tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62233501324379645042023-11-05T03:37:58.862-08:00Sober StripperKelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-87837191365082677672013-06-04T00:12:00.000-07:002013-06-04T00:12:31.696-07:00AfterI've been doing a lot of thinking lately. <div>
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When I talk about the fact that I've been raped, the bolder people sometimes ask how it happened. Every once in awhile people will ask how I cope with my past and lead such a normal life today. But no one ever, ever asks what happened after. What were the moments like immediately after. </div>
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For me, the very first time I was raped left a big impact on my life. (Probably because it is one of the few times that I remember every single detail of what happened. Every other time are just blurry memories that remind me of their existence.) The bigger impact on my life is what I did after. Those moments shaped everything I did for the next three years of my life.</div>
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Even today I have a hard time escaping those moments because they haunt me every day. </div>
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I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't leave. I didn't run. I didn't think. I picked myself up. I accepted what was. I moved on. </div>
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I don't know if what I did makes me strong or weak. I just know it made me.</div>
Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-17018083172991385502013-06-03T00:24:00.003-07:002013-06-03T00:24:50.529-07:00Tomorrow...I've been trying to convince myself to go into work for the past... four weeks. Well tomorrow I will. Unfortunately. But I am going to work five to six days a week for the next four months. And then quit. So tomorrow is the beginning of four months of hell. And then I get my freedom/sanity back. Thank God!Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-66207014160842663132013-05-24T23:14:00.001-07:002013-05-24T23:14:41.354-07:00LoveBecause of my job I know that I am wanted. That I am desirable.<br />
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But most days, at the end of the day, I lay in bed wondering...<br />
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Will anyone actually love <i>me</i>?Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-6803926555870973422013-05-13T14:26:00.000-07:002013-05-13T14:26:10.753-07:00Holy Hell That's HystericalToday, I sat down and started looking through which posts are read the most and which are read least. The posts read most are the funny ones. The posts that are serious or sad receive the least views. People prefer humor. I know I do.<div>
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It's easier to mask pain and sadness with humor. We're a culture that does not want to deal with anything uncomfortable or painful or serious or taboo or sad or any emotion that is not a happy one. We mask everything with humor. It is easier to laugh at a joke than to sit down and openly discuss the problem. It is a major problem in the US when it comes to rape. We make rape jokes, but we can't discuss it openly to actually solve the problem. So, instead, we just laugh and brush it off like it's nothing. Stripping doesn't even receive the "problem" status. There are so many problems in the world of stripping. Problems that need to be changed, that could be changed, that won't be changed. Because it is a legal profession all over in the US it is not deemed a problem, not like prostitution. Stripping has the same problems that prostitution does, but we refuse to talk about that problem, and we refuse to acknowledge there is a problem with stripping. Stripping is everywhere in today's culture. It covers TV and film and music and bachelor parties. It is shoved in people's faces everyday and desensitizes people to the reality of the profession and the reality of these women's lives. Stripping has become one big joke in and of itself. It does not receive the respect and attention it deserves. For as prevalent a place as it holds in our society it is completely and totally unknown and disrespected. We cover up how uncomfortable or in pain we are with humor. I know I do it far more than I should. </div>
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Laugh at the stripper jokes, they're funny. But the funniest ones are made by strippers because we know the truth behind them. Next time you laugh at a joke made at the expense of a rape survivor, a stripper, a prostitute just think about the reality of that joke and ask yourself is this really funny?</div>
Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-86167853438791943192013-04-29T07:35:00.001-07:002013-04-29T07:35:44.735-07:00October 1stThe school year is almost done. I have a week and a half left before summer starts. And summer will be almost exactly four months long. In that four months I want to work and make enough money to quit. I am tired of working. I am tired of being a stripper. I'm tired of feeling like shit. I'm tired of feeling less than.<br />
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I want to be done October first to save my sanity.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-4228647710121952482013-04-15T23:08:00.000-07:002013-04-15T23:08:18.373-07:00On My Way HomeSo I worked my ass off. And then I took a nice little vacation to visit a friend in San Diego. Where I got to sit on the beach, eat junk food, watch movies, and do absolutely NOTHING!!! The only two bad things about my nice five day vacation, or as I like to call it my runaway from reality, was a) I got very seriously sun burnt (hurts like a bitch) and b) passed out twice in the same night giving me a huge bump on the back of my head and a large gash on my forehead. Yeah! Vacation!<br />
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Work before I left was absolutely, terrifically, stunningly shitty. The amount of money I made in eight days I should, or at least USED to, have made in two maybe three. So it's terrible. The only comfort I had was I did WAY better than everyone else. Sorry had to be a little snide.<br />
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Now as I come home from vacation the fact that I got sun-burnt is usually not that big of an issue for most people. Fortunately for me I don't have a "most" people kind of job. I have a job that pretty much solely relies on the <i>goods</i> meaning my face and body. SO I have this huge gash on my forehead. That'll be fun to explain to everyone. No worries I can dance fine, I just pass the fuck out when I stand up. No big deal. Those incredibly visible tan lines? You don't like those. What??? How to fix this problem. Well I'll be styling my hair in a new and unique way to cover up my gash. As for the tan lines, lets just pray tanning lotion applied just to the boobs, ass, and vagina looks similar to a real tan!<br />
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We'll see how this goes.<br />
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My short reality runaway was wonderful otherwise. It couldn't have come at a better time. Unfortunately for me I'm sitting in LAX feeling very sad that I have to leave that beautiful, beautiful beach. And so very sad at the fact that I'm on the red eye. At least I've become a pro at these allnighters!Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-50260386751856410842013-03-31T15:53:00.001-07:002013-03-31T17:48:42.875-07:00WorkWork is still sucking. Even with the weather being nicer it is still atrocious. So far all I've managed to do is convince all the men I talk to that I am the perfect girl and far too classy to work in a strip club. I can't say I completely disagree with the whole too classy part, but that doesn't change the fact that I do work there.<br />
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I need to go in to work tonight... I am so tired though. I'm tired from over exertion, but my whole body is taken over by a feeling of total emptiness. Sometimes I feel like a shell of who I used to be. Sometimes it is far too hard to breath. Something is sitting on my chest and keeps me from ever feeling completely and totally comfortable in my own skin.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-64261353583657713622013-03-27T10:17:00.002-07:002013-03-27T10:17:35.152-07:00Pain ToleranceIt has been months since I last have written a post. Although it has been at least two months since I worked last.<br />
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I have two hours and fifty minutes until I have to get in my car and drive the seventeen minutes to work. I should stay and work a double, but I have decided that six hours will be more than enough for my first day back. I have to go in again tomorrow, and the day after that, and almost every day until April 10th.<br />
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Why April 10th? Because I need a vacation. I need to get away. I need to be somewhere no one knows me or wants to talk to me. I need to be alone. So I am going to Coronado, where I will sit on a beach and read a book for five days.<br />
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I'm dreading going in to work today. I hate it every day I go, but it has been two months and the longer you are away the harder it is to go back.<br />
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This morning I realized I have a fairly high pain tolerance. I got out of the shower and I was drying my hair. I looked down at the floor and saw a pool of blood. Somewhere between getting out of the shower and drying my hair I hit my leg on something. I looked at my leg and saw a big gash and blood running down the side of my leg and pooling on the floor.<br />
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I have a high pain tolerance physically...<br />
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Right now I just can't bare the thought of returning to that hell-hole in two hours and forty-four minutes...Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-72319975713677205282012-12-20T21:47:00.001-08:002012-12-20T21:47:53.672-08:00ManagersI have realized that the manager and assistant manager at my club are stupid. They don't know how to do their job the<i> right</i> way.<br />
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Right now the club has experienced a 50% drop in revenue in the last four months. How you say? The managers have stopped doing their job. (Actually they started stopping around the time I started working there... But now they have just decided to take a nap or zombie-style stare at their computer screens their whole shift.) The big boss has started to step in, but he hasn't added anything that has proven to be helpful. I think they need to get a bouncer and a dancer (both of whom are well educated) to run the place because we know how to do it the <i>right</i> way. <br />
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So while the managers are taking a big crap on the job, I'm working my ass of for one dance because lets face it, there's one guy in the club and I need that dance.<br />
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Merry Christmas. I have no idea how I will pay the fucking bills. Thanks for doing your job.<br />
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My New Year's resolution: Win the lottery and leave this fucked-up, hell-hole for ever and ever.<br />
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<br />Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-43267327806079855222012-12-18T17:14:00.001-08:002012-12-18T17:14:16.680-08:00The Effect of StrippingNever once have I hated myself... Now I do.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-52926025083473718982012-12-06T17:04:00.000-08:002012-12-06T17:04:00.300-08:00I Hate My CoWorkersI'm sitting at work and I just found out that a good friend of mine unknowingly took my regular. This guy is/was a nice guy and would spend money on me just to talk. He's going through a divorce and has three kids. He liked talking to me because of my smile and the fact that I was genuine and cared about what he had to say.<br />
Well a friend of mine and I shared this regular. This friend told me that my regular is now my good friend's regular. He paid me $75 a week just to sit and talk. I found out that he is spending $1100 a week in VIP on my friend because she's pushier than I am.<br />
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If I would have known he had that kind of cash to spend I would have been pushier too. I am so mad right now. I need that money and that was MY regular. You don't take a friends regular.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-38237543467822723102012-12-05T16:38:00.000-08:002012-12-05T16:38:18.621-08:00Just BarelyI'm working at a club that used to be fantastic. But in the last six months it has declined so much in such a short period of time. I used to be able to walk in and make $400 in five and a half hours without even trying. Now, I can't make that much money if my life depended on it.<br />
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Last night I worked my first double in months. Usually when I work a double I make upwards of $600. Last night I worked. I was on the floor the whole night and talked to EVERYONE. I only made $95 during the twelve hours I was there. I have never done so poorly. That's a little bit over minimum wage.<br />
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I can't afford to quit, and right now I can't afford to work either. It's ridiculous. I don't know what to do. <br />
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I'm thinking about travelling and seeing if there is better money in other areas that are still fairly close by. I'm trying to save for the future so that I can quit and have almost all of my senior year in college without stripping, but at this rate I won't be able to quit because I can't even make enough money to pay for my monthly bills.<br />
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I'm just really happy I have regulars and I know enough people to make it by.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-56555302077761501332012-12-04T02:48:00.000-08:002012-12-04T02:48:05.264-08:00Late NightI've been up for almost 24 hours.<br />
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Jamie is in Florida right now. He's doing testing for the Marines. We always fall asleep together. Right now, I am completely incapable of falling asleep in our bed without him.<br />
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So, instead of sleeping I am watching the show <i>Satisfaction</i>. It's an Australian show about a brothel. I'm watching it and other than the fact the girl have sex, it's the same as my job. I like this show better than most portrayals of the sex industry because it's real.<br />
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I'm going in to work tomorrow for my first double since July. It won't be fun, but I have to work more often than I have been. It will especially suck because I fell and fucked up my knee... Knee's are really important when you're dancing.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-77132742500534317772012-11-24T00:00:00.000-08:002012-11-24T00:00:06.437-08:00Oh 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.<br />
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Well, good to know my mother still hates me a little.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-29135377406098435562012-11-23T23:25:00.003-08:002012-11-23T23:25:39.118-08:00Haircut... Oh CrapI 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.<div>
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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.</div>
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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. </div>
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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.</div>
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I really can't go anywhere without seeing someone I've met at the strip club... Gross.</div>
Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-24957974632820987042012-11-20T13:58:00.000-08:002012-11-20T13:58:40.565-08:00Noble StripperThe 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.<br />
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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."<br />
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Well there you have it. I'm not a pill stripper.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-32203675213553659262012-11-19T20:48:00.001-08:002012-11-19T20:48:35.946-08:00Magic MikeSo today I watched <i>Magic Mike</i> 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Tired. I've been writing essays all day. Night night.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-81990577284131562522012-11-12T13:30:00.000-08:002012-11-12T13:30:48.987-08:00Best IntentionsI had the best intentions of going into work today.<br />
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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.<br />
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Unfortunately I can't go into work today. Damn...<br />
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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.<br />
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Oh well. I'll be going into work tomorrow, for sure... Probably... Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-76267439021018073712012-11-07T23:55:00.000-08:002012-11-07T23:55:06.152-08:00Never Gonna HappenI 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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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Anyways.<br />
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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.<br />
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My professor was visiting the college just for that class. She is an author who writes memoirs.<br />
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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."<br />
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I left thinking. That's a novel idea. Never gonna happen.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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 <i>Joseph Anton</i> 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.<br />
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Or at least I'm going to try.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-20874241666419609952012-10-21T06:55:00.000-07:002012-10-21T06:55:14.934-07:00PiecesI feel like my life is falling to pieces.<br />
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A few days ago Jamie's best friend shot himself. I've known his friend for about a year and a half. We clicked the first time we met and had become pretty close friends. Jamie isn't talking to me about any of it. He would rather get drunk with his friends then deal with it with me. Maybe I'm being selfish, but I don't think getting drunk is the best response to this.<br />
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I feel like my relationship is crumbling. We haven't been doing great for the past several months, and with everything we're going through right now it is all coming out. Jamie and I have planned on marriage and kids for a long time. It's hard because he's the one that said forever. Now it turns out that he's not sure if that is going to happen. He still loves me, but he doesn't know if I'm his future. It turns out he started feeling this way awhile ago. He looks at me differently and acts differently around me. He's growing more and more distant, and I feel like I can't do anything about any of it. It all started when he stopped caring if I went to work or not.<br />
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It kills me. He doesn't care, and I do. Everyday I walk in there I cry. I lock myself in the bathroom and cry. It's hard not to. I would do anything to quit, but I know there isn't any way I can quit right now. Jamie thinks that if I'd never started I would never had to. No matter what, I would have had to make a lot of money a year, more than I could doing anything else.<br />
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I feel like everything is my fault and I know there is nothing I can possibly do. I just have to sit back and watch my life fall apart knowing there is nothing I can do to make it better.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-45375302187594455892012-10-14T19:21:00.001-07:002012-10-14T19:21:59.744-07:00On the Down and Out<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Being a stripper is getting harder and harder. The money is slowly getting worse and it isn't getting any better. People always think: Stripper = Lots of Money. Well it's getting worse. It's getting slower and slower. The biggest reason why I make money is because I have regulars I call in. But the money is getting worse and work is getting slower.</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I need to make as much money as possible in the next few months to a year, so that I can quit. I want to be done in one year. I want this so that I can have one year of normal college life. Also so that I'm not wasting my time working as a stripper making less money than I should.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">I'm guessing that stripping will always be a way to make money. It will always be a place to go because it is "taboo" or a bachelor party destination. The days of really good money are coming to an end. I think this is a combination of the recession, and internet porn. Damnit. Porn is ruining my life.</span></div>
Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-51252179322839209302012-10-10T08:55:00.000-07:002012-10-10T08:55:17.654-07:00Work Is RUINING My Life!!!!!<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">So I have decided that my job is ruining my life. (Other than the psychological and emotional distress I experience every day of my life.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">There's this guy that I danced for once or twice a week for about six months. Really nice guy, sometimes brought his wife in. Anyways I haven't seen him in about two months cause I hate working Tuesdays. He was a fix-it-guy for a college half an hour from my school. Well turns out he got a new job... He is now one of the campus fix-it-guys at MY college. All the fix-it-guys have lunch with the students! Yay... I see him everyday at lunch. Gee my life's awesome. Not to mention I see him twice a week at the library and because I work at the circ desk right in front of the door and part of my job is saying 'hello' to everyone I have to be nice and greet him. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Last weekend I went to the midnight premiere of <i>Taken 2</i> (which is awesome by the way... it's not possible for Liam Neeson to be in a bad movie). I went with two of my friends and we had a good time. Except for the fact that at the theater a guy I know from work was there, who has a crush on me and wanted to ask me to prom six months ago... yes, he just graduated from high school. Instead of doing the smile-nod thing you do to people you know but don't want to talk to he walks right up to me and my friends and starts in on a very awkward 15 minute conversation... I could <u>not</u> get away from him. I would try and he'd follow. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">Oh my God!!! Work is ruining my life. It follows me everywhere. No escaping it. I have worked there too long if I am constantly running into people I know and they feel that they know me well enough to come and talk to me... And my friends!!!! </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">FUCK.</span>Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-24366776375857752142012-10-05T09:00:00.000-07:002012-10-05T09:00:03.330-07:00In Relation to Yesterday's PostSo yesterday I was complaining about my uterus causing me pain... Guess what!!! It hasn't stopped. No in fact it has gotten worse. I'm still thinking about ripping my uturus out, but now I have expanded that to include my ovaries as well. Two internal organs that are completely useless. <br />
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When I tell people this they always say something to the effect of "You won't regret it when you hold your babies in your arms for the first time." (Please include a very soft, feminine, nurturing voice. Something akin to... nothing like mine.) My response is always "I'm sure. If I wanted children."<br />
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When I've looked forward to my life it's never included children surrounding me in the picture. I love children sure, but do I want them. Not really. I love babysitting them, playing with them, and then handing them off to their parents. To me kids say a lot of work, time, effort, and selflessness. I sound like a terrible person when I say 'I am all about me.' But I am. I have never had the desire to live my life for someone else, and the moment you become a parent that is exactly what you (should) do. I have things that I want to do and accomplish and children get in the way and hinder me from doing that. People always say 'You'll change your mind when you get older.' People have always said that to me, and so far it hasn't happened. People tend to think that because I'm a woman I innately want children. Wrong. My friends think it's because I don't want to ruin my body by being pregnant. Wrong. I think that would be the cool part about being a mom, the rest not cool. My friends tell me 'don't worry you can adopt'... Except for the fact that it will still have the same ending. Me with children. <br />
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To make matters worse my whole life is filled with people that want nothing more than to be parents. All my good friends want children. I have a hard time understanding why. On an intellectual level I get. Emotionally, no way.<br />
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To make matters worse Jamie wants kids. That stereotype that girls are the ones that want kids and girls have to talk guys into wanting them.Total crap. Every guy I've ever dated wants to be a dad. I don't get it! But because I want to keep Jamie in my life forever I am going to have children. My theory is that I will love them once I have them. But up until that point they seem like a waste of time to me.<br />
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I think that borders on heartless, but true.<br />
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I still want to rip out all my girly parts.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-86228559525588799072012-10-04T07:13:00.001-07:002012-10-04T07:13:59.841-07:00Work.Period.Pain.GrossHere's my latest problem. I haven't worked in over a month because I hate my job. <br />
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The longer you stay away from the club the harder it is to go back. I've been putting it off for a month. I need to go in because rent has to be paid today. Well the check won't be cashed until tomorrow or Saturday so I should be fine. I have resigned myself to going into work today for a double... Yay thirteen hours. My big problem is the fact that my period just kicked in, two days early, and it's a rager. I'm sitting at the library right now trying to concentrate on my book for tonights homework and all I can think about is ripping out my uterus and replacing it with something more convenient like an extra kidney or liver. My legs hurt. My back hurts. My stomache hurts. And this period seems to be one that is also giving me a migraine. I don't like it and I want it to stop.<br />
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If I just had to go to work it would be fine. I could deal with that. But my PERIOD too! NO I disagree. Life should not put both work and period on me at the same time. It's too much. I don't want to go to that place and I sure as fuck don't want my period to down the day even more!<br />
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Oh and I'm missing homecoming festivities because of my crap job. Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6223350132437964504.post-37901990464960138852012-09-18T08:51:00.000-07:002012-09-18T08:51:00.254-07:00Me...I have this problem of walling myself up. Not letting people in. I really don't like people knowing who I am. I let people see what I want them to see. The get the revised version of myself. The nicely polished edition. The version people see is that nice, new American History textbook. The edition where we gloss over the Native American massacre, the racism and slavery, the religious persecution, the ethnic persecution, and all those other bad bits of our history. The edition that shows the Americans as being the saviors of all. In every day life I leave out the bad parts, the gruesome stories that know one wants to hear, the imperfections, the moments where I fuck everything up, the times where I'm the really bad guy.<br />
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This blog makes me nervous. I am trying with all my might to show the truth. To show me. The real me. The good me. The bad me. The in between me. The unsure me. The sad me. The scared me. The me that has no clue. The self-conscious me. The betrayed me. The hurt me. The vulnerable me. The mean me. The completely and totally imperfect version of me.<br />
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Every time I hit the <i>publish</i> button I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach. The one that says "You'll be judged. You'll be a pariah. You're problems are too much to handle. You're not worthy of anything. You don't deserve anything that you had, have, will have or want." I'm putting everything out into the world for anyone and everyone to see. I'm nervous. I still want to be perfect and polished. I am giving over a small amount of control every time I push that hugely intimidating <i>publish</i> button.Kelly Handehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06026296195614161187noreply@blogger.com0