I need to nip my unraveling toward a nervous breakdown in the bud until February 18th, once Mardi Gras and my Houston trip for NBA All-Star Weekend are through with.
I’m pumped for Houston, not only because I can get a bus there for $8-$25, but my friend, who works in sports, is expensing a room I can share, so my overhead will be nil, and New Orleans will have that post Mardi Gras lull anyway, before things pick up in March.
I went out with my new Italian friend Wednesday night and yesterday I had to hit the social security office first thing in the morning, to get a card for a sedond job, followed by day shift.
I’m losing so much fucking money on this day shift prison sentence, guys. It’s killing me. I was so tired from going out the previous evening, I scrapped my plans to audition at the other club after finishing my shift, so hopefully I get in there tonight.
Yesterday, I stupidly let customers buy me 3-4 “tall” Vodka Red Bulls, after consuming vodka red bulls and hurricanes the previous evening, so I found myslef suddently jittery combined with crashing and burning at the same time. I was dying for food and my go-to cheap place (coincidentally called Deja Vu), had a never-ending busy signal. My face looked so pallid and tired, I lacked the energy and confidence to audition at the other spot under the circumstances. Hopefully that spot works out tonight, or my club lets me stay late after finishing dayshift (say 9, 10, midnight.)
The big money descending on the crescent city is palpable. I had majority $10 and $20 tips on stage, with a few fives, and barely any singles. I felt so crummy, I puked up some vodka red bull and could barely choke down a sleep-inducing Klonopin, let alone solid food) I passed over 24 hours without eating and after a nice night’s sleep and a little food, I’m feeling better about working today. Iwas so wiped yesterday, I forgot to cash in the $600 VIP room voucher I had from New Year’s at the end of the shift.
I felt entirely too self-loathing yesterday, because I was looking less than 100% and making less than 100% of my earning potential on the shift. It’s bad enough I’m working under a temporay demotion to days shifts, but I need to make the best of it. The better I behave and more I earn, the more likely they’ll work with me on letting me stay late into night shift territory, or getting me back on night shifts sooner rather than later. I’m upset with myself over my misbehavior. I never used to be friends with the strippers and now I’m always going out too late. The marine I’m dating is a nice calming presence, despite my afforementioned fear of his guns, because he lives a tamer lifestyle and we just lounge around, cook and watch movies together; nothing wild.
When he picked me up yesterday, I told him I wasn’t feeling too good in my own head and that being mad at myself was culminating with the depression of consuming high alcohol volume, while suffering financially at work and shooting myself in the foot. I told him I had some weariness about his superfluous guns and asked him just to stay with me and hold me; to talk and keep the conversation light until I dozed off (at 8:30PM!) so I didn’t have to be in my own head. I didn’t force him to lock his guns away, but after two long conversations with friends, I’ve been thinking, “what is he trying to prove or compensate for with all these guns?” I realize some people collect them and that having more than one gun serves different purposes (ie something small you can carry discretely, versus a hunting rifle.) But it’s reminiscent of the big car syndrome, like he’s trying to be more of a man.
I’d rather he had a proper security system, actually locked his back door (yeah he leaves it unlocked, even though he has an arsenal of self defense, what the fuck is that?) and maybe got a guard dog. My other friend with guns has two pit bulls, so they could attack and disable an intruder without guns having to enter the picture.
In any case, I’m looking to cut back on drinking, make sure I eat and sleep a sound amount (fresh, quality food whenever possible) and just take it down a notch. Yesterday, I was falling to pieces and just wanted to say “fuck stripping!” but the timing is not conducive to that. I have to plug on and take care of myself well enoughto make it through this busy few weeks coming up. Then I’ll probably cut back to three shifts a week and focus my energy elsewhere. As long as I pay off my IRS tab by my March 5 due date, my cost of living overhead is low enough to cut myself a break. I’ve gotten too caught up in the stripper lifestyle, and I might try and work private parties instead (shorter hours, fewer co-workers trying to party, but raunchier expectations than in my club.)
I’m going to try giving up booze for Lent. Beyond Lent we’ll see. The whole AA meeting, “30 day-3 month chip” lame crap is not my preference, but I’d like to look at it as a weight loss and overall well being thing for the short term. Long term, I will need to address my drinking problems and whether I realistically can be a “social drinker” or “moderate drinker” without getting out of hand now and then.
I feel a million times better than yesterday, but yesterday, my depressed, exhausted feelings were further exacerbated by the above average propositioning. This group of big money Italians from New York, and their non-Italian friend kept bragging, indiscretely that they were connected and he couldn’t be “made” himself, due to his heritage. He further claimed he was “on the other side,” as a cop, but I know he’s on BOTH sides by the wad of $800, give or take, he was flashing around.
He kept saying I should hang out at the house they rented together, all fifteen husky, mobbed-up, ones of them. Eek, no thanks. Their most socially inept friend stepped in and proceeded to give me the worst “pitch” on why we should hang out. He literally said, “we’re not chop you up into bits kinda guys. None of us has been convicted of a violent crime in six years.” Wow, what a deal-sealer, sign me up! Between him and some other guys, I got this bad feeling in my gut.
Feeling sketched out combined with my depressed state made me so uneasy. I’m exctied for the money coming my way this weekend (even if I lose night shift money and don’t get hired at the other club.) But I just have this icky feeling, knowing with this huge event will come a couple casualties, how many of those are strippers or prostitutes, versus tourist civilians or whatever remains to be seen, but I hate knowing that trouble is in the air. Hopefully I get cheerful and peppy later and just have fun with it. With the extra dough I’ll be making, I don’t mind asking my door guys to walk me all the way home, even though it’s a bit further than the average walk they give us.
There are tons of New Yorkers around, not just Baltimore and San Francisco, and a coupole sweet Brooklynite Italians from Bensonhurst tipping us $20’s just ’cause, made up for their sketchy Bay Ridge Brooklyn counterparts. This one fucking waitress is pissing me off, though. She actively sits and flirts with the custtomers and sells lots of dances. She’s not only cutting into our earnings, but she’s lowring the support staff’s tip-outs and, asa girl who waitresses by day, strips by night, she’s explicitly managing to have it both ways, which is pretty obnoxious. She carries herself around like she’s hot shit and too cool for the rest of us and, fortunately for me, the door guy said he’s going to talk to management about how she’s digging into our earnings and fucking him out of tipout.