Archive for June, 2013

Diet Starts Tomorrow!

June 27, 2013

I made a firm self-improvement decision last week to be more careful about giving it up too soon. I was dating a guy who is great on paper, respectful and seemingly perfect, but couldn’t give a shit less about me. We had conversational chemistry and physical fun, but by fucking him straight out of the gate, I may or may not have propelled his “barely give a fuck” attitude toward me. The dealbreaker was when he went to Quantico for a 2 week Marines consulting gig and, not only didn’t contact me, but didn’t reply when I sent a text halfway in simply saying “how’s Quantico?” It sucks to feel emotions toward someone and have them feel nothing toward you.

Anyhow, my sex diet will have to wait, because my friend offered me free condom and lube samples to try and review (see next blog post.) Not sure who to play with right now; my stable isn’t too deep, but I’ll see how it goes.


June 13, 2013


My friends, God love them, have asked if I thought of turning this blog into a memoir. Why, sure. However, every story, every journey, requires redemption. It’s fucking predictable and boring, but look at most memoirs and mainstream movies and that’s what you get. The audience wants it and it sells. This ain’t some Go Ask Alice YA shit.

I’ve been meaning to go on a re-reading binge of Bret Easton Ellis, because he has nihilism without redeeming value down pat. That’s why I should write truth-based fiction in the same vein instead of a memoir, where readers would finish baffled, thinking “where’s the part where she finds prince charming, stays sober for years and makes amends with her family?” Like memoir turned self help guidebook.

The last chapter of my book, scene of my movie…whatever, is not meant to be a wholesome Thanksgiving dinner surrounded by my once-estranged family, a husband and a thriving child. It’s not meant to be my family acting awkward at my funeral due to suicide or self-harm or a cheesy AA meeting where I’m getting my five year chip or some shit.

Just like I don’t want some hoaky redemption, I don’t want that equally cliche’ “well she has to die if she keeps this behavior up” ending. I wanna write some female Charles Bukowski type shit. Like Bukowski, I’ll have a book simply called “men” about my mananizing. Might not go over well due to gender double standards, but whatever.

Please don’t interpret this post as delusional. I have some strong posts, but I have some weak ones and hope to hunker down and write a true fictional account of things I’ve experienced soon.

I don’t want to sound like a major hater, but I’m seeing a trend in successful females my age (mid-20’s-mid-30s) where they’re adorkably sloppy, instead of truly dark or living a tragic comedy. I’m no less guilty of narcissism than your average 20-something blogger, but I’m highly sensitive to those around me as well.

I know female bloggers faring better who are on a whole different level of self-obsession, and being rewarded for it. Cute commentary about Mad Men, OKCupid exploits and stories of drunken nights where nothing truly bad, just embarassing, happens, don’t do it for me compared to raw life experience.

That raw experience can be a tough childhood, military service, or in my case, and the Bret Easton Ellis cast of characters, being priveleged enough to self destruct for the shit of it, under the young, misguided impression of being bulletproof. I’m no riches to rags tale, but I took a priveleged background and kinda blew it to pieces.

I’m not a bored trust fund kid with too much coke and valium, but I’m supposed to have a real career and more stability, given my background. I don’t get to flop around NYC broke and indecisive like Hannah in Girls and squat at my friend’s place, while bitching she doesn’t “support” my writing endeavors enough.

I have flopped around NYC broke and indecisive, and I didn’t enjoy it much (though I kept up real well on NYMag and The New Yorker) but I haven’t capitalized on the concept like Lena Dunham. Respect to her for her actual success and work ethic, but her privelege got her where she is, while mine got me….not too far, but mostly cause I’m great at getting in my own way.

I want to be the anti-Lena Dunham! Similar age, similar theme, but less hipster and more dark. The fact Girls made a casual joke about their friend accidentally smoking crack was actually offensive to me. There’s no turning back from crack!

I have a redemption strategy, if you will. It’s twofold I suppose. I want to serve as a cautionary tale to others. I’m the oldest of six and was always the guinea pig getting in trouble, whereas my family friends have an oldest son with drinking problems that helped his younger brother avoid the same extreme drinking habits.

Being the oldest ain’t EZ and, contrary to most chick lit books, I’m not the perfect older sister on a pedestal or the perfect oldest of six ranging 20 years role model. I bumped into someone from high school just yesterday and was asked “oh you’re ___’s sister, right?” I will ALWAYS be known as the sister of ___ and not as me by the general population of my high school, ’cause she’s the hot shit perfect one a year my junior who everyone had a crush on and worshipped.

Such is life and yeah, I like feeling pretty in my own way without contanstly comparing myself to her when we’re apart. She’s ABOVE stripping, so I certainly don’t have to worry someone will choose her over me for a 2K VIP room or something.

Anyhow, getting back from that #sisterissues digression, that’s the first part of my self-prescribed redemption; providing cautionary information. The other means of redemption is transitioning into a public service job. I’m not planning to become a teacher, but I’ll just say I plan to help people.

What I don’t want (and I apologize to sex workers who bear this cross) is to get outed, lose all hope of getting a good job thanks to Google, and end up forced into a career of sex-worker advocacy. There comes a time when you want to end that chapter of your life. Move on, but never forget and learn from your experiences, like the trillion military guys I fuck with who do four years and move on to school, their service and friends, living and dead, always in memory.

Because I’m so thoroughly against the 12-step seeking ammends route, I hope to succeed in grad school and my future career and my family can fucking COME TO ME when they realize I’m actually a functioning human with something great to offer the world.

I hate having to lie about my source of income, and I DO do some vanilla freelance work, random focus groups, etc…. but following my recent trip abroad, my Gramma and Aunt both pulled the “How do you afford that?” question. I don’t care if they disapprove of how I spend my money. It’s he assumption the money doesn’t exist that offends me. The assumption I live a marginal existence check-to-check where a trip abroad would mean just blowing off my bills. Am I hypocritical in this complaining? Absolutely. But I refuse to be one of those mood disorder people who settles on bagging groceries for minimum wage, doing mindless work or living off disability like a complete loser. I’m already the loser of my family and I resent the assumption I’m a broke joke as well. You could call my sister a loser, too. She’s a waitress/wannabe actress dating a professional pot dealer (which she denies, but I know the truth). But she has higher moral standards and is more of a good girl.

I suppose my aspiration is to show my judgmental family and others the proof is in the pudding. The proof someone who’s struggled with a mood disorder, substance abuse and a highly stigmatized accidental career, can succeed later in life instead of being a casualty, a Britney Spears-esque zombie with no visible soul, or a disability-check-collecting loafer with no sense of self-worth.

Overcompensating Rant Part Deux

June 9, 2013

Although I feel like I have little to say about stripping and what not these days, it’s high time I hopped on this blogging shit.

Firstly, I’ve been meaning to review some New Orleans clubs. My memories of Deja Vu, Penthouse, Rick’s, Stilettos, Rick’s Sporting Saloon and Hustler are so stale I can’t recount much (same shit, different toilet), but let me tell you about a little place called The Corner Pocket…..

I’m a supporter of The Pocket, a gay club; their strippers would sometimes come in to my club and throw down tips. My co-worker and I even wanted to buy their T-shirt and cut it up sexy to give them free advertising.

But, it’s a strange place. A hole in the wall, according to my gay friend who introduced me to it. There’s no real stage, just guys awkwardly moving around the bar dancing for singles. I’ve met some super nice dudes there, many of whom will claim they’re just “gay for pay” but it feels like a place whose business model means no money for their strippers unless the strippers meet people outside work to do…..whatever.

Most of the guys there are coherent, young and fresh, reasonably sober without any lifestyle scars and lucid. But this one really depressing dude broke it down.

“How do you guys make enough money when there’s no space for lap dances or VIP?”



“Meeting people at their hotels.”

“Don’t you feel like that’s kinda risky?”

“You can always walk out of a room.”

(But can you?)

This guy was super fucked up and I’m sad to say I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s dead now. He had relocated his family from Michigan and showed me a picture of them all with shaved heads that creeped me the fuck out. “Yeah, there’s so many niggers down here, I made sure they all shaved their heads.” Whhhhhattt?

He proceeded to break down the street value of Klonopin, Adderall and the like and tried coaxing me into touching his cock. At The Pocket, every guy’s got their junk out; they tend to twirl thier package around and are more than happy to let you touch.

Anyhow, I don’t mean to talk shit; it just kind of makes me sad they have to resort to risky behavior to earn the money lady strippers can make within the confines of their club. My best night ever, 2K on New Year’s Eve, my friend and I blew a few hundred there to reward ourselves, earning the approval of the guys, who’d tell their friends, “They know how to tip!” My bipolar shit-show friend was perreando reggaeton style and droppin’ it low with them; good time had by all.

In other news, I met the perfect guy and he doesn’t like me as much as I like him. It sucks. Here are his stats: Went to a good undergrad school, the one I wish I’d gone to if I could rewind time (in DC), did four years in the Marine Corps as a Bachelor’s-holding officer, is about to start a dual grad degree at a top school on the GI bill, is naturally smart and eloquent as fuck, very cute, with tasteful tattoos and a religious zeal about making it to the gym a lot, not the hugest package but a damn good-looking one (this other guy I used to fuck had droopy balls that grossed me out, this dude’s are downright attractive.)

He is also well-raised by moderately conservative Catholics. He’s very respectful and we have similar opinions; for example, he’ll agree about gun control, instead of being all yee-haw “guns for everyone!” like other Marines I’ve known. Like me, he thinks everyday gun deaths, including suicides and low-profile homicides are ignored overall compared with mass shootings. He doesn’t think guns should be accessible to the wrong hands. Like all military dudes, he’s opinionated as fuck, but very balanced and smart about it; like me, he usede to take people to task in class, calling out professors and fellow students. He sleeps like a baby around me and seems extremely levelheaded, so no sign of PTSD fucked-upery.

So, we’ve hung out a few times, but it’s like goddamn high school as far as having a venue to fuck in. I’m living with a friend dirt cheap because I hate apartment searching and prefer blowing my money on multiple European vacations instead of high rent.

He is living with his parents and he’s at least self-conscious about it, always saying “I’m not actually a bum, I swear!” It’s a perfectly reasonable decision; he’s moving August 1 for grad school anyway and just finished paying his undergrad student loans, plus he crashes with friends when he goes out.

But we got in a slight text war about the fucking venue situation….we’ve gotten a hotel twice (the first time extending for a night) and when we attempted to make plans this week, I suggested a hotel again.

“The hotel thing kind of weirds me out.”

“Why? I kinda got the vibe you weren’t a fan.”

“Call it my Irish Catholic guilt; it just didn’t sit right with my conscience. I just don’t like getting a hotel for the sole purpose of having sex.”

“I mean, you’re not having an affair on someone, but I guess it can feel sleazy.”

(Ever the fucking TACTFUL speaker) “It just felt gratuitous I guess.”


“Ok now I’m curious what you mean by that. I think I get the implication and unless I misread def don’t appreciate it, actually very insulted.”

“I mean it felt gratuitous. It felt a little like paying for sex. That’s not a reflection on u, just that I paid money for something explicitly just to have sex.”

“Right…calling me a female John of sorts is the last straw, and relects on u, someone who I misjudged as respectful and almost perfect.”

“I said it’s not a reflection on u. There’s no implication. It reflects on me being a male john as much as it would reflect on u.”

“Well for what it’s worth I dont’ just like u for sex and regret setting the wrong tone.” (ie fucking too soon/not making him wait.)

“I am being respectul. I’m being honest about how it made me feel about myself, not you. It’s the situation not the person, unless I was in a serious relationship with that person. I’m not judging you.”

“Ok I admittedly felt a bit that way, too. I think UR a good guy and never expected a serious relationship cause of your grad school but I feel somehow disappointed u wanna come fuck on a tight schedule like a dine n’ dash, yet I’m supposed to feel sleazy about hotels when ur acting sleazy otherwise.”

“It’s just damn Irish Catholic guilt. It’s not rational and it’s kinda a blurred moral ambiguity. I’m sorry for trying to be honest. I could have said nothing.”

(Pet peeve, backhanded apologies!)

“Sorry for trying to be honest is a tad euphemisitic; ru sorry ur just using me for sex and hypocritically laying your guilt on me? The silver lining of this convo, is I’m craving a hate fuck, but it also makes me wanna cut u off; doesn’t seem u give enough of a shit you’d care.”

“Not laying guilt on you, just not comfortable doing the hotel thing. I don’t feel guilty about having sex with you, but I do slightly with anybody in a hotel room. It’s an emotion not a rational conclusion. That’s the way I feel. If that upsets u and u don’t wann talk to me than that’s fine. I’m not going to lie to you to try and make you feel different, I’d rather you be able to understand and still wanna talk to me.”

(I think our conversations are enjoyable and respectful, but is still talk to me still fuck me, or still fuck me AND talk?)

“Ok ur not into hotels, that’s fine. My point is doing a quickie at my apartment doesn’t feel much better or less sleazy. I feel skeeved out when ur like “I wanna come over but have an ample exit strategy.” I know you like to talk, too, I just don’t like that dine n’ dash vibe I’m getting.”

“I don’t know why but there’s a difference there. I thought we’d hang out too. I didn’t say that, I figured I’d stay as long as I could ’til your friend got home. I just can’t stay the night this week.”

“Ok well I think we are on the same page, some frustration later…..”

Some talk of scheduling, LSAT studying, blahblah later….

“Man, that’s why guys don’t like to always share their feelings lol. Sometimes you feel a way, you can’t help feeling that way even if you don’t want to. That’s all about feeling a certain way you can’t rationally explain.”

“It’s fine, your honesty turns me on, obviously a broad’s gonna get sensitive now and then and I have a bit of a temper. I don’t like being told what I wanna hear and fishing for validation, it’s usually obvious when a guy’s trying to appease, but the truth can sting, that’s all.”

“It shouldn’t. Again it’s not a reflection of my opinion of you.”

“It’s fine, I just mean pointing out things u think but hesitate to say can feel shitty at first; I’m from “don’t ask, don’t tell, don’t acknowledge the elephant in the room” WASP stock, so it feels especially awkward when someone points out things that are uncomfortable.”

Trying to schedule time to hang blahblah later….

“Ok, unfortunately tomorrow would be the most ‘dine and dash’ scenarios ’cause I have a softball game, so if that doesn’t appeal to u that’s fine. We’ll do Friday.” (Sadly, we didn’t do Friday…the whole apartment situation etc)

“You’d feel just as awkward here as a hotel, hard to explain.” (Like I’d have to use the love seat, using my friend’s bed that she shares with her man is too boundary-crossing and I currently rock an air mattress! Probably not what he envisioned/assumed.)

I realize that was entirely too long-winded, but I did warn y’all in the title this would be a rant! At the end of the day, I’m just bummed someone so good on paper who also has values and isn’t disrespectful is out of my reach. I’d love to find an exact replica who isn’t moving away and actually expresses passion towards me, not just ho-hum friends with benefits who can hold conversations.

When someone so opinionated and open about expressing themselves doesn’t return strong feelings toward you, it’s definitely a bummer. I haven’t been pouring my heart out to him and throwing heavy relationship-expecting standards at him, like admitting I told family and friends about the ‘awesome guy I’m dating’ and writing a fucking book of a journal entry (and book of a blog entry) about him! Oh well. On to the next….well at least come August 1 when he’s gone and people switch out of “summer fling” mode.

Any-fucking-way….my “other agenda” shit is going reasonably well. I have to beware of my extrovert tendencies cause the entity where I’m volunteering and hoping to work is the kind of place that does background tests, drug tests and would undoubtedly fire me if they connected me to this blog. Sigh…. It’s not just that this blog is NSFW, but it so explicitly outlines my shortcomings and vulnerabilites.