Sunday, June 5, 2011

boo hoo.

this weekend was kind of stressful. on friday i drove out to seaside with another dancer, we'll call her "R," to do a bachelor party. the actual party was okay, we made a lot of money, but the drive was terrible. R wasn't feeling good so she wanted me to drive, which was fine but i have only been driving less than a year, and have only ever driven three different cars. so i had to get used to her car for a minute. i was a little jerky at first, i stalled at a stop sign, etc, and R kept getting grouchy with me. we bickered a bit and then she passed out. suddenly i realized we were pretty far from portland but really far from the beach, too, and we were almost out of gas. i felt kind of mad that R hadn't thought to put some gas in before a late-night drive to the coast. but then i realized i couldn't be mad since i hadn't exactly thought of it either.

i have been having a lot of anxiety lately, and as a result i have been feeling like i'm constantly talking myself down off the ledge of a panic attack. as in, all day every day right now. also when i have anxiety i am prone to "catastrophic thinking," a term i learned from R when i woke her up to say i was having a panic attack and was sure that we were going to run out of gas in the middle of the woods in the gigantic no-cell-reception zone between portland and the coast and there wouldn't be any way to call AAA so we'd have to flag down a stranger and there aren't any other cars on the road and we'll probably just have to spend the night in the car on the side of the road, except there aren't any turn offs so we'll be basically sitting ducks for a wide load or drunk driver to smash to smithereens. she said, "oh god, we'll be fine. you're having catastrophic thinking." and went right back to sleep.

i drove the rest of the way, 45 miles, with the needle hovering just below Empty and the gas light on. i felt the car truly running out of gas right as we pulled into a gas station in seaside. i don't know how we made it, but R and i were both pretty relieved.

we got to the party and it was at this beautiful cabin that the bachelor's family owns and visits about 4 weekends a year. i was like, "is it just empty the rest of the time? do you rent it out?" he was like, "no we lock it up." that made me sad. if i had a beach house i'd go there all the fucking time. also i felt sad because i had been trying to get my special guy to go to the beach with me but there was always some reason we couldn't go, and then he dumped me last week. it's like OF COURSE the only time i get to go to the beach is to work. aaaack. (i'm feeling kind of "poor me," right this minute, so bear with me, will ya.)

so. then we did the party and drove back to portland and i went to bed.

i worked last night at the club. i was feeling bummy and sad from being dumped. and also from shitty social interactions earlier in the day. i tried to buck up a little, put on a happy face to make my money. but there really wasn't any money in the club, at least none that i could see with my grouch goggles on. i had decided not to drink, so i was all sober and irritable and people seemed waaaaay drunker and more obnoxious than usual.

my coworker gave me a coconut water, an out of the blue gesture that was so sweet it cheered me up a lot and i was able to pretend to be at least somewhat charming and normal for the rest of the night.

i didn't meet anybody very interesting. a lot of people were rude. a guy and his girlfriend kept throwing wadded up dollars at me and laughing. assholes. i left them on the stage, i didn't even feel like uncrinkling them, and i didn't want them in my purse or in my life. sometimes not collecting dollars that are thrown at you like a circus peanuts can make you feel better. and also it's nice to see the next girl pick them up and have no negative feelings about them.

a guy stole a few dollars off my rack. i said, "hey that's rude, can you put those back?" he got very self-righteous and offended, saying he was just helping me pick them up. these two bike-geek hipsters in head-to-toe american apparel who were sitting next to him at the rack were like, "yeah, chill out. you don't have to be so racist." uhhhh... OKAY. because i see a man, who happens to be black, blatantly pocketing my hard earned tips, and call him out on it, i'm racist? i told them to shut the fuck up, and asked the man to give me back my dollars. he did give them back, while grumbling about how i'm very racist.

not working for a few days, which is a really good thing.

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