Ugh, people - I think I'm going crazy. My last job ended and now I'm back to nothing to do...working on some writing, albeit from home, and every time a fly goes by I think I'm gonna lose my mind.
I've thought about volunteering, haven't gotten myself psyched up to do it. Feel like I've run the gamut of things I could possibly do and none of it sounds exciting.
Anyone have suggestions?
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
TV Land
So, if you read my last post you now know that I'm on hiatus from shaking dis ass. And while - as any honest dancer knows - that doesn't mean I'll never go back, it does mean that for now, I needed to find a new gig.
Anyway, I started working, appropriately still for the title of this blog, for a TV show. I got the job through my man, the very same who discouraged me from getting the gi out not long ago (say what you will). And you know what? This job is fucking awesome. I sit around and watch footage of people "being real" (I can say no more, lest I get sued for far more than I'm worth), cut what I think is interesting, and send it along it's way. And I get to wear jeans, and I get paid a pretty decent amount of money.
Does it beat dancing? I mean, I guess so, in that I can tell my parents that I'm doing it and they don't cry. Also, I don't have to work at night, which means that I can actually have relationships with people who come outside by day, like roosters instead of vampires (read: everyone).
It will be over shortly, of course, and then I'll have to go back to fucking around the house 24/7, but in the meantime I'm enjoying the semblance of doing something relevant here in the land of Milk and money.
Anyway, I started working, appropriately still for the title of this blog, for a TV show. I got the job through my man, the very same who discouraged me from getting the gi out not long ago (say what you will). And you know what? This job is fucking awesome. I sit around and watch footage of people "being real" (I can say no more, lest I get sued for far more than I'm worth), cut what I think is interesting, and send it along it's way. And I get to wear jeans, and I get paid a pretty decent amount of money.
Does it beat dancing? I mean, I guess so, in that I can tell my parents that I'm doing it and they don't cry. Also, I don't have to work at night, which means that I can actually have relationships with people who come outside by day, like roosters instead of vampires (read: everyone).
It will be over shortly, of course, and then I'll have to go back to fucking around the house 24/7, but in the meantime I'm enjoying the semblance of doing something relevant here in the land of Milk and money.
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Spinning Tales in Public
I did a reading a few weeks ago at a local erotica series called In the Flesh. Check out my review...yeah, that Jessica person is me.
Monday, May 25, 2009
???
Hmmm. Well - I'm not sure where to go from here. I haven't posted in a while because I've been writing at a few other places, thinking about going back to school, and moving.
I have not been dancing. I haven't been dancing, and I feel like a traitor, and a little bit not like myself, and like maybe I should change the name or domain of this blog or something. Like maybe I'm being dishonest if I continue to post here.
Also, I stopped dancing for mainly one reason. My relationship. I danced a few shifts at a nude club and it almost tore it apart. Apparently it's the pussy - as usual - that sends everything into an uproar.
I could go on now about how I blame my relationship for shit that's happening in my life, how I probably was sick of dancing anyway, how I might only have made it a few more shifts before I once again remembered how mind-numbingly boring it is to sit and have the same fucking conversation over and over again, all while scheming the lap-dance close with the 90% of your brain that you're not using to make small talk. Or how tired I am of the outlandish and absurd amount of competition and jealousy spawned in the petri dish of club life, carried over to regular life, all because once the novelty has worn off, there's just nothing else to think about besides money, and who's making more of it.
So, yeah. Maybe there was some other shit that didn't have to do with him, and again, per usual, I'm dropping the blame in the wrong place. But the fighting and near-break up, to be fair, didn't make it any easier to see where blame should appropriately fall.
Also, by the way, this is like the third post that I've tentatively titled using only question marks.
What does it all mean??
I have not been dancing. I haven't been dancing, and I feel like a traitor, and a little bit not like myself, and like maybe I should change the name or domain of this blog or something. Like maybe I'm being dishonest if I continue to post here.
Also, I stopped dancing for mainly one reason. My relationship. I danced a few shifts at a nude club and it almost tore it apart. Apparently it's the pussy - as usual - that sends everything into an uproar.
I could go on now about how I blame my relationship for shit that's happening in my life, how I probably was sick of dancing anyway, how I might only have made it a few more shifts before I once again remembered how mind-numbingly boring it is to sit and have the same fucking conversation over and over again, all while scheming the lap-dance close with the 90% of your brain that you're not using to make small talk. Or how tired I am of the outlandish and absurd amount of competition and jealousy spawned in the petri dish of club life, carried over to regular life, all because once the novelty has worn off, there's just nothing else to think about besides money, and who's making more of it.
So, yeah. Maybe there was some other shit that didn't have to do with him, and again, per usual, I'm dropping the blame in the wrong place. But the fighting and near-break up, to be fair, didn't make it any easier to see where blame should appropriately fall.
Also, by the way, this is like the third post that I've tentatively titled using only question marks.
What does it all mean??
Monday, March 23, 2009
Sweet, an Award!
This is exciting. I'm not gonna lie, I've always wanted to get one of these awards. Too much information? Is that a dislikable quality? Are we not supposed to want awards? Oh well, fuck it. I do. So I'm excited.
The lovely Sakura nominated me for a Lemonade Award! Unfortunately she also nominated a few people who I would have given the award to (that's you, Honey), so I guess my list will be on the short side. That, and stripper blogs seem to be closing down at an alarming rate...
Nevertheless:
1. Thank the person who was so thoughtful for giving you this award by linking their blog to this post.
2. Put the logo on your blog or post.
3. Nominate 10 blogs which show great attitude/gratitude.
4. Link your nominees to your post.
5. Comment them to tell them about the award they've won!
Casey's Dancer Diary: loveyouloveyouloveyou
i_muse: Brutally honest in the best way
Lauri Shaw: Publishing a book, piece by piece. Fucking awesome.
Grace Undressed: Awesome blog, awesome writing.
Boomtown Boudoir: Well. I just went to link to this and found a post about one of my most favorite authors, Anais Nin. Glorious.
So maybe this award is good for more than my base, shameful award-desiring tendencies. It's getting me out of my stripperblogger shy shell to say hello to a few people whose blogs I read but have never had the balls to really make contact with. That's you, Grace and Boomtown. So hello, friends.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Curiousity almost broke the stripper's knees
I was waiting in a long hallway for the manager to get my paperwork ready when I noticed it - a dark, deserted room to my left.
The sign on it's door read: ONLY SIX GIRLS ALLOWED AT ONCE! NO EXCEPTIONS!!
At first I was just curious. I poked my head in and tried to get a look inside, but it was pitch black. I continued waiting, rocking back and forth on my heels.
After a minute, I looked in again. But still, my eyes still hadn't adjusted to the dark and I could see nothing. It was probably just an empty room. Unless...
Some of these fancy clubs, I'd heard, had leisure amenities for the ladies - things like spas and hot tubs. What if this was it?? What if I was standing right outside a free spa?
Now I needed to find out. I reached around and felt the wall for a light switch. Nothing. I checked the wall outside - also nothing.
Well, I'll just go ahead and walk in. I'm sure I'll be able to see once I'm in there.
"I'm sure I'll be able to see once I'm in there." Let these be words of warning to you all.
I took a step forward, into the darkness. And then next thing I knew, I was flying through the air as if launched - one stair, two stairs, three stairs...my knee scraped along one of them. Carpet. And then finally, blessed concrete.
I stayed there for a moment considering the facts. This might not be a spa, after all. I did not sense that blood had been spilled, but I did feel a sharp pain in my knee. No one had seen me - that silver lining was certain. And all I could hope for, as I quietly gathered myself together and then broke into a stiletto-based run to get away from the room, was that no one had heard, either.
Cause I landed pretty hard.
The sign on it's door read: ONLY SIX GIRLS ALLOWED AT ONCE! NO EXCEPTIONS!!
At first I was just curious. I poked my head in and tried to get a look inside, but it was pitch black. I continued waiting, rocking back and forth on my heels.
After a minute, I looked in again. But still, my eyes still hadn't adjusted to the dark and I could see nothing. It was probably just an empty room. Unless...
Some of these fancy clubs, I'd heard, had leisure amenities for the ladies - things like spas and hot tubs. What if this was it?? What if I was standing right outside a free spa?
Now I needed to find out. I reached around and felt the wall for a light switch. Nothing. I checked the wall outside - also nothing.
Well, I'll just go ahead and walk in. I'm sure I'll be able to see once I'm in there.
"I'm sure I'll be able to see once I'm in there." Let these be words of warning to you all.
I took a step forward, into the darkness. And then next thing I knew, I was flying through the air as if launched - one stair, two stairs, three stairs...my knee scraped along one of them. Carpet. And then finally, blessed concrete.
I stayed there for a moment considering the facts. This might not be a spa, after all. I did not sense that blood had been spilled, but I did feel a sharp pain in my knee. No one had seen me - that silver lining was certain. And all I could hope for, as I quietly gathered myself together and then broke into a stiletto-based run to get away from the room, was that no one had heard, either.
Cause I landed pretty hard.
You sick fucks
Everyone's heard by now that Roberta Busby, a woman in Tarzana, CA was set on fire as she walked out of her workplace, Babes and Beer.
The suspects were caught today.
I had never heard of the place she worked until the day before it happened. I heard about it again at my new club, where she worked up until two weeks before the attack. My new colleagues apparently knew the perpetrators.
Newspapers and websites have, predictably, eaten this up because it gives them the opportunity to use the word "stripper" in a headline. Never mind that she is a woman, a mother. Maybe "Mother set on fire" wouldn't be quite so tantalizing?
But what pisses me off more is that this incident is leading to the most useless, jerk-off line of questioning about sex work. Not "What can we do to make it safer?" which might be a question that would actually lead to productive action, but "Is it inherently unsafe?" And then: scratch ass, do nothing, think about naked chicks, jerk off and go to bed.
When a disgruntled employee walks into an office building and shoots it up, where are the stories about whether or not being an office drone is dangerous? This didn't happen because she is a stripper. This happened because two sick fucks did something sick and fucked up. Stripping might be unsafe for other reasons, but linking sex work to the actions of two deranged individuals is (while convenient for selling papers) nothing more than shoddy, irresponsible journalism.
However. That doesn't mean that this isn't reason to re-examine safety around strip clubs - but again, I haven't read anything about that, anywhere. Why wasn't she walked to her car? Why wasn't there better security? Why are strip clubs located in areas that allow people to chill out with containers of gasoline, lying in wait? This attack should be a reason, like any other workplace violence, to re-examine what is being done to make the workplace safer.
If anyone actually gave a shit, and actually didn't want to see this happen again, maybe we could talk about real protection for sex workers.
But, alas, we won't. Will we? Fucking useless.
My prayers and thoughts are with her, and I hope yours are too. She is still in critical condition.
The suspects were caught today.
I had never heard of the place she worked until the day before it happened. I heard about it again at my new club, where she worked up until two weeks before the attack. My new colleagues apparently knew the perpetrators.
Newspapers and websites have, predictably, eaten this up because it gives them the opportunity to use the word "stripper" in a headline. Never mind that she is a woman, a mother. Maybe "Mother set on fire" wouldn't be quite so tantalizing?
But what pisses me off more is that this incident is leading to the most useless, jerk-off line of questioning about sex work. Not "What can we do to make it safer?" which might be a question that would actually lead to productive action, but "Is it inherently unsafe?" And then: scratch ass, do nothing, think about naked chicks, jerk off and go to bed.
When a disgruntled employee walks into an office building and shoots it up, where are the stories about whether or not being an office drone is dangerous? This didn't happen because she is a stripper. This happened because two sick fucks did something sick and fucked up. Stripping might be unsafe for other reasons, but linking sex work to the actions of two deranged individuals is (while convenient for selling papers) nothing more than shoddy, irresponsible journalism.
However. That doesn't mean that this isn't reason to re-examine safety around strip clubs - but again, I haven't read anything about that, anywhere. Why wasn't she walked to her car? Why wasn't there better security? Why are strip clubs located in areas that allow people to chill out with containers of gasoline, lying in wait? This attack should be a reason, like any other workplace violence, to re-examine what is being done to make the workplace safer.
If anyone actually gave a shit, and actually didn't want to see this happen again, maybe we could talk about real protection for sex workers.
But, alas, we won't. Will we? Fucking useless.
My prayers and thoughts are with her, and I hope yours are too. She is still in critical condition.
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