So last night I did something that I swore I would never do. I met someone off craigslist. It went surprisingly well. I put up an ad for a movie date (in the strictly platonic section, I might add), but after reading through the various responses I decided I was not infact ready to get acquainted with any of the avaliable suitors.
The next morning when I checked my email, there was one that caught my attention. Some guy had an extra concert ticket due to a flaky friend, and didn't want to go solo. I happen to love concerts, so it was a no brainer. Plus this guy was able to spell words such as enjoy, amphitheatre, directions, and many others!
When I walked into our designated meeting place, a little restaurant, I was surprised that he was actually quite attractive and wasn't wielding a knife. Well, I was a little disappointed about the knife thing, I do love a me a good psycho. He was a little older than I expected (35), but I was probably a little younger than he expected as well.
Next thing I know I'm laying on the grass looking up at the sky listening to REM play songs that I'd never heard before. Then I'm flying down the freeway in a shiny blue mustang at over 100 mph. Soon I'm in my pool at 2:00 am swimming around discussing exponential increases in population with a 35 year-old stranger.
The best part of the whole night is that he just left. It was beautiful. There were no awkward attempts at sex, or stilted conversations about emotions. He fell asleep on the couch, me in my bed, and the next morning when I awoke he was gone, leaving no evidence of his short stay other than a red bull can. It can't get any better than that.
And tomorrow I leave for Florida for a week. Life is good.
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
You have a fucked up eyebrow
My night had started out pretty lame. I think I had accumulated a grand total of about $70. I was trolling for fresh meat when an older but distinguished looking gentleman pulls me aside. He's there with a friend from Texas, who's in a wheelchair, and he'd like me to dance for his friend. I give a decent, but not extraordinary dance and distinguished men hands me a $20. Dances here are $10 a song, so when I get $20 I usually ask if they need change and hope they say no. He not only says no, he starts inquiring about VIP. Score. He wants me to find another pretty, young, and fully shaven girl for his crippled friend. I acquiesce and look around, but all the girls I would usually go to aren't working. I head up to the dressing room to look for the lucky girl who gets to go to VIP with me. Its slim pickings in the dressing room, but I don't want to take too long so I grab a cute girl who's eating soup and hope I can sell them on her. When I bring her down to their table I can tell they're a little disappointed in my choice. "She's soooo cute!" I coo as I give her boobs a little squeeze. We finally get things worked out and head to VIP.
Turns out cute girl isn't as clean as I would have thought. While she's giving Texas a handjob through his pants, I'm trying to distract the gentleman hoping he won't expect the same from me. Luckily I do a pretty decent job, and he tells me about his son, who's brilliant as evidenced by some politically centered text messages gentleman shows me written by his boy. Of course he goes to a super expensive private school in the area, and I know gentleman must live in one of those mansions only a few minutes from the club. I can soon tell that gentleman's growing restless, as he starts asking me to kiss him (on the mouth), and let him rub my oh-so-smooth pussy.
Then he suddenly looks at me and tilts his head. "You have a fucked up eyebrow," he says nonchalantly. While I know what he's referring to, I wouldn't go as far as to say my eyebrow is fucked up. It's unique and lends character to my otherwise perfect face. He starts to obsess about it. He tells me to go to the dressing room and fetch him some tweezers so he can operate on my wayward brow. As much as I do not want this 60-something year old man near my face with tweezers, I'm so amused by his little eyebrow obsession that I humor him and go on a scavanger hunt for some tweezers. There are none to be found, so I return empty handed, figuring that this will be the end of this little diatribe. I'm wrong. He calls his limo driver and tells him to buy him a pair of tweezers. At 1:00 in the morning. Limo driver obeys, and arrives back with the dainty silver tool in about 20 mintues. Shit. I allow gentleman to pluck maybe 3 or 4 hairs and then look in the mirror. I look the same. "Oh wow! That does look so much better," I say with far too much enthusiam. He looks at me and tells me I should see a professional to get them fixed and thinned a little. I tell him that I'll definitely look into it.
It's the end of hour number two, and he informs me they have to go. Cripple pays cute girl what he owes her, and gentleman pays me what he owes me plus $100. Cute girls whines a little about how she worked a lot harder than I (very true), but Texas doesn't cough up the extra $100.
As I drive home that night I smile. If you had asked me 6 months ago if I thought I would ever be completely naked lying on a leather couch having a man older than my father pluck my eyebrows I would have laughed. Now all I can do is smile.
Turns out cute girl isn't as clean as I would have thought. While she's giving Texas a handjob through his pants, I'm trying to distract the gentleman hoping he won't expect the same from me. Luckily I do a pretty decent job, and he tells me about his son, who's brilliant as evidenced by some politically centered text messages gentleman shows me written by his boy. Of course he goes to a super expensive private school in the area, and I know gentleman must live in one of those mansions only a few minutes from the club. I can soon tell that gentleman's growing restless, as he starts asking me to kiss him (on the mouth), and let him rub my oh-so-smooth pussy.
Then he suddenly looks at me and tilts his head. "You have a fucked up eyebrow," he says nonchalantly. While I know what he's referring to, I wouldn't go as far as to say my eyebrow is fucked up. It's unique and lends character to my otherwise perfect face. He starts to obsess about it. He tells me to go to the dressing room and fetch him some tweezers so he can operate on my wayward brow. As much as I do not want this 60-something year old man near my face with tweezers, I'm so amused by his little eyebrow obsession that I humor him and go on a scavanger hunt for some tweezers. There are none to be found, so I return empty handed, figuring that this will be the end of this little diatribe. I'm wrong. He calls his limo driver and tells him to buy him a pair of tweezers. At 1:00 in the morning. Limo driver obeys, and arrives back with the dainty silver tool in about 20 mintues. Shit. I allow gentleman to pluck maybe 3 or 4 hairs and then look in the mirror. I look the same. "Oh wow! That does look so much better," I say with far too much enthusiam. He looks at me and tells me I should see a professional to get them fixed and thinned a little. I tell him that I'll definitely look into it.
It's the end of hour number two, and he informs me they have to go. Cripple pays cute girl what he owes her, and gentleman pays me what he owes me plus $100. Cute girls whines a little about how she worked a lot harder than I (very true), but Texas doesn't cough up the extra $100.
As I drive home that night I smile. If you had asked me 6 months ago if I thought I would ever be completely naked lying on a leather couch having a man older than my father pluck my eyebrows I would have laughed. Now all I can do is smile.
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Bored on a Thursday.
So it's a Thursday night and I'm bored out of my mind. Z is out of town. All 3 (ha ha) of my friends are out of town. L, who confuses the hell out of me is also out of town. I almost want to get tarted up and head out to a local bar with my shitty fake ID which I don't even need. Find a guy. Have sex. Sex is so confusing for me. When I'm having it I don't like it. Well, that's not exactly true. I only like it if I know the person I'm fucking doesn't like me. When I'm not having sex, I want it. Crave it, if only for the reassurance and feelings of acceptance it grants me. I think when I start making money again I'm going to see a psychiatrist.
I'm thirsty. I should go to the gas station down the road and get a drink. The manager, if he's working, doesn't make me pay for my drinks. Maybe I look pitiful. I've gotten quite skinny. I just don't feel like buying food, and my funds are low. Tomorrow I'll have to go to the club and get a job. I dread that part. The fear of rejection is devestating to me. They hired me before, so they should hire me again, right? Times are tough right now. The economy is shit and I know that strippers are probably paying the price. Oh well. We'll see tomorrow.
I'm thirsty. I should go to the gas station down the road and get a drink. The manager, if he's working, doesn't make me pay for my drinks. Maybe I look pitiful. I've gotten quite skinny. I just don't feel like buying food, and my funds are low. Tomorrow I'll have to go to the club and get a job. I dread that part. The fear of rejection is devestating to me. They hired me before, so they should hire me again, right? Times are tough right now. The economy is shit and I know that strippers are probably paying the price. Oh well. We'll see tomorrow.
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Life is Beautiful
So I'm feeling a lot better today. I guess it doesn't really take me that long to get over stuff. I called the club I plan on working at and they told me to come in after 8:00 and talk to the night shift manager. I've actually been hired at this club before, but I didn't take the job because I needed to get a 'stripper license', and at the time I didn't want to have my dancing on record. Oh how things have changed. I'm actually kind of excited about dancing again, even though it's only been two months since I last quit. I did like the job, it was just the people (fellow employees, management, and some customers) that made it hard sometimes. I almost wish I had never quit. The club I was at was decent, and I made decent money there.
I have to get the fuck out of here in a month and a half, and I have no idea where I'm going. I keep toying with the idea of just leaving the country for a few months (I'd probably head to England) just to get away from everything. Or maybe I'll just move to another state. I dunno. I think I need to start going out more and socializing so I can make some friends, because all of mine are disappearing one by one.
I have to get the fuck out of here in a month and a half, and I have no idea where I'm going. I keep toying with the idea of just leaving the country for a few months (I'd probably head to England) just to get away from everything. Or maybe I'll just move to another state. I dunno. I think I need to start going out more and socializing so I can make some friends, because all of mine are disappearing one by one.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
A Beginner at This
So I'm new at this whole blogging thing. I used to scoff at people who had blogs and myspace and facebook and livejournal. Who the fuck cares about you and your boring life full of boring little activities. They think everything they experience is so damn interesting and unique when in reality there are thousands of people experiencing the exact same fucking things. Anyways, I'm a little less bitter now about the whole blogging trend, and even in those times of loathing I always found myself reading some blog about someone's latest meal at Red Lobster or something.
So I decided that I should start my own blog that no one will most likely read unless it accidentally pops up in an obscure google search or something.
Well, I am 20 years old, and at the moment have no life. Really. I just dropped out of college, after three years of fuddling about, switching my major to whatever subject I had read about in yesterday's newpaper that seemed interesting. I had no friends at college, and towards the end of my second year began to attend class less and less, until I got to the point where I would only attend one of each of my classes a week.
I live with my roommate, who I'll call Z., but only for another month and a half. I've known her since middle school, and we get along alright. She got a job about a month ago and I hardly see her anymore, so we're pretty distant at the moment. She is almost the exact opposite of me, driven, outgoing, social, and boy-crazy.
Boys. Well I never really had relationships, until recently (more about that later). Up until that point my longest realtionship had been about four days. And that was because I was on vacation and I just hung out with (and had sex with) the guy for those four days. Other than that it's been only one-nighters for me. Until about five months ago when I met this guy on New Year's Eve. I was following my usual M.O. of meet, bring home, fuck, discard and things seemed to be going according to plan until we got to the fuck part. According to said guy, who I'll refer to as L., he had had a little too much to drink and little L. was in no way, shape, or form going to rise to the occasion. Whatever, I don't like sex that much anyway, so we just went to sleep. I was supposed to visit my mother the next day, so I woke L. up early so I could drive him home. This ritual of driving random guys home was not new to me and my roommate, and the familiarity of it all was comforting. So, I pull up to his complex and then he drops the bomb. "So what's your number?". Fuck fuck fuck. Why does this always happen to me. I give my roommate a questioning look and she half-nods at me, indicating she thinks I should do it. I mull it over for a second, and then remember that L. told me he was a computer science graduate and I was taking computer science that semester, so maybe I could get him to do my homework or something. I recite my cell phone number robotically, and then drive off. Z and I stop at Taco Bell on the way home (also part of the ritual) and that's that.
A week goes by and I have all but forgotten L. Then I get home from my first day of school and I notice I have a text message. From L. A fucking text message? Really? Can't even give me a decent call like a normal fucking human being and not a socially awkward teenager? I text back that my texts aren't free so he needs to call if he wants to talk. Hopefully he takes this as a sign that I'm a fucking bitch and I don't want to be booty-texted. He says he'll call later, and he does. He invites me to a hockey game the next night, and having never been to a hockey game before, I agree to go.
Well a few weeks and a few hockey games later, we're still talking. Odd. I still hadn't slept with him, and he only helped me on one of my assignments. I'm not really sure about the whole situation, as L is 10 years my senior (though oddly naive in so many ways), and I don't really know what I want out of the whole thing. Well two months go by and I finally agree to sleep with him (regrettably), which was lame on my part. For some reason I just can't get into sleeping with someone who I've known for more that a few hours. We hang out 3-4 times a week, not really a couple, but sorta-kinda dating.
Well 5 months goes by and I can tell he just doesn't like me that much, and I can't really blame him. I'm an asshole, I pretend (and do a VERY good job) like I don't give a shit about him or anyone else. I can tell he still likes his ex, whom he dated for two years, and had broken up with a week before I met him (I know, I was the dreaded rebound, and a shitty one at that). Only at this point do I realise I kind of like this guy, though not in a relationship-y way, and I fucked it up. Or maybe I don't really like him at all, but he helped alleviate my seemingly ever-present boredom. Either way, fuck.
After an awkward night of watching a fight at Hooters I call him and ask what's going on. He tells me that he just doesn't like me because he feels like I don't like him, and yadda yadda yadda. Luckily I'm not the dumb bitch some people think I am, and I'm able to see through all these excuses. I know that he wants to end things (that never existed in the first place) because he loves his (less attractive, less intelligent (we're talking IQ of a sea slug here), less emotionally distraught and unstable) ex-girl friend. I just feel sort of empty (apathetic?) after this little talk, in which he also tells me he doesn't even consider me a friend. Oh what-fucking-ever.
Why does everything have to be defined and categorized. Can't people just do what they're doing without over thinking every fucking thing?
I ask him to come over, just to see if he will, and he does. I know it's completely over at this point, and don't really want to think about it because I'm off for the Virgin fucking Islands the next day!
Well after my 7 day absence I come home. I wait for a call from L, you know, just to confirm that I am home safely, but it never comes. I could be floating in the Atlantic ocean missing all my extremities for God's sake. I wait for it the next day...no dice. Finally the next evening I call him to see what's going on, but he doesn't answer. Shit. This fucker doesn't even give a shit about me. Oh well. I haven't talked to him since.
So, I only have one thing left to talk about, and that's work. Right now it doesn't exist. I'm living off savings. Savings I earned by dancing. Naked. Yup. So I quit about a month and a half ago for some stupid reason and sort of regret it. I'm in the process of getting a job now though, because the money is running out. In matter-of-fact, I called a titty bar earlier today and they're hiring so I'll head in later this week, once this herpes blister gets the fuck off my face.
I've written a fucking novel already, but this is my first post so I had a lot to cover.
So I decided that I should start my own blog that no one will most likely read unless it accidentally pops up in an obscure google search or something.
Well, I am 20 years old, and at the moment have no life. Really. I just dropped out of college, after three years of fuddling about, switching my major to whatever subject I had read about in yesterday's newpaper that seemed interesting. I had no friends at college, and towards the end of my second year began to attend class less and less, until I got to the point where I would only attend one of each of my classes a week.
I live with my roommate, who I'll call Z., but only for another month and a half. I've known her since middle school, and we get along alright. She got a job about a month ago and I hardly see her anymore, so we're pretty distant at the moment. She is almost the exact opposite of me, driven, outgoing, social, and boy-crazy.
Boys. Well I never really had relationships, until recently (more about that later). Up until that point my longest realtionship had been about four days. And that was because I was on vacation and I just hung out with (and had sex with) the guy for those four days. Other than that it's been only one-nighters for me. Until about five months ago when I met this guy on New Year's Eve. I was following my usual M.O. of meet, bring home, fuck, discard and things seemed to be going according to plan until we got to the fuck part. According to said guy, who I'll refer to as L., he had had a little too much to drink and little L. was in no way, shape, or form going to rise to the occasion. Whatever, I don't like sex that much anyway, so we just went to sleep. I was supposed to visit my mother the next day, so I woke L. up early so I could drive him home. This ritual of driving random guys home was not new to me and my roommate, and the familiarity of it all was comforting. So, I pull up to his complex and then he drops the bomb. "So what's your number?". Fuck fuck fuck. Why does this always happen to me. I give my roommate a questioning look and she half-nods at me, indicating she thinks I should do it. I mull it over for a second, and then remember that L. told me he was a computer science graduate and I was taking computer science that semester, so maybe I could get him to do my homework or something. I recite my cell phone number robotically, and then drive off. Z and I stop at Taco Bell on the way home (also part of the ritual) and that's that.
A week goes by and I have all but forgotten L. Then I get home from my first day of school and I notice I have a text message. From L. A fucking text message? Really? Can't even give me a decent call like a normal fucking human being and not a socially awkward teenager? I text back that my texts aren't free so he needs to call if he wants to talk. Hopefully he takes this as a sign that I'm a fucking bitch and I don't want to be booty-texted. He says he'll call later, and he does. He invites me to a hockey game the next night, and having never been to a hockey game before, I agree to go.
Well a few weeks and a few hockey games later, we're still talking. Odd. I still hadn't slept with him, and he only helped me on one of my assignments. I'm not really sure about the whole situation, as L is 10 years my senior (though oddly naive in so many ways), and I don't really know what I want out of the whole thing. Well two months go by and I finally agree to sleep with him (regrettably), which was lame on my part. For some reason I just can't get into sleeping with someone who I've known for more that a few hours. We hang out 3-4 times a week, not really a couple, but sorta-kinda dating.
Well 5 months goes by and I can tell he just doesn't like me that much, and I can't really blame him. I'm an asshole, I pretend (and do a VERY good job) like I don't give a shit about him or anyone else. I can tell he still likes his ex, whom he dated for two years, and had broken up with a week before I met him (I know, I was the dreaded rebound, and a shitty one at that). Only at this point do I realise I kind of like this guy, though not in a relationship-y way, and I fucked it up. Or maybe I don't really like him at all, but he helped alleviate my seemingly ever-present boredom. Either way, fuck.
After an awkward night of watching a fight at Hooters I call him and ask what's going on. He tells me that he just doesn't like me because he feels like I don't like him, and yadda yadda yadda. Luckily I'm not the dumb bitch some people think I am, and I'm able to see through all these excuses. I know that he wants to end things (that never existed in the first place) because he loves his (less attractive, less intelligent (we're talking IQ of a sea slug here), less emotionally distraught and unstable) ex-girl friend. I just feel sort of empty (apathetic?) after this little talk, in which he also tells me he doesn't even consider me a friend. Oh what-fucking-ever.
Why does everything have to be defined and categorized. Can't people just do what they're doing without over thinking every fucking thing?
I ask him to come over, just to see if he will, and he does. I know it's completely over at this point, and don't really want to think about it because I'm off for the Virgin fucking Islands the next day!
Well after my 7 day absence I come home. I wait for a call from L, you know, just to confirm that I am home safely, but it never comes. I could be floating in the Atlantic ocean missing all my extremities for God's sake. I wait for it the next day...no dice. Finally the next evening I call him to see what's going on, but he doesn't answer. Shit. This fucker doesn't even give a shit about me. Oh well. I haven't talked to him since.
So, I only have one thing left to talk about, and that's work. Right now it doesn't exist. I'm living off savings. Savings I earned by dancing. Naked. Yup. So I quit about a month and a half ago for some stupid reason and sort of regret it. I'm in the process of getting a job now though, because the money is running out. In matter-of-fact, I called a titty bar earlier today and they're hiring so I'll head in later this week, once this herpes blister gets the fuck off my face.
I've written a fucking novel already, but this is my first post so I had a lot to cover.
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