Friday, December 05, 2008
strip clubs & prostitution @ 1:03 AM
I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.
Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.
The manager walks up to me.
"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."
Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.
"Have you considered working day shift?"
"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.
"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."
I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?
"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."
"I'm sorry."
I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.
I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.
"I'm so sick of being fat!"
"You're not fat," She tells me.
"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"
Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.
ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?
I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.
"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."
Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.
"I cant do this anymore."
"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."
She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.
"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."
"I don't care."
You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.
She still doesn't care.
"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"
I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."
After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.
I hate this, god I fucking hate this.
I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.
I'm not a whore anymore.Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores
Friday, December 05, 2008
strip clubs & prostitution @ 1:03 AM
I didn't write yesterday, I couldn't write yesterday, I was so mad... so fucking mad.
Me and my friend went to Jaguars in Ft. Worth. My first day back to work in over a week since my paranoia... attack, I suppose. Worked a night there, fucking loved it. I saw my old makeup artist, and we bonded over Lady Gaga, meth, and old times. The DJ loved me, the housemom was alright, the girls that I talked to were real nice... and fuck I loved working nude again. I left there with more money than most of the girls.
The manager walks up to me.
"Before you leave, I need to speak with you in my office."
Alright, that's fine. I figured it had to do with the scarred up, cut up disaster that my legs were. He saw me undress, and saw the war zone that was my legs. I cover them with boots, I'm not stupid. But to be honest, that's all I thought it was. I'm in his office.
"Have you considered working day shift?"
"I don't work day shift." I'm not a whore anymore, thank you.
"Well I don't mean to be rude or mean in anyway but... You need to lose weight before you come back here to work night shift."
I stare at him, he's kidding me, right? I know he's not but... seriously?
"I made twice as much money as my friend I came in here with, and she's half my size. I make my money."
"I'm sorry."
I'm sure you are mother fucker. It's managers like you that got me on my drug addiction in the first place. Just another Art... just another fucking Art. That hedgehog looking bastard.
I cried in the car. I did, like some pussy ass punk bitch, I cried.
"I'm so sick of being fat!"
"You're not fat," She tells me.
"BULLSHIT! This is the third club we went to work at that I got rejected because of my weight, how is that I can work at all the nice clubs in Dallas, but I can't in Ft Worth, yet Dallas has bitches twenty times hotter than this shit hole?"
Back to work tonight at Ft Worth Gentleman's club. The only nice club in Ft. Worth that will hire me. Thirty girls... not enough customers to satisfy all of us. Me and her would walk up to tables together, and yet the man would chose me.
ME. An overweight freaky ass looking chick that looks like if you fuck me I might kill you in the process, over my friend who's a little skinny pretty blonde girl. What is going on in the world?
I don't understand it. She does, but I don't.
"It's because you look seductive, you look like the opposite of the wives they're going home to, and I look too innocent."
Deja vu. I said this to a customer yesterday at Jaguars. Why older men like me. I was talking out of my ass, I guess it might be true though.
"I cant do this anymore."
"Yes you can, it always fucking blows over the holiday season."
She doesn't understand how shitty it is. Even last year when times weren't this bad it still sucked. She wanted to resort to prostitution. I try like hell to talk her out of it.
"You won't be able to look at yourself in the mirror every morning, trust me."
"I don't care."
You might not now, but you will. Oh my god, you will. You think you can handle it, you think it won't matter because of how much money your making, but after a couple of months it eats your alive. I only do it if it's an issue of survival, no other time. It's disgusting, and beneath girls like us.
She still doesn't care.
"I can't do this anymore, Mary!"
I sigh. "Fine, I'll fix this, but you best know I don't want to fix it this way."
After this week, it's day shift for us. It's whoring ourselves to those rich buisnessmen stopping in on their lunch break. God knows this is the last thing I wanna do, but she needs the money, and she won't be able to learn how to do it without a teacher.
I hate this, god I fucking hate this.
I don't want to do this again. I grew out of this a year and a half ago.
I'm not a whore anymore.Labels: crying, drugs, fat, money, prostitution, strip clubs, strippers, whores
i my me mine.
you think you know me yeah ?
My name is Mary. I'm a 24 year old creative mess. I like to tell stories in anyway that I can, though mostly through visual artwork. I enjoy film editing, writing, modeling, photography, dancing, and website design. I'm a lesbian. I'm bipolar. I'm stronger than I usually give myself credit for. I'm a recovering drug addict. I'm passionate as all hell. I'm a beautiful disaster. I want to be free. I want to
fly.
credits.
