I'm a sensitive, sensitive lady. Everything today feels too hard and crushing to take. I don't think I can work at the club as planned this afternoon. I need two days minimum to detoxify my psyche of that environment. You can't think when you do that sort of work. You can't think deeply about what you're actually doing and the cause and effect. You do it because you need to be earning money. Survival has precedence. Not working today will not kill me. I had a goal of earning $700-800 this week. Ah. Whatever. $500 will be fine too. I get a little stressed this time of the year.... I'm waitressing at the restaurant tomorrow morning and going to dance that night. It will be the big money making weekend. What sort of gets under my skin is I know I'm intelligent and I *should* be able to find a practical solution with work, you know? I shouldn't be working as a stripper. This depresses me the most. Anyhow. I think I'll spend the afternoon applying for more jobs and taking care of ME. Tonight is a friend's birthday bash.

Insights.

I need to vent here. All of my friends have been supportive about the situation I'm in this winter, except for one, and ironically she is the one who used to be an exotic dancer. I've received negative slurs and put downs from her lately regarding being an exotic dancer, and it makes me feel upset and I've expressed that I would appreciate her support regardless of her attitude about this work. I have to support myself, sweetheart. I have no real viable choice at this moment and I find it to be such a double standard that she is putting me down. I do not need that, especially not from a former dancer. Last night the depressing side of reality sank in. I had trouble emotionally distancing myself from the work I'm engaging in. I did not want to be there. I was not in the mood to dance for men and play the role of "stripper" anymore. And I made the grave error of being on stage completely sober. Note to self: never dance without having a drink first. I could not get into the groove or lose myself in the music, which is a requirement. I felt depressed that this is the reality I'm confronting at present. I'm frustrated that I can't find a regular job. Life feels so fucked up and unfair. I deserve a good job with health benefits, don't I? The anger propelled me to seriously manipulate to the fullest. I have to remember to be positive. Life is going to get better than this. I will be in a better place this next year. For now, I've got bills that need to be paid and I've got a job that can pay for them. Last night I observed that you earn more money from men according to how much skin you show. Never mind adorable and beautiful costumes, what they want when they come into a strip club is to see a woman in a thong and nothing else. Business was slow so I had to kick it up a notch, as in taking off my baby doll set and thigh high tights. I was in the new hot pink lace panties with a thong underneath, a sheer bra, and had some necklaces on. That was it. I was a stripper. I had to spend time with a "professional cowboy" who after an hour had me give him one dance, but apparently he was so turned on that he had to ask me to stop. "You're the sexiest woman I've ever touched," he said, slipping a twenty into my garter belt. "I can't go any further than this." I was flattered and disappointed at the same time. Was it that he was short on cash, or was it that he seriously could not go through with a second dance? He left the club right away. The next man I sat with was the doctor. He comes back each week to see me. I was glad, so glad to see him, because I knew what to expect with him. He is only several years older than me, attractive, and he loves to be mentally and physically entertained. I sat down on his lap and he ordered me a beer- we both drink dos equis. Then he wants me to tell him stories. I concocted a few fictional stories to entertain him about my life. He digs the fact that I told him I have a boyfriend and I played the bisexual card (but I'm far more into men :) and he wanted to know the details about the threesome I had with an ex-boyfriend (which never happened in real life). He wants to hear about the sex I've had with men, probably deriving some pleasure from knowing I'm desired by other men, and I've had to come up with tall tales about what I like. Isn't that crazy?! After about an hour together, free drinks, and one private dance, whispering sweet nothings into his ears about the amazing sex we would have, he placed $120 into my thong and said he would return to see me. I'm an entertainer. I'm someone else for the night. "Jordan" is confident, wild, 25, still in school, likes dominating men, and has a boyfriend. There was a long patch of dead time after the doctor left where I was hanging out in the locker room because I could not find men who were interested. Many already had a lady at their side and others simply did not want the company. Approaching men still feels odd. The manager gave me a lecture on how to do it. Never ask a yes or no question at first. Ask "how is your night going?" and then compliment him. Tell him he's sexy or whatever comes to mind. Touch him and sit down. After about two hours of no business whatsoever, I removed my baby doll lingerie, got down to the panties and bra, and did exactly what the manager recommended with a man in his fifties or sixties. He had glasses on, looked like a business man, and he instantly warmed to my attention, revealing his British accent. Right away he offered to order wine and asked if I would give him some private dances. He told me that he is on a business trip from London. I asked more questions. He has a house with his wife and three children in Notting Hill, a flat in Paris, and said "I think you're coming to London this summer to see me." I danced for him and I could tell he liked it and thankfully did not want me to stop. In the back of my mind, I was thinking: car payment, insurance, utilities bill. Keep dancing! I found his British accent charming and appreciated that he was generous. Then he tried to persuade me to come back to his hotel room with him at this swanky hotel downtown to have champagne and have sex with him. If he wanted to pay $100,000 to fuck me for a night, then MAYBE we could talk, mister. I draw the line there. I had to tell him that it would be lovely, but can't do that as a dancer, and he got out his wallet, thick with money, and gave me five twenties. I think he thought I was like a CALL GIRL. I don't know how it is in Europe. He didn't know that he couldn't touch me in certain places like most men who frequent strip clubs are aware, and I had to take his hands and hold them down at his side while I danced for him. By that time it was 2 a.m. and time to leave. I had to pay the house fees to the managers, dressed into my street clothes, and drove home. Today, I don't think I can psychologically deal with that scene. I am opting to work tomorrow during the day instead and attend a friend's birthday bash that night. I need a day to forget and focus on other parts of living. Tonight: new lesbian bar outing.

"It could be much worse...." I remind myself of this every time I have to give another lap dance to another man I don't want to dance for. "It could be so much worse." You could be living with your parents. You could be paralyzed from the neck down. You could lose your eye sight. You could be dying from cancer. I place the situation into perspective// I go into work about 4 times a week, dress up in fancy lingerie, and strut out on stage with an audience of men that oohs and ahs over me and women in general, slipping money into my garter belt and telling me how cute and gorgeous they think I am, asking me for private lap dances later on. They order me cocktails or whisky or beer or champagne, whatever my heart desires. We talk over the course of songs at their table and I give them private dances on request. Sometimes I hold their hand. Sometimes I allow more touch with the ones I like better. Sometimes I like it. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes I feel that I have truly made someone's night and that makes this sort of work more worth it. The money is good, but I'm not rolling in it in the sense that society imagines it to be. The economy has even affected what strippers are earning and dancers complain about how terrible it has been this year. I take home around $200-250 on a good night. A bad night is around $150. Dancers are continually moving around between clubs in the city searching for the one club that has the most affluent crowd, but the reality is all of them are about the same. No one has the money they used to. I went to Victoria's S*cret this weekend and checked out the prices for lingerie sets I might want to buy in the future. I bought a tube of lipstick and several lace panties to perform in- one is hot pink! To think that this was a "work" outing. I still waitress over the weekend at the breakfast diner and get a chance to step out of my stripper costume. Every night when I come home from the club at 2:30 a.m., I instantly take a hot shower and scrub everything off with lots and lots of soap. Then I breathe.

A friend's 20-year old brother was in an accident a week ago and is now paralyzed from the waist down. She is hosting a benefit for him this weekend. That brought so much back into perspective. I will dance my pants off and take some of that money and donate it to him.

Thanksgiving Dinner was at L and T's place this year. I brought homemade whipped sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts heavy with butter, the southern way. We had a table full of food. Green bean casserole. Stuffing. Turkey. Tofurkey. Gravy. Roasted carrots, potatoes, onions. Mashed potatoes. Macaroni and cheese. Corn bread. My sweet potatoes and brussels sprouts. Deviled eggs. Crackers and cranberry goat cheese. Strawberry and rhubarb pie. Lemon meringue pie. Bottles of wine. Champagne. Cocktails. I was stuffed to the brim with food and drinks. There were about 12 people sitting around the table with a vase of roses in the center celebrating Thanksgiving. I felt gratitude for having so much food and so much laughter on this night. People gathered outside after dinner to smoke cigarettes. I wondered about next year, about where this path I'm on will lead me, and whether or not I might have someone special to bring to Thanksgiving Dinner in 2010. I hope that your Thanksgiving was a warm one.

I'm thankful for believing in myself, possessing emotional strength, daring to place myself out there, and continuing to pursue my dreams. I'm also thankful for my friends, my cat, my house.

Between now and next November I would like to write my novel. That is the most ambitious goal of the year. Time starts NOW.

Observations.

-Men can tell looking into my eyes regardless of what I'm wearing or not wearing that I'm not a stripper. I can fool absolutely no one. I heard: "I want you to know that you're not a piece of meat, you're far more than that.... You look like the girl next door.... I can tell you're not a stripper. You don't have a hard look...." Some customers declined a private dance telling me I'm too pretty. It pains them to treat me like a stripper, which is interesting, since we are in a strip club and I am playing the role of 'stripper.' This is somewhat bad for my business, however, I know that the men I dance for are ones that have respect for me. I feel that there is an untouchable element about me that I can't shake off, and it might be good news for warding off the jerks.

-Men were literally throwing their money at me when I was on stage. I have learned some moves from watching the other dancers. I actually started to ENJOY myself this time, rolling around on stage like an exotic creature, reveling in the spot light. I really got into it, feeling more comfortable and confident. I still have much to learn. I still feel a bit ridiculous at times. I almost tripped over my high heels. "

-When I'm dancing, I'm imagining that I'm dancing for J, and then it feels exciting.

-I liked the night dancers more.

-I like being around women.

-Last night, I got to entertain two younger men in the VIP room. They acted like they had a crush on me, which was endearing. They ordered a bottle of champagne and appetizers, and paid me for several dances afterwards, slipping a $100 bill into my garter belt. I enjoyed spending an hour with them drinking champagne and eating food. I felt treated like a princess, sitting in the middle of these two in a candle lit booth, dressed up in my sexy lingerie. They know the real story about how I came to be working at this place.

-I gave a private dance to a teacher in his thirties, and I think he got off on the fact that I have a master's degree in English. I felt a bit scandalous getting into his lap.

-The poet could not afford a dance but wanted to give me a dance with his fingers. He traced circles on my hand with my eyes closed to an entire song. It was actually pretty hot, especially when he mixed in naughty words.

-I will be able to pay rent this month. I have a job and for that I'm grateful.

Bothered.

Today marks a year and a half since the falling out with J, one of my best friends. I loved loved loved her. Margaret Atwood has commented that female friendships are always shifting and changing. New alliances are continually being formed and old ones left behind. Your best friend today could be your enemy the next day. I wrote and published a poetry book to give to her as a gift this year, not that I expected us to suddenly become friends again overnight, but I wanted to do something entirely unique for her, something that no one else in the world would perhaps ever give her. It was my love in the form of a poetry book. To date, she has never acknowledged it and I have to wonder if she ever read it. It did break my heart into a few pieces this summer! I worked so hard on that collection. I poured my heart and soul into those pages. I had hoped that she would have some grand revelation about me and realize she does not want to lose me. Who was I fooling? I'm idealistic, sometimes too giving, and willing to get burned if I believe it is worth the pain. I told her exactly how I feel about her inside the cover of that book. I was symbolically telling myself to let go of that relationship through sending off the book across state lines. It just feels so hard to face that someone I used to be great friends with would actually never want to hear from me again. It's like, seriously? You really don't want to have me in your life? We cannot work out those issues? Wow. I must be such a bitch for writing a book of poetry and dedicating it to her. I feel that I've done relatively well with letting go, but memories of her have been resurfacing this week, and I admit that I have not totally let go. It has only been a year and a half. I might need another year to exorcise her from my life. I don't know if I can ever forget? I have an infinite memory that retains everything, every word, every moment, every emotion. I'm haunted for that reason. I remember how she made me feel. I remember our conversations. I remember holding hands. I remember how we would write each other almost every day at work. I remember that bouquet of flowers she sent to my office to surprise me. I remember her gorgeous smile that would always make me indescribably happy upon seeing it. I remember her amazing energy that I always wanted to be around and never leave. I remember the other gifts she gave me. I remember her telling me how much she loves me. I made some mistakes in that friendship and we had a falling out. But I feel that I was mentally fucked with for the year and a half we were friends. My therapist said we had an emotional affair, that our friendship was far beyond a platonic relationship, that we acted more like lesbian lovers than friends. I find it difficult to not give any thought to her when she is someone who lavished me with attention, gifts, and love for that length of time. I don't know what else to do but allow myself to feel whatever I feel and not resist it. I'm not over it yet. I'm simply not. I can't pretend that I am.