Reading rosyxxx's journal

Disclaimer: of course not counting the lovely conversations with my NAO friends[/shameless pandering button]...

Yes. I come home to try to sleep, and they are laying carpet. It's too much trouble to let me know that two adjacent apartments will be hotbeds of noise for 48 hours.

Then a day's break.

I have a wonderful time at work, smiling, laughing, having the blast that most people wish they could have out at a club every night...making the very few assholes smile, spinning around on the pole like a happy demon at the amusement park, listening to the hiarious antics of my co-workers. Every night now is like working at a comedy club. I love it!!!!!!

And then someone hits my fucking car. I now have more than the yearly inspection, and a new driver's license photo, which I'll be stuck with for six years, to take care of in relation to my car...Fuck. I have to get this stuff done before I can relax and enjoy my birthday on the 28th. I seriously hope someone is bringing me 'shrooms. Half-smoking...I mean joking. ;p

Then another day's break.

I spend the afternoon with 'a friend from the aforementioned stripclub (so it kinda counts...), walking around on a warm late summer afternoon, drinking tea, stoned off our asses, pressing our noses to the glass at the library, making bets that require payment in chocolate-covered blackberries from Karl Bissinger's chocolate heaven...eating gobs of ice cream and feeling deliciously sinful, while staring up at the hazy sky...

I get home safely with no bad things happening. Yay!!!

Then another day's break.

I go to work and laugh my ass off, cause one of my managers is walking around with a paper bag over his head with eyeholes cut out, and a bubble above his head that reads: "No!" As in, the ubiquitous 'no' to every stupid stripper request to go home because they aren't making any money. Literally. But no matter. We are laughing our asses off instead. The DJ has his face covered in silver foil, looking like SpeedRacer, and the two of them are having a blast harassing this muscle-bound freak-of-nature (or steroids...), who is good-naturedly putting up with it all. He even flexed for us several times. They did the whole Hanz and Franz routine, using the Arnold Schwarzenegger German accent....then my boss broke into a Scottish accent, a West London accent, a Jamaican accent, and finally for the piece de resistance, he started talking like our illustrious boss with the goofy Spanish accent.

He said that at Monday meetings, they ask him what he does to lighten the mood of his employees. He said he actually told our boss with the Spanish accent and the bad English, that at least several times a night, one stripper or another will come up and ask him to do impersonations of him and his Spanish accent. So he knows. And he apparently thinks it is quite funny. So....I am laughing my butt off...He says things like: "Why are those entertainers standing there like that doing nothing? I am so 'incinerated'!" While my manager says: "Do you mean 'infuriated' or 'enraged'? Yes, there are no bones in the sink...<I'll explain later>

But I get home and find the letter that a close friend of mine has died almost a month ago...I cry and cry, and look up pictures of him on the web, missing his smiling face, and wondering what I can do to be of help to his wife. I sleep terribly.

Then it is another happy, hysterically fun-filled night at work for me....(although apparently not so for my partner-in-stripping, who had some asshole stick his finger up her butt)...but for me, I was just having a grand old time, listening to my manager and the DJ cracking me up. There was no money to be made, so I made lemonade and whipped out my Pilates workout, and sat and looked at my girlfriend's pictures from Senegal. No money, but fun day. Still quietly grieving over my friend's death, though...

Then I woke up, overwhelmed with all of the errands to be run on my day off, pissed again about the car, feeling out of sorts, wondering if I should actually go into work on my day off, because...oddly enough I was thinking I'd have more fun there. I was partly right.

Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed my non-stripper girlfriend's company, but the rude panhandler on the street pissed me off, and unfortunately I felt compelled to revert to old-behaviour and call him a 'schizophrenic bastard child' when he called me a bitch after I politely excused myself initially... Then the arrogant rich old bitter Republican ladies who sat next to us while we were dining were so loud I couldn't have heard a freight train, and then some creepy, creepy dudes tried to talk to us. I tell you, I literally felt like I was walking through the movie Ghostbusters getting slimed by ghosts and disincarnate spirits. I probably was...maybe. ;/ Generally speaking, I only get that icky feeling in the VIP room, with the arrogant, self-serving wealth that overwhelms that place. But last night it was all over the place, and I can't help but think that I somehow was just too vulnerable again, like I haven't been in months.

The best part was the faintest hint of my friend's laughter over all that commotion, and the fried bananas with caramel graham cracker cheesecake...But that wasn't enough, at that point, to cleanse my shitty mood.

I tell ya I ran my little butt right home and set straight to chanting. Now I feel fine, and my friend from work and I are compiling a list of hilarious stripper quotes to be published as soon as we amass more than a thousand. We plan to unleash our raunchy humor on the North American continent sometime within the next year. If all goes well.

Personally, I think I am handling my stress rather well.

I get up, I fall down (and sprain my ankle), I get up again and keep spinning on the pole...'As The Stripper-Pole Turns'...

If mountain goats like living at high elevations, why do none live in high rise apartment buildings?