i have this amazing apartment down south and all my furniture and pretty things are there. i plan to return to it at some point, but anyway for now i'm up here in portland and i have a room in a house with some friends. our house is super nice, but my room IS NOT because i don't have anything pretty in it and it's also very messy. i feel self-conscious about it and don't want anyone to come in. it feels like when i was a kid and we always had the shittiest, messiest apartments and would never ever want anyone to come over, for shame. also this was during the nancy reagan just say no era of drug paranoia and vilification, and there was always a lot of pot paraphernalia on our coffee table, bongs and dented bongy TAB cans, and little trays of "diet pills," which was all very embarassing. but i'm not a kid anymore! i need to just take control of the situation and try to make my room look/feel decent. and i need to do it quickly because i've been going on dates with someone and he's finding it weird that i don't ever invite him over.
so, that's what i was attempting to do yesterday, and i had gotten as far as making my bed when i got a phonecall from work saying, "where are you? you were supposed to be on stage five minutes ago."
i had mis-read the schedule. this is something that OTHER people do that I NEVER DO, and i can never understand how people do it. it's not calculus. it's a fucking schedule, locate your name and times and write them down. duh. well, now i'm lumped in with all those idiots who came before me, and i get it: you look at the schedule and think it says one thing, when actually it says something else. easy. that's how you mis-read a schedule. mystery solved.
EEEK. there are only two girls working during the day, so it's actually important to be on time at this club or else the other girl will have to just keep dancing and will totally hate you when you finally get there. i took the quickest shower ever and hopped in a cab. (actually, up here there's no "hopping in a cab," you have to CALL one, then wait for it to arrive. very very different from my usual life, where upon exiting my apartment, i'm on a busy street and can hail a cab within 2 minutes.) annnnnyway, i took a cab and got to work in time for my second set. i hate wasting money on a cab during daylight hours. but i got over it.
it wasn't super busy, but it was okay. i did some dances for a native guy who had been out river fishing. i liked his braids, but he smelled strongly of fish, a smell that i didn't want to have all over me for obvious reasons. i got used to the smell by the third dance, though, and loosened up with my stilted demeanor, and ended up rubbing myself on the guy as if he were an average customer whose smell i wasn't taking great pains not to absorb. well, then when i went down to the dressing room i noticed that i had wound up smelling a bit fishy, but it wasn't anything a little stringent head to toe baby wipe-ing couldn't fix.
mid-day, i found myself feeling inexplicably grumpy. luckily i had taken a super hilarious video of my housemate. it's really just 25 seconds of her totally spazzing out on the floor of our basement tv room, yelling "fuck! that!" over and over again in reference to the never-ending rain, doing a shoulder-stand whilst scissoring her legs. but it elicits quite a giant laugh fit from me for some reason. so i went to the dressing room and watched it about five times in a row until i felt capable of smiling at customers, and then i went back upstairs.
around that time a guy came in who i liked a lot. the singer from a band i'd never heard of called "high on fire." i liked dancing for him, he was kind of hot. he invited me to their show. i wanted to go but then i got off work and forgot and didn't remember till lots later when i was REAL DRUNK, singing karaoke at the twilight room with my housemate, and it turns out she wanted to go to that show, too. but by then it was too late and anyway we had song slips in.
in other news, one or two shifts per week isn't cutting it. i want nice things and therefore need to get an additional job. but where.... there's only about three million strip clubs up here. hmm. suggestions?
p.s. it's my mom's birthday today. her present from me: an eighth of weed. put that in your pipe and smoke it, nancy reagan!
No comments:
Post a Comment