing is writing a blog on no sleep at 7 AM. This is a slight exaggeration, but pretty much. I've been wondering why, despite my promise to myself to make up for the years of dancing and not writing about it, I almost always refuse to do just that. I wonder if it's because I've begun to dissociate. I wonder if that can be reversed. I wonder if it's because I'm afraid to awaken the parts of me that have become deadened inside as I make idiotic banter with customers so far below my intelligence level that it's literally unbelievable sometimes.
I'm awake because I made a bad decision to tune into the raging debate that is occurring on my now possibly favorite website: http://titsandsass.com/ re: "extras girls," or girls who engage in varying levels of prostitution in strip clubs where that is illegal. A word that is thrown around a lot in the comment threads, almost to a comedic degree, is "whorephobic." "Slut-shaming," too. I just rubbed my face for a split second out of exasperation. Someone told me recently (no clue who, probably a customer;) that as our bodies develop in the womb, the hands actually come out of the brain, and thus is why we touch our heads with our hands in times of distress. Man, I love how customers come up with crazy shit like that. Who knows, it could be true, I simply don't care to Google it yet. Customers (I like seeing it abbreviated as custys on Twitter;) seriously say the craziest of all crazy things. I remember one guy telling me there were caves in South America wherein people live to be 600+ years old, but of course it's being carefully covered up by the government as part of a massive conspiracy.
Let's talk more about customers. Wait- back to disassociating for a second. I stopped taking notes at work, and I wonder if that's because I don't want to feel things? I work in one of the least mentally taxing of all environments I've ever worked in. The club is, by all standards of decorum, ASTONISHINGLY clean. I no longer work at Deja Vu, where I was repeatedly groped/bitten, etc. and in constant competition with aforementioned "extras girls," who therefore brought in custys that absolutely constantly solicited me for sex. I can't really figure out then, why, I can't/don't want to write about it. I've got strip club fatigue. I have literal fatigue, as well. After being diagnosed with two concurrent sleep disorders, I now understand why I constantly operate at a level of functioning that is just slightly above "constant exhaustion." I no longer bound out of the backstage, a shiny young 19-21 year old, dazzling the crowd with my genuine giddiness. Well that, and I was also on drugs, but that's for another time. I adapt to how tired I am, and I play up the "bedroom eyes" (LOL, what a stupid term,) and sultry sensuality. It works for me. I feel I've grown into my sexuality to a place where I'm very comfortable, and I love that.
Let's all listen to "Glory Box" by Portishead and hold hands while she sings "I just wanna be a woman," ok???
Portishead - "Glory Box"
"For this is the beginning of forever... and ever... ohhh"
I'm awake because I made a bad decision to tune into the raging debate that is occurring on my now possibly favorite website: http://titsandsass.com/ re: "extras girls," or girls who engage in varying levels of prostitution in strip clubs where that is illegal. A word that is thrown around a lot in the comment threads, almost to a comedic degree, is "whorephobic." "Slut-shaming," too. I just rubbed my face for a split second out of exasperation. Someone told me recently (no clue who, probably a customer;) that as our bodies develop in the womb, the hands actually come out of the brain, and thus is why we touch our heads with our hands in times of distress. Man, I love how customers come up with crazy shit like that. Who knows, it could be true, I simply don't care to Google it yet. Customers (I like seeing it abbreviated as custys on Twitter;) seriously say the craziest of all crazy things. I remember one guy telling me there were caves in South America wherein people live to be 600+ years old, but of course it's being carefully covered up by the government as part of a massive conspiracy.
Let's talk more about customers. Wait- back to disassociating for a second. I stopped taking notes at work, and I wonder if that's because I don't want to feel things? I work in one of the least mentally taxing of all environments I've ever worked in. The club is, by all standards of decorum, ASTONISHINGLY clean. I no longer work at Deja Vu, where I was repeatedly groped/bitten, etc. and in constant competition with aforementioned "extras girls," who therefore brought in custys that absolutely constantly solicited me for sex. I can't really figure out then, why, I can't/don't want to write about it. I've got strip club fatigue. I have literal fatigue, as well. After being diagnosed with two concurrent sleep disorders, I now understand why I constantly operate at a level of functioning that is just slightly above "constant exhaustion." I no longer bound out of the backstage, a shiny young 19-21 year old, dazzling the crowd with my genuine giddiness. Well that, and I was also on drugs, but that's for another time. I adapt to how tired I am, and I play up the "bedroom eyes" (LOL, what a stupid term,) and sultry sensuality. It works for me. I feel I've grown into my sexuality to a place where I'm very comfortable, and I love that.
Let's all listen to "Glory Box" by Portishead and hold hands while she sings "I just wanna be a woman," ok???
Portishead - "Glory Box"
"For this is the beginning of forever... and ever... ohhh"
you write beautifully! Hope that you keep up with the blog :)
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