It is really encouraging to see that “Tilt” is climbing the ladder. It’s like an avalanche, slowly but surely causing the world to see, and not being able to deny it anymore. Thank you Readers Favorite for the amazing review.
Archive for November, 2012
One of the girls at the club approached me on my last shift and congratulated me for publishing my book “Tilt”. I don’t really know her that much. We work rarely together, but I appreciate her kindness to acknowledge my accomplishment. She said to me, “You know, we are passing your book around, and it’s nice to see you are shedding a different light on our profession. Your courage and accomplishment really makes all of us happy. Thank you for speaking for all of us.” I know several girls bought my book. One of them even went to the extend to drive all the way to Barnes&Noble to purchase the book with cash, since she has no credit card. God bless her heart. One bouncer told me he is dating a divorced woman, and “Tilt” helped him understand her and women in general better. I feel honored that the people who are broke like me still support and acknowledge little me and my effort. At the same time, I wonder why my friends who work with me in the pole sport industry don’t say anything. No one puts likes on my Facebook posts, no one congratulates me, they act like I don’t exist, of course, unless they need Jones’ advice, counseling, or expertise. However, I feel honored about that too. They are so jealous, they have to ignore me. Additionally, they also try to be better than me. I find articles about them stating they only see pole dancing as a competitive sport and none of them have ever worked as a stripper before. Except with me on a shift, or at a club I know really well. It’s sad. Fear makes us deny what and who we are.
As for me, I appreciate all my stripper sister’s, bouncer’s, and customer’s support, reading “Tilt” and enjoying it. No one can sabotage “Tilt” rising to the top, because it’s a piece of my heart, something very raw and honest, nothing fake about it. Just me having the courage to admit what everybody tries to cover up, me sharing and speaking out loud what most people swallow to grow an ulcer later.
And don’t forget, although we are just strippers, we are still good enough for the husbands and boyfriends out of the regular, better world to stop by, talk to us, pour out their hearts and souls, even dance with us.
If I would have three wishes, I would wish that people can see there is enough for all of us out there to be successful. The universe holds enough treasures for all of us, stripper or not. I would secondly wish people would listen and hear with their ears and talk less, and thirdly I would save my last wish to become true when I see my San Francisco again. So my third wish remains my secret 😉
It’s really interesting how much I hate this guy, who I was just on two casual dates on. First of all, I hate the way he dresses. Here I am looking my best, and he doesn’t put any effort into his clothing choices. He thinks he is good enough looking without wearing a nice pair of Jeans and a nice shirt. He comes in washed out pants and a stupid, old, wrinkled T-shirt. Then we always have to go to the restaurant he likes. He has no consideration for what I would like to do. He is just focused on what is right for him.
He is a very successful man, and now I know why. It’s always and all about HIM! Him, him, him, him, him…..his dreams, his passions, his stories …. he thinks he is the Good Samaritan, yet he sucks me dry. After each date with him I have been energetically completely exhausted. I know exactly what he wants. Actually, in his mind I am already his, although on our second date, I tried to set it very straight, that I am ONLY interested in a possible friendship. When I actually get a chance to talk in between his ego trip, I weave in that I don’t really know him yet, and that I don’t know what this could ever be. What pisses me off the most is that in his mind it’s all set already. He thinks he is a good catch, and I have nothing better out there for me. He would offer me a carefree life, financially secured, actually living in financial abundance. I wouldn’t have to move a finger anymore and could just be his little, pretty wife. I hate him for that thought. Because, if you look at it from my perspective, I am the good catch, not him. I would be able to stand besides him, making him look good with a trophy wife next to him. I would be his sex factor and his value would go up being with me. Everybody would wonder how a puffed up dwarf like him could get a woman like me, and of course, it would make him look like a big stud. I would be kind and generous enough to support his dreams, and fuel his career, like I have fueled so many men’s careers, and he would think I get exactly what I need and want. Money and things. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t see that I have my own hopes, dreams, and passions. He thinks his stuff is way more important than mine. Actually, he is much like most the men I picked before. Helping them, building them up, supporting their dreams, always standing in their shadow. What he doesn’t know is that I am over this. I had it. I have made too many men, now it’s time to reinvent myself. I have hopes and dreams that are at least as important as other people’s. The difference is I can let other people have their dreams and support them while following my own. This guy is a dream suffocator.
So after telling him that maybe we could be friends, this guy walks me to my car and tries to kiss me. Yuck! Luckily due to working at the club I have learned how to escape such attacks. I actually can predict that they will happen, and I escape before anything damaging would happen. But I am still so turned off. I mean so turned off, I hate this guy to the guts.
However, the lessons are important. And that is why I have lately agreed to go on dates with guys although I am not interested. I learn to appreciate what I have, and I confirm that there is only one man for me, although I cannot be with him physically: my San Francisco! I appreciate him so much. The way he dresses, looks, smells, listens, hears what I say, talks, kisses, and everything else about him. I think there is literally NOTHING I want to change about him, only that I wish he could be happy and speak up when people step on him. Other than that, he’s perfect for me, and maybe he can find happiness somehow, someday! And in the end I know, we will be together again, someday, somehow!
When you think all clouds of the universe have collected above you
When you started suffocating on your own tears
And when your head got so heavy
That you can only look down
To see the black, dark asphalt
When you don’t want to live anymore
When you have become numb
And your heart has frozen into a rock
When you feel there is no sense in taking another breath
When you feel just opening your eyes
In the morning is unbearable
When you wish before you fall asleep
You would never have to wake again
When you feel the ocean of feelings
Has disappeared and you are so
Too scared to go on
And you beg your body could die too
If you just go on
If you just keep going
If you just can’t die
If you just can’t stop hurting even though you feel numb
You might just discover the
Strength to be who you really are
You might unleash the
Power not to have to pretend anymore
And you might rediscover what might be most
Precious to you
You might see it if you look deep in the eyes of an animal
Or you can find it in the sound of the ocean
When the waves crash against the rocks
Or you can hear it
When the wind blows through the forest in autumn
When you find the courage
To live on
When you decide to just
Keep putting one foot in front of the other
When you decide to keep breathing
And you decide to keep believing
You might discover
That something extraordinary is possible.
I admit, I did break my own rules. There is always an exception to a rule, and I chose to make this exception. I weighted my options carefully and decided it was safe and fair. You might remember my 109 year old sailor, Ricky, from a previous post. I clearly said I didn’t want to go sailing with him, although I love sailing and never sailed in the USA before, but then I changed my mind. He was just so persistent, and I knew it would mean so much to him if I would come along to the race he invited me to, that I finally, the day before the race, gave in. I know, I had said I didn’t want to go sailing with someone I am not in love with, but on the other hand, if I wait for the people I love to come through for me, fulfill my fantasies and desires, do something exceptional for me, find a way although it seems impossible, I will possibly wait for the rest of my life, and my hopes and dreams will be there for me till death do us part. I thought, I’ll kill two flies with one hit. I make Ricky proud and happy for having the gorgeous, young (because compared to him I just hatched) Croatian beauty with him, and I get my day on the ocean. I knew during a race the crew and Ricky, the skipper, would be busy enough not to bother me, and I could drown my mind and sorrowful soul for just a few hours in the ice cold pacific. I was prepared for the question how I knew Ricky, because of course, his friends would get suspicious about a woman like me bothering with an old crotchety like Ricky.
And so I drive all the way to the marina. Just walking into a harbor gives me chills. Maybe, in a past life, I lived the life of a sailor, or was married to one. Who knows, but it always did something to me, ever since I am a little girl. The smell of the salt water and the fish. The way the sun and wind feel. Of course, it’s different in Croatia then in California, but there is something that clicks inside of me when I am close to the water.
The day of the regatta is just the perfect day for sailing. It’s the most amazing weather, a nice breeze is blowing, and the ocean is not too wild. I get everything I want from this adventure. I master with ease the questions of his crew where I know Ricky from. I tell the truth, “I work in the fitness industry. My specialty are therapeutics.” I don’t even have to lie. Since Ricky has two prosthetic legs his friends assume the rest. I never say, that’s how we met. Of course, I always avoid with all my power, not to tell people I am a stripper. The minute you tell them, you land automatically in the garbage can for humans. Although, everybody tells you that they don’t mind it at all, it changes everything from one second to the other. Even though, I do work in the fitness industry, and I do own a dog training business, once you out yourself as a stripper, you fucked it up for yourself. I am not ashamed to be a stripper, not at all, it takes much skill, but society will judge you, even if it just happens subconsciously. They have no clue Ricky is my customer.
My time alone, with myself is magical. The crew is busy, trying to set the correct sail and scheming about their strategies to win. I get my quiet time. It’s just me listening to the waves clashing against the boat, allowing my thoughts to drift to the seals and birds we pass, blocking all the other humans out. It’s like a deep sense of contentment that you can feel being on the open water. You realize life alone is not that bad. At least no one can ruin your experience. The power of the wind and ocean is a magnetic force, fascinating.
I take off right away as soon as we pull back into the harbor, and I do not join the after race party at the club house.
I drive back content and relaxed, thanking God for giving me this great opportunity. And I send Ricky a quick email to thank him for inviting me. The next day I receive an email from him in my inbox, “So much fun yesterday– we wound up 2nd. So … you like sailing, maybe we should get involved? What do you think?” I think WOW, really? We have one common interest, and Ricky thinks that would be enough to hook up. If I wouldn’t wear my invisible stripper shield my feelings would be hurt now. How can an old fart like him even have the courage to ask me something this outrageous. He never even had dinner with me. He doesn’t know anything about me except what I do for living and that I love dogs. He is still married, and he still has the impudence to asks me. Well, since I am a stripper, my opinion doesn’t mean anything anyway. So he is just boldly testing the waters. If I turn him down or would I tell him what I really think about this offer, he would quickly come to the conclusion I am just a stupid stripper. I have to brush it off, but maybe I deserve the email, since I broke my own rules. Never overestimate a man you meet in a strip club. Most likely, he will always see you as just a stripper, thinking it fits all the cliches he has about strippers in his tiny brain.
I talked to my mom in Croatia today on the phone and she told me my over 70 years old aunt was crying because my sister is getting now finally a divorce from her abusive German husband after over 15 years of horrible marriage. My aunt Katica was crying as well because of my private situation. It made me really sad to hear that my poor aunt, who had her share of heartaches and abuses, is now on top of that crying in old age over me and my older sister. I know sadness and suffering. I know how it feels to be sad but not able to help or change things. So I told my mom, “Tell Katica that I am very happy now. I have left sadness about my life and about people that use and abuse me almost completely behind. It doesn’t mean I don’t see when people take me for granted. It doesn’t mean that I don’t recognize all the free loaders I have accumulated over the years and even invited into my life. I see it very clearly. It’s actually fascinating to watch, how people take advantage of me, and how they think I don’t even know it. I recognize it very clearly, how almost everybody tries to get money, sex, love, entertainment, psychological counseling, excitement , passion, or all of the above mentioned out of me, without being willing to even reciprocate an ounce. Everybody wants everything for free, and I am volunteering as long as I participate in this nonsense. But I am OK with it. It’s doesn’t destroy me anymore, or better said I have become tough, and most importantly I have bigger things to cry about. I cry now a days about the pigs, and calves, the life stock that is being treated unfairly and wheeled in stinky trucks pumped full with tranquilizers so they can survive the ride to the slaughter house. I cry about the little piglets that have been bread just so we can eat them when they are just big enough. I cry because they never get to smell the fresh green grass on a beautiful lawn or the prickly smell of a deep forest. I cry because the people that raise them are cruel and heartless, kick and abuse them. Yell at them and tell them they are stupid. But pigs aren’t stupid. In fact they are very smart and very human like. Their body temperature, pulse, heart beat, even their eating habits match us humans. They are such gentle and intelligent creature, their noses are pink, and they can be kept and trained like dogs. If they would just at least have a good life before they die, but they live in horrible conditions. So everyday, when I drive on the freeway and I pass a big, old truck I have to think of the life stock we humans raise to kill. I cry every day about it, but yet I cannot change it.”
My aunt and I are in the same boat. We both cry about things we are completely powerless about. Nothing can be changed about my sister’s marriage, or my personal love life, and nothing can be changed about all the cruelty humans do to animals.
My mom just listened, probably thinking I am crazy now. But I am not crazy. I have learned that I cannot change my circumstances and the way people treat me, but I can change how I feel about it. So when my friends suck me dry, make me pay for their parking tickets, or try to have casual sex with me, or try me to email them pictures of my pussy, then I can choose my reactions and actions to their demands. But when it comes to animals being abused and used, there is nothing I can do. Of course, I can choose to be a vegetarian, I can try to feed my dogs less meat, but in the end all the other oblivious people in this world will continue things to spin the way they spin. Because somewhere some big, fat asshole cashes in. Just like some of my friends cash in on me, and some of my friends are big, fat assholes too.
I know you want me to write about the strip club and all the interesting things that happen there, but today it’s just about the poor little pigs. And somehow, a strip club is like a slaughter house too. Big, fat assholes come to visit, and piglets perform on stage … but some of the piglets that perform are just wearing a piglet outfit and underneath they are big, fat, selfish, money hungry assholes as well. So the world is made of butchers and piglets no matter what venue you attend.
I hear this question at least twice during each shift at the club, “What are you doing afterwards?” The first things that pops in my mind: Not you! But of course, I don’t say that. I really wonder what guys think a dancer feels after she has been on her feet in stilettos for at least 6 hours straight. The last thing I think about when I get off my shift is sex. You are exhausted, tired, and burned out. I just want to go home, take a boiling shower to wash off all the club, money, and stage germs, drink a cub of hot tea, soak my sore muscles in mentholated muscle massage gel, and then drift to sleep next to my sweet, gentle, soul soothing Mickey, my Coonhound, who sleeps next to me.
The other thing I don’t understand, why does a guy think that a stripper would just go home with him to have sex with him? I don’t even talk to him without being tipped, he has to pay for a lap dance with me, I only spend time with him if it’s worth it. What makes him think I would meet him outside of the club for a one night stand? Well, I think I do know the explanation. Guys don’t think when it comes to this issue. They think, because I am a stripper, I am a horny girl twenty four hours a day 365 days a year. And since they all think they are such amazing studs, I would just hook up for the physical relief. Although, their question is an insult, I wear my invisible stripper shield. They can’t hurt me, and I just shake my head later in the dressing room.