Oh Mom...

It's the weekend after Thanksgiving and I'm at home with my family. My mother decided that we would go out for an after dinner snack at a sushi restaurant. The owner is a friend through the cycling community. When we got to the restaurant the owner came and chatted for a moment. After the dinner rush was gone the owner came and sat with us. We chatted for three hours. (Including an hour and a half after the restaurant closed.) At one point in the conversation my parents asked where he lived and he gave directions. He said "It's not classy, but the biggest landmark in the area is Big Earl's." I didn't know what that was, so I leaned over and asked my brother who said "it's a strip club." When I sat back up my mother was glaring at me. And the owner didn't make the situation any easier when he narrated what just happened and added to the end "it's a good thing you don't know what that is. It means you're on the straight and narrow." My mother glared at me even more.

Well, good to know my mother still hates me a little.

Haircut... Oh Crap

I was trying to think of a new post, and I was going through all of the posts I've written previously. There was a post a little while back about how my job is interfering in life, and a new example came to me.

Last year, about a month after I started stripping a girl and two guys came into the club. It was a kind of slow night so I sat around and talked to them. She stuck out in my mind for a couple reasons. First, she was very nice and sweet. Second, she and her friends biked there because they were preparing for RAGBRAI and because my little brother is a cyclist we had a lot to talk about. Third, she was the kind of person you don't easily forget. And fourth, she was the first woman I ever gave a lap dance to. I don't know why, but I remembered her name.

A year ago I went into one of the nice salons in town and scheduled a hair cut. It was my first time at the salon and I didn't know any of the stylists. I was scheduled with someone, and when I showed up she looked familiar. Oh crap!!! I figured where I had seen her around. At that time I was working in a store at the mall and saw a lot of people. Well while the stylist was cutting my hair we started talking and we ended up talking about RAGBRAI and I realized... I'd given HER a lap dance. 

I didn't bring her visit to the strip club up... you know cause it might of been awkward or something. I don't think she recognized me. It doesn't surprise me that she didn't recognize me. Mostly because she was so drunk that night that I would be surprised if she even remembered her first visit to the strip club.

I really can't go anywhere without seeing someone I've met at the strip club... Gross.

Noble Stripper

The other day I sat down at the lunch table in the middle of a conversation. Vera was talking about how her good friend is a stripper with a baby and a pill addiction. She was saying that her friend had never wanted to be like her mother, but in the end has turned out just like her mother. She was saying how awful it was that her friend was a stripper and it was the worst thing. I was sitting right next to her as she was saying all of these things. She turned looked at me and kind of did one of those "Oh God, but, you know, not you, it's different, you have good reasons, you know what I mean." I wasn't offended because I did know what she meant.

Later that day I told Jamie all about the conversation. He started laughing and replied. "Yes you are NOT a pill stripper. You are a noble stripper. Stripping for noble reasons."

Well there you have it. I'm not a pill stripper.

Magic Mike

So today I watched Magic Mike in its entirety. As I'm watching it I'm kind of confused. The portrayal of stripping is both glamorous and serious. Except the serious part comes in with drug use, and yes that's part of stripping... depending on the person. The movie makes the job out to be pretty alright. Except there's one glaring thing for me. They don't show that it has an affect on the person at all. Other than the affect of partying. It does show that it is hard for the family members. My big thing with the movie is that it's more work, more serious, and more depressing than they let on. Although in some ways it's realistic. I just watch movies about stripping and think to myself. GOD there needs to be a realistic movie about stripping.

Anyways. I went to work last week. It sucked. No one was there. I was supposed to go in today and work a double except the fact that I had a paper to write and finish up this scholarship application. I'm hoping to go in tomorrow as long as class doesn't run long.

Tired. I've been writing essays all day. Night night.

Best Intentions

I had the best intentions of going into work today.

Jamie and I have been together long enough that we don't really have individual possessions anymore. We both own both of our cars which doesn't seem like a problem. Except for the fact that I never bring my dancing stuff into the house. I keep it in the trunk of "my" car. This morning Jamie took "my" car, which is the new car that has the best gas mileage. He usually works in the morning at Starbucks and then comes home over the few hours he has until he goes to his next job. I didn't realize that he didn't have a long enough lunch break to come. So he is at work with the car that has all my work stuff.

Unfortunately I can't go into work today. Damn...

That makes it a whole month since I've been into work. I'm not at all disappointed by this long sabbatical, I am however starting to get to that point where I need to make money again.

Oh well. I'll be going into work tomorrow, for sure... Probably...

Never Gonna Happen

I haven't written in awhile because I have been trying not to think about work. Writing about work when I'm banishing it from my mind doesn't help... at all.

Jamie and I have been going through a rough patch. Nothing too serious, but one that needed to be dealt with sans work. So I haven't gone in.

I am now writing because I am dealing with the fact that tomorrow I am going to work. Because I need to get my ass in gear and make money for bills. Yuck.

Anyways.

I took a non-fiction writing class last year where I wrote about my job extensively and it was cathartic. I didn't just write about my job, I wrote about me. It wasn't supposed to be a memoir class, but I turned it into one. What can I say I'm egocentric. (If you haven't guessed that already. I have blog entirely devoted to myself. I'd say that's a bit more than egocentric, probably closer to completely self-centered.) I liked writing about my past and my issues. It helped me process them, and my classmates were shocked by some of the things I said. I like getting things out there to be talked about. Especially the things people don't want to, or don't like to talk about. I want to call everything and everyone out and say these things happen to people. It's not just something you hear on the news. These things happened to me! You know me! They're awful things and painful things. Let's talk about it. Let's change this, so that your daughter, sister, brother, nephew, cousin doesn't have to go through it.

My professor was visiting the college just for that class. She is an author who writes memoirs.

My professor from this class pulled me aside and told me that I had a voice. I had a voice that had something to say. She asked me if I was going to write a book. I said "No, of course not." I had never thought about being a writer. I was a reader. I'm a literature major. Not a creative writing major. I'm a terrible writer. I get in front of a computer screen to write, or even a pad of paper, and I think "Well shit." The last day of class, after we were all finished, my professor pulled me aside again. She told me "You need to write that book. You may hate doing it, but you have to. You have no idea how important what you have to say is. No one has said it the way you are. Write that book. You may not know it yet, but you are a writer. People will know your name." I gave her a smile, and told her it was great getting to know her. The last thing she said to me as I walked out the door was "I'll read it someday. Write that book."

I left thinking. That's a novel idea. Never gonna happen.

Ever since then I have read more and more memoirs. I love them. Most of the people that write memoirs become famous first for something and then write a memoir telling their story of how they got there. Some of their stories are interesting. Some are pretty boring. My favorite memoirist is Aayan Hirsi Ali. I've read all of her books. If you don't know her, go look her up. Right now I'm reading Salmon Rushdie's new memoir. Very recently I read Firoozeh Dumas' memoir. Out of all them hers' got me thinking the most. Aayan Hirsi Ali and Salmon Rushdie are both extremely well known. They have both done incredible things and have experienced incredible hardships. Firoozeh Dumas' hasn't. At least in the context of most "incredible things." She has not had a fatwa put on her, or been a member of parliament. But she wrote a best selling memoir.

The last year ever since my professor told my to "write that book" I haven't been able to get it out of my head. Any time I thought seriously about it I have always thought 'where would I start? I don't know the first thing about writing a book. I only know analysis papers. Even if I wrote a book how would I even get it published. No one would be interested in it." Anyways. All of these things are still true.

An hour ago Jamie was sitting at the computer playing video games. I had just finished my third book this week and started in on Salmon Rushdie's memoir Joseph Anton when I was suddenly struck with exactly what I wanted to say in the prologue of my memoir. I don't know why or where it came from, but now an hour later I have three pages saying things that I have always wanted to say but never knew how. I don't know if it will ever be published or read by anyone but myself. What I do know is that I am writing THAT book.

Or at least I'm going to try.