punk'd at the colon clinic

my favorite aunt almost died a few weeks ago due to a burst colon, and it got me thinking about my own colon health. it was my birthday week and i've been eating so many fried things and drinking too much and eating birthday cake off of girls' titties. as a result, my body just feels NUTS.  i could use a little digestive fresh start, so i decided to schedule a colonic.

i googled "colonics," and didn't read much about any of the places, just picked one that wasn't too far from my house. i showed up a few minutes early and was greeted by an extremely friendly bulldagger, which i've always taken to be a good sign. she gave me an intake form to fill out. under "occupation," i just put "dancer." such a handy euphemism when you don't feel the need to LIE, but would rather not write "stripper." i finished the rest of the form, gave the clipboard back to the friendly dyke, and sat back down in the waiting room.

a few minutes later i was greeted by a different butch dyke, who led me back to the irrigation room. she went over my intake form. she said, "what kind of dancer are you?" 

"a stripper."

she lowered her artsy eyeglasses and peered over them at me in a meaningful way, like someone on tv who has realized that their terrible suspicions have been proven true. after several seconds of silence, she announced, "well. you're not going to pay for your colonic today."

i didn't know what to say. i felt confused about what she was even SAYING. did she think i didn't have money? i blurted, "huh? i have money. i can pay upfront if you want."

"i'm not going to take your money," she said.

"oh, um..." i stammered, disoriented. it occurred to me that she was waiting for me to leave? i gathered my purse and stood up. "do you want me to leave?"

she did not want me to leave. she said i should stay and have a free colonic. i felt like i was being punk'd. she told me she used to work with women in the sex industry, and that she didn't want to perpetuate the violence and oppression against us, that not taking our money was her way of not participating in that economy. "it's just something _____ (girlfriend's name) and i decided all those years ago when we started the clinic."

i couldn't decide whether i should leave or not. i felt totally weirded out, but also like i should feel grateful for a free colonic. often when i get overwhelmed like this, i become very sleepy and my impulses to fight or flee become dopey and hard to tell apart, and then i just end up sleepwalking through whatever the situation is and waiting for it to be over. which is what happened.

she showed me the contraption i'd be sitting on, and gave me some lube and a butt nozzle. i put on a robe and got situated. when i walked in, i had felt ready to let loose. but after realizing i'd entered a sort of second-wave feminist lion's den, i felt oddly nervous and i couldn't let go of anything. i just had a lot of water swish around inside of me and then come out still looking like water. i felt very uncomfortable.

the woman made a few more comments, saying that i was probably having trouble submitting to the colonic because my job is so stressful. i told her, "stripping's not that stressful. i just show up. i used to do a lot sketchier sex work. THAT was stressful." it's weird when you want to defend yourself but only end up saying something that makes the person feel all the surer of your pitiful position. what i meant was stripping's so much less stressful than going out on an outcall, or hoping someone's not a killer or a cop. that stripping's easy in comparison and i feel lucky to have found my niche in the sex industry.

she said, "don't worry. you won't always be this constipated. i was a victim of prostitution myself and i suffered terribly. but now i poop all the time."

i felt like, "DUDE! i'm not that constipated! i just can't poop in front of YOU!" but at that point i was also like, "surely this is almost over."

the woman seemed truly kind-hearted, and i could see where she was coming from, kind of, and i LOVE when one human person gives a no-strings-attached free gift to another human person. but i dunno, i just felt too uncomfortable to enjoy it. i mean, here you are with a tube up my ass, i just don't want any subtle proselytizing. it was actually pretty exhausting and awful, and when it was over i wasted no time at all putting my clothes on and getting the hell out of there, and then i went to my car and cried. i do store a lot of my stress and unresolved emotions in my digestive system and i'd hoped to leave some of that behind, but alas: no go.

"i'm done with you."

last night i was walking around the crowd, trying to see who might buy dances, when all of a sudden this japanese businessman came up behind me and took my hand. he said, "come with me," and led me to the lapdance area. he sat down and patted the seat next to him, "come on," he said. i sat down. he started telling me how fabulous i am, and how my hair is to die for. he seemed SO GAY and SOOOO COKED OUT, saying things like, "your ass: be-yoooooond," and "i can't. I. JUST. CAN'T."

there was some quiet time when he zoned out hard, he took his fancy glasses off a lot and put them back on and patted his pockets wildly a lot to make sure he still had his hotel key and phone. then he seemed to remember i was there, and he told me he was going to shower me with money and fine shoes when i accompany him to eugene and corvallis tomorrow. he talked about it as though it was a trip we'd planned together, one that i had prior knowledge of. i went along with it, adding that we'd drink champagne in the limo.

"what was it we want to see in corvallis, again?" i asked.

"the stadium!" he exclaimed, exasperated.

"oh! right," i said. "sorry! i keep forgetting."

then he kept wanting me to bend over in his face, and then sit back down next to him. then get up and bend over again, then sit back down. he was easily bored, yet didn't want me to leave. he stopped ordering me to get up and then sit back down, and used, instead, extraordinarily faggy hand gestures. for "turn around and show me your ass," his finger became the tiny ballerina from one of those old wind-up satin jewelry boxes. "sit down next to me now," was the less exciting yet classic, "talk to the hand" gesture, raised to my ass. as though telling MY ASS to shut up and sit down.

finally i had to get back on stage. he paid me and i put my outfit back on, but he raised his finger at me to wait. he tried getting money out of the ATM but it was out of money and only dispensed $100, which he gave to me on top of the dance money he already gave me. as he handed it to me, he did a sassy black woman chin movement in conjunction with a sassy finger wagging in my face and said, "i'm done with you!" with that, he turned on his heel and was out the door. strange fruit, you really TOLD me! i wish every time someone felt the need to tell me off, their rant was accompanied by $100. i'd just go around saying any rude funny thing that came to mind, and just watch those benjamins stack up.

(as the bartender refilled the ATM, i had to wonder what my tip would've been if she'd done that just a few minutes before. but you can't dwell on these things.)

after that, john c. reilly came in with a small entourage. he was wearing a hat to tamp down his curly mop, but his face is quite distinct so people kept recognizing him and going over to chat. i joked with my co-worker that if he got a lapdance it would be like we had our own little 4-minute movie called "lapdance, actually." we thought it was hilarious. then our other co-worker pointed out that it wasn't him in "love, actually," it was hugh grant. my how a hilarious joke can fall apart with the addition of true facts. oops. well then i decided to go tell him "we need to talk about ...a lapdance!" you know, like "we need to talk about kevin." but that one wasn't funny, either, because that movie was just so goddamn depressing. in fact, my joke fell like a lead balloon.

oh well. then i danced for a long time for a guy in an abercrombie sweatshirt who smelled really good. i asked him what his cologne was and he said, "very sexy for him. #2. by victoria's secret." i don't know why, but that struck me as kind of funny. he was too sweet to laugh at, though, so i stifled it.

after work i went out to eat with my co-worker and munched the fuck out of some vegan nachos. the end. xo andi

supermoon

did you see the supermoon? it was so beautiful. and huge. and bright. i was working that night and it was so busy since it was cinco de mayo and all the white people wanted to go out and get wasted in their sombreros (barf). i kept meaning to get outside to see the moon, and finally i dodged people and had a moment. i put the bouncer's coat on over my lil outfit and went outside and just stared at it for a long time. it was mesmerizing. i never wanted to go back inside where people were yelling "ayayay!" with fake mexican accents. i just wanted to stand under this giant bright moon. so lovely! but then people from inside came outside and wanted to interact. so i went back in and danced some more. i felt in a great, luminous mood.