Archive for June, 2013|Monthly archive page

Slightly Less Hostile

In Adventure, bitchy, dominatrix, New England, strip club on June 29, 2013 at 6:56 am

I am feeling slightly less hostile this week. I’m not sure why. I went to the Gold Club and stayed in a hotel for two nights. I worked three shifts in a row. First night was horrible. I was glad I thought to bring money for the room cause there was no one in the titty bar to hook me up with the massive pile of cash I was counting on. Night two went pretty much the same way until late in the evening a put together looking middle aged dude with a tie sat at my stage and told me he had come from a wake. I took him to the boom boom room and squashed him with my juicy ass. Then I tied him up in what was pretty pathetic stocking bondage. After his wallet was drained he handed me a slip of paper. I assumed it was his number but no, even better, it was the address of his hotel. Yeah, I’m on my way, sure, cause I just danced for ten hours in eight inch platforms I clearly want to keep the party going at this 3am hour. Thanks for the suggestion dude but I’m gonna go wash the hooker off my face.

Day three was a gem to remember. Some creeper tried to talk me into giving him half price dances and then during the first song he came in his pants. Lovely. As the night went on, and on, and on there was no one in this club. I began to think that mr sticky spot would be the highlight of the evening but then like a unexpected check in the mail in walked Santa Clause. I saw dollar signs and ran up to him throwing my arms around him. After some simple pleasantries santa took a crumpled dollar bill and jammed his hand down my panties with it. Woah there santa, this is not that kind of club. He proceeded to tell me about a club where he finger fucked a dancer then put his finger in some other dancers mouth. So I l told him about the time I saw a feature dancer shove a dildo in her ass on stage, remove it and shove it in a customers mouth. Yep, it was story time. Finally after Santa made several attempts at putting dollar bills into my cooter I hauled him into the lap dance room. About two minutes into the song he tried to bite my boob and that was about all I could take. I grabbed his balls and twisted like I was trying to get a lid off a jar. I leaned in and whispered into his ear “you have been very naughty santa. Would you like me to rip your balls off or would you like to hand me a hundred dollars for this dance?” he gasped and tried to squirm. “You have tried to shove your hands in my panties, suggested that I am underage, and made every possible attempt to make me uncomfortable and take advantage of me. Fuck you santa. You are the reason that strippers hate their jobs” Then I pulled as hard as I could and he started to panic. “Don’t do that, please let go” “Oh I will let go when you hand me a hundred dollars for dealing with your bullshit. And if you don’t I’m gonna take this evil germ covered shoe and jam the heel into your eye socket. Sound fun?” he put his hand into his pocket and handed me a crispy ben franklin. I grabbed my things and walked off. When I went to tip out the DJ I mentioned that I almost killed santa. He laughed and said “you could send that creeper down the river and no one would notice.”

I left slightly irked and without enough money. On my way home some california surfer dude tried to talk to me. I told him I didn’t want to have to talk to men ever agin. His response: wow, I like that, you’re keeping it real.

I like New England today. I can hate everyone and no one give a shit. Fuck Santa. Fuck Surfers. Fuck you.

I feel better.

Back To The Gold Club

In strip club on June 25, 2013 at 8:21 pm

Now that my rent is due I have managed to pry myself away from my editing, dust off my stripper shoes and point myself towards the club. I’m heading to Groton CT tonight to dance at the Gold Club. I will be there sometime around 10, then I’ll work all day tomorrow (Wednesday 26 June) from around 4PM when they open to around 4AM when they close. Then I will be there again Thursday 27 June from 11:30AM (hiss) till around 8 or 9 in the evening.

Somehow they still have not fired me. Come in and see how much trouble I can get into before that changes.

What’s Next?

In drama on June 21, 2013 at 11:25 pm

If you have been reading my blog lately you may have realized that I am in a bit of a crisis. I’m done with school (for now) and although I had a really super plan I still need to make money — fast. I have been subsidizing my lifestyle with sex work for a very long time. Quite frankly I’m sick of the grind. I wish I had made different choices sometimes, but I’m really glad that I went to school.

It would seem that one could acquire straight employment once one has an education and that magic piece of paper that suggests one went to a fine institution of higher learning. Sadly straight employment has never really worked out very well for me. I’m not a very good worker bee. I question authority and have yet to master the fine art of sitting in an office faking it. You need me to fake an orgasm, no problem, but feign an interest in being a team player — forget it. I like to make progress and I hate time wasting slackers. I’m in a funk with my own life.

I want out of the sex trade and I want out NOW. I can’t seem to bring myself to go to a club. Well, I did go scope out a dive last night and it was so pathetic that I just turned on my heels and split. I still have last nights overdone eye makeup on and I should make use of it by going to a club and shaking my ass for money. I need money. I’m so far behind on everything because of school, but I convince myself that I am going to rearrange my office and turn it into a webcam room so I can be smutty on the internet and not have to deal with the horrible reality of physical interaction. I convince myself that I am going to work on my book, that I am going to do something that will somehow generate enough money to get caught up on my bills but then I just make popcorn and watch Dr Who until the sun comes up and I feel the light rays burning into my skull through the cracks in the drapes.

I really should go to a club tonight. It is getting late.

The Ethics of Blogging

In bullshit, drama, sexual politics on June 18, 2013 at 10:40 pm

I have been writing this blog for a long time. Around her someplace is a short introduction about how to read this blog. It clearly states that you should believe what you would like to believe and that the rest of it is fiction.

Recently some totally unnecessary shit blew up in my face over two lines in an adventure. The two lines in questions basically said “I flirted with a friend of mine. We did not fuck.” And then his wife started freaking out at him, then he called me, and then he put his wife on the phone so she could flip her gasket in my direction.

Obviously you have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit. I am not a therapist and I am not someone who is going to dance in circles to amuse your wife. No!

At first I was like ‘sure I’ll pacify your wife and delete the two lines in the sentence’ but then she goes rooting through my archives to discover something that I wrote about someone she thinks is her husband only to unearth some dusty old blog post that I forgot I wrote. I write a lot, I don’t remember what the hell it said. I have no time to rip though my archives and look for shit. I assume that people read my blog for entertainment, not evidence. I’m certain that I changed the names of people involved in my antics. I always do.

The highlight of my little visit with my friend was that he was the only person I saw who didn’t have a bunch of drama attached to the meeting. Nothing went wrong, or at least it seemed that way until I sobered up. I guess I should have taken that as a sign. The encounter in question was not worth the free cup of coffee. I could have had coffee by myself and none of this drama would have appeared. Clearly my friend is not keeping his wife happy.

Some people should not read sex blogs. If you know me, if we are friends, if we fool around, if you might get upset about seeing things on the internet that we have done STAY THE HELL OFF MY BLOG. This is not a blog for the timid.

Please bitch, you are not my problem. You want to know what happened? Ask your husband. He might tell you that we had a cup of coffee together — cause that is what happened. I always assumed I would be the other woman but I assumed that I would get laid in the process. I didn’t get money, I didn’t get dick. I got a free cup of coffee with a massive side order of bullshit.

Rattling around in my mind is the question of writing about things that have happened, writing about things with people who might be upset, or outted. Is it ethical to write about things that have happened in your life? Yes, it is! All authors use material that they generate through real life experience to enhance or inspire their writing. This is how it is done. Anasis Nin did it, Hunter S Thomson did it, and so do I.

But what if my writing hurts someone?

Well you know, there are people scattered through my life who constantly tell me not to do something because it could hut my future. I opted out of making hard core porn when I was living in LA because it could damage my future in the entertainment business. I am reminded on the regular that being in the sex business could hamper my career in academia. I am warned and hushed and told to be silent by so many people who claim to have my best interest in mind. Except they have failed to notice that I am a gobshite! A big mouth! A loudmouth! I will not be quiet.

For hundred of years people have been telling women to silence their voices. I am not in the mood for this. I quietly write my blog, sometimes telling tales that you could never believe happened, sometimes telling tales where you think you see yourself. I’m pretty sure that the folks who read this blog like it. I get a small amount of fan mail and a smaller amount of hate mail. I used to get a lot of hate mail for the things I did, but then society began sexualizing everything. With the rise of sexually explicit culture the people who previously wanted to spew hate in my direction began to have more and more targets, so now I barely register a bleep on the radar of the morality police. But I continue to tell my stories. I continue to have amazing adventures and craft them into stories, that you can either love or hate. Whatever you do, please do not ask me to delete them, to make them available for a private audience, to cease to share them. Doing this is asking me to curl up and die under a rock.

You want to know if my stories are real? If I would take down a post? What REALLY happened (as thought there is some innate kernel of truth that overrides all other things that could be conceived as having been real)?Ask your husband what happened and then choose to believe him or not. I don’t give a fuck. Clearly your relationship is going through some bullshit. This is not my problem. I have some of my own problems, do I call you and try to make them your problems? No, I don’t. I keep them to myself or I tell my friends, family, or a motherfucking therapist. This is how things work.

If you think that for a second I have time to deal with your nonsense, that I care about this, that I give one solitary fuck — clearly you are mistaken.

Viva Las Vegas!

In Adventure on June 14, 2013 at 10:19 pm

So I know that I generally post my travel at the last minute but since I won’t have a lot of time to actually play while I’m there I figured I would let you know I will be in Las Vegas July 13 −23.

I know I have time the on the 14 and 15, also the 20 − 23

I am in Vegas for a conference. I won’t likely be answering my phone much. It is best to schedule in advance.

The last time I was in Vegas was kind of a bust but the time before was epic. I had a gang bang, pissed on someone at a series of slot machines, and someone else in a parking garage, and someone else right on the strip. It was awesome. I am looking forward to the madness that will unfold.

I haven’t gone outside (except to the strip club) since I got back from California. When I go out for some fun I do this shit up right. I’m kind of giddy — Vegas!

As A Friend, I Totally Suck!

In Uncategorized on June 13, 2013 at 7:02 pm

an update — Fuck You!

Old, Fat, Jaded Bitch!

In bitchy, bullshit on June 12, 2013 at 6:11 am

I told a guy in a strip club about the fact that my dead husband invented the electronic cigarette, right before he died. Sadly he kicked the bucked and didn’t manage to get the patent on it. Every time I see one of them things I want to shove it down the throat of the person smoking it. It is a big reason that I have started the occasional smoking thing. Sometimes I really really want to smoke. So I do. It makes me feel like I am fighting the e- cigaret thing. Fuck that shit. I want it to disappear. I don’t want to be reminded about how I should have been sitting pretty on an island. Someone is, it’s not me. I want to support big tobacco and not let the rest of the world outlaw smoking actual cigarettes, allowing the e-cig. I would want them if all that money were coming into my bank account but it only makes me hostile that I have to work for a living. Work way too hard for way too little. Compete with 18 year old girls who ‘made enough money’ and can go home. Bitch I have not made enough money. I’m a hundred and fifty grand in the fucking hole. Unless someone comes in and gives me their card, tells me that I can call the bank transfer the funds and tie them up for a week to make sure nothing funny is going on, I have NOT made enough money. No, this isn’t enough money for putting up with the comments, dealing with the overbearing patriarchal expectations to desire big breasts and blond hair, being asked by every asshole if I will go on a date with them. NO!

Last week some asshole tried to tell me that he thought that stripping was a very feminist activity. I put my hand over his mouth and told him that I don’t want to have to punch him. I told him that his friends would tease him and tell everyone that he had his ass kicked by a stripper. I was not really in a position to loose my job. That if he said one more word about how flashing my tits and ass, shaking it for dollars was a feminist portrayal of women making it in the world I was gonna have to fuck his shit up and that would not be good for either of us. I turned around and took someone else into the champagne room.

A different dude — a comic — they are the kinkiest, the most desperate, the most loathsome people in the world, most are masochists — they flock to me. It’s alright I like them well enough as clients and fans. But this one asked me if I would go on a date with him, as he was sure we would have so much in common, get along, have great sex …

Nope! I don’t date dudes at all. I am not gonna change this now to date a short, un-under employed comic, who has bad tattoos and is meeting me in a strip club for the first time. Gawd NO. I have bills to pay. I have not had sex in four years, why would I go with you? I’m not desperate, I am busy making money, can you see that? If you pay me, well maybe. But you want some of this juicy ass for free? Hell no!

Call me when you have a job dude.

Additionally I am being sexually harassed by one of the bouncers at this new club. It is so standard that it isn’t even worth noting, but when he tried to shake me down for a big tip cause ‘I make so much money’ I almost spat in his face. This money I make is so much I can’t get my car fixed, I don’t have money to get new panties, stripper shit, or even go have lunch. ALL of my money is gone before it ever becomes ‘mine.’

So I’m a little bit jaded and pissed. I’m in a mood. I cut off my hair and I would like to participate in some severe cock and ball torture. I’m no longer a fun, young, happy well adjusted sadist. I have crossed a line into the realm of professional psycho-bitch.

Want Some?

Fuck The Patriarchy — Where Are The Scissors?

In Adventure, drama, drinking, Family, LA, Lorelei Erisis, Los Angeles, New England, San Diego, Widow Centauri on June 12, 2013 at 5:26 am

My flight was at 6 Am. The first train to logan was at 530. I spent the night in the airport with Lorelei. I got in a wheelchair and was wheeled to my gate. I took a sleeping pill and woke up in LA at 11 AM. I went to the post office. I was expecting to retrieve my masters degree and a set of plates to a half dead BMW that sits in my parking lot irritating my neighbor with its stagnation. Neither were there.

I wanted to go shopping on Hollywood Blvd and get some stripper gear. But I went to the park, did some yoga, and went to visit neighbor Dave.

Neighbor Dave was in the very last stages of being evicted from a place that he has lived for the better part of 20 years. I lived next to him for a short time. He is one of my last remaining friends still living in Hollywood. It was sad to see that all his shit was packed and in the garage. He told me he was gonna stay with a friend but that he had no idea if he was moving to Portland, NYC, or gawd forbid … could he stay with me? Sure, I said, why the fuck not?

After a couple hours of drinking beer with ND a random tweeker showed up. Almost immediately thereafter a well put together blond woman, looked like she worked in an office — maybe for social services, came to the door. ND suggested that I kick it with the blonde woman and he was gonna go ‘do something’ with the tweeker. We went to the roof to admire the view and have a drink. I asked ‘so how do you know Dave’ and she looked at me in a curious way. “You don’t know?” she asked. “Nope, I have never heard of you” I told her. “He is moving in with me. I am his girlfriend” she told me. I looked puzzled. The last girlfriend I knew ND to have was Crazy Mary. Crazy Mary was a nutter. A sexy mid 40s stripper with long red hair and the sort of insane passion that went with the style of Neighbor Dave — bizarre, violent, artistic, fuck the man! This blonde woman didn’t seem to fit. I tried my best to put it all together. We went back into NDs unit and they started screaming at each other. I was ready to bounce. I had another friend I was planning on visiting across town. Blondie lived int he same area. She offered to give me a ride, so I went with her.

I don’t do screaming — sorry dave, I’m out!

We went to visit my old yoga buddy, who isn’t doing so well. We were there for five minutes. Her husband kind of freaked me out. We split. We drank a little more. Blondie probed me for details about Neighbor Dave. Apparently she had been his high school girlfriend and they only recently reconnected. I advised her not to let him take advantage of her. He is my friend but blondie didn’t seem to know that he is a scrub. He just never seems to give a shit. It is part of his charm, but I don’t want to see this nice person taken advantage of by my douchy loser friend.

Nothing personal if you are reading this ND, but yeah — you need to get a job or something. Rent is something you don’t fuck off after 20 years. Rent control is kooshy, homelessness sucks. Sorry that happened but get your shit together dude. Also, tell a person before your ‘girlfriend’ shows up. I would have been cool if I had known the score.

I went home with his girl and she introduced me to her cute as fuck, wicked ugly dog. It was one of the dogs that is so ugly and so strange looking that it should be in films. Strange looking little tilted head mother fucker. I was drunk. I slept on her couch. I don’t even remember her name. In the morning she even took me to the train station.

On the train I changed out of my jammies and prepared to meet up with my family. My mother picked me up in SandyEggo in a rental care with Massachusetts plates. I was trying to keep a low profile. There are a few people in that part of the world I would rather not point out my location to, not in the car, not in Northeast. How the fuck did my mother get a rental car with Mass plates? Gawd hates me, that is the only answer to this perplexing question. She looked at me like it was no thing and I pulled a flask out of my bag.

We were both ravenous from traveling so we had some massive Hash House breakfast. I was enamored by the ‘hangover cure’ on the menu. A Bud In A Bag, and A Side Of Bacon. I wanted it but I got something else. Something big with a tree of rosemary in it. And a drink that should have had more vodka in it.

We went on a family adventure that involved going DEEP into the suburbs to see some family members, and avoid some others. How we could expect to cruise up in a car with Mass plates and not be spotted was only a tad stressful. There was a lot of traffic. We stopped at the liquor store and got some nips. When we got the the event my daughter was dressed like a hooker. Wow. I wanted to say something but what could I say? Mini skirt and big ass red shoes. Wow. Whatever. Drink up. My mother screamed in the face of some coppers and I thought it was going to get us shot. She kicked back a mini bottle of Hennessy and we went into the massive theater / sports complex thing. It was a huge clusterfuck. Do we see who we are looking for? Can we avoid being seen by the fuckers we want to avoid? Drink.

I passed out for a few minutes or hours and a friend called, waking me up. We always try to go to the beach in the middle of the night when I am in town. His wife was bitching about something so he only had a few minutes. I got out of bed and took a beer to the beach. We said hello, had a hug and I went back to bed. In the morning TheFam and I ate some Hodads. Giant delicious burgers with Bacon and Beer. We waited in line for what seemed like an hour — in the sunshine.

Then we went to La Jolla to see see The Only Blond (TOB) I actually enjoy the company of and her Mike. I went to school with TOB and her Mike is a professor there. They are now happily living in La Jolla where she is getting a PhD and he has ditched his wife and the hundred cats they had. Beer drinking continued while we all talked about grad school, what the hell to do with the rest of ones life, and other shit. TOB started smoking. I thought that would be a good idea. I smoked — maybe one? maybe five? cigarettes. I don’t recall. In fact the last thing I recall was her Mike going to get some Glenlivit, us drinking some, him suggesting that we go to the beach, me thinking it was a great plan. I really really miss the pacific ocean.

So yeah, I said fuck yeah, lets go!

The trip to the ocean is a little foggy. I recall swimming in my granny panties and there was a giant fat mother fucking sea lion. Big ass bitch of a sea beast. I thought, in my drunken haze, ‘it’s so shiny, maybe it wants to be friends’ and I went swimming over to visit with it. Luckily I am loved and my family members do not want to see me devoured on the rocks of the La Jolla coast line by an enormous beast so I was stopped as I crept closer and closer to the lounging shiny fat thing.

But I was all wet and had been in the sunshine.

When we got back to TOB and her Mike’s place — I’m not really sure what happened then. I pretty much blacked out on the way back. I recall barfing into their toilet. I was gonna get int the shower but there were a bunch of clothes hainging in the shower — Hawaiian shirts from what I can grasp from my drunken splotchy memories of something red colored — did I take adderall while I was drunk? I can see that happening. I’m tired, I’ll take some speed. No wonder I got sick. Who knows. I blame the sunshine.

My offspring took me back to the car and my mother was sure they were not gonna let me on the plane. I barfed into an amazingly sturdy plastic bag in the back of the rental car with the conspicuous plates and we headed to the airport. After I was done barfing and we were in the parking area I put my jammies back on in the back of the car. I sat on my suitcase and got it to close. Apparently my knees buckled and I fell over at some point but I have no memory of this. I ended up in a wheelchair headed through security.

See you later lovely family. I’ll make the flight.

I offered to get out of my chair at security but the TSA folks were like ‘no no no, just stay in the chair.” And some nice people must have helped me get on that aircraft cause I made it to Philly shortly after the sun. I walked around 30th street station iso a mega bus to take me to NYC where I promptly regained my lust for the salivating menu item at the Hash House — bud in a bag with a side of bacon — I found a park bench and read a book I stole from robert about five years ago (and had with me as I was meaning to return it) while drinking a PBR in a bag with a straw, and eating a bacon sammie. It was a lovely grey almost raining day. I had a nice time in the park. No one bothered me or hit on me. I’m sure I looked and smelled like I belonged there with my beer and book. Hours passed and I went to a bougie place called Ghost for a couple of stellar cucumber margaritas, then on to the Red Umbrella Diaries where I read a story about pissing on people at gas stations.

Then I went with some nice folks from the event to have more drinks. Eventually I ended up with one person who told me she dressed up like a chicken and did live sex shows — we took a nap on the floor at penn station together. A copper woke us up and told up that sleeping and drinking beer were both against the law in this location. He didn’t take my beer so I just went to the Dunkin Donuts and got a donut to go with my beer while I waited for my train home.

The next morning I was back in New England and able to sleep in my own bed for five hours. Then I went to a strip club and danced, paid my phone bill, scurried in to pay my internet bill only to be told that I had already paid it three months in advance and then I came home to take another nap. When I work up this morning I thought it would be a good idea to cut off all my hair. Now I have a long red silky braid in a bag for sale.

The end.

Red Umbrella Diaries — NYC Storytelling — 6 June

In Adventure, Golden Showers, Los Angeles, Massachusetts, pissing, Widow Centauri on June 2, 2013 at 7:40 pm

I am leaving town NOW. Going to SoCal (June4-5), Philly and NYC (June 6th).

I am telling a really fun story at The Red Umbrella Diaries in NYC on June 6th at 7PM. It is FREE — so come see me, say hello, and enjoy a night of sex worker tales of traveling for business. It is going to be epic.


Happy Ending Lounge
Lower East Side