curveball…. hello vice!

Sitting here now, in my motel.  Worked last night, nearly flew off the big poles at my temporary club…I like the place, though the town reminds me too much of where i grew up.  Had some weird guys asking my friend allll sorts of questions—she swore to me she was certain he must be a cop.

And guess what?  He MUST have been!  i SHOULD be out there, making money right now… except that the sherrif called the club claiming its illegal for me to work there because of my age. Nevermind thatt i was given a copy of the laws, and NOWHERE does it mention age…. AND i asked about this BEFORE i was booked…

 And th clubs response? 
“well, OK then, so sorry.. dont show up to work” ad after i insisted on being paid for the full booking, since i gave up OTHERS, and have travel expenses… they rfinally conceded “well if we bbook you ELSWHERE  that will rectify the situation”.

Ah well, more examples of overeager men managing my body.

 No, its NOT the same.  I may have to take lower  base pay, PLUS i dont know anything about another booking.  They don’t care about my safety, and its difficult for me to research it with my travel partners laptop and tenouis connection.  My phone doesnt even get signal.

Hate feelign the control gone….  and I hate hte quasi-morality of it here, where a layer of latex on my nipple means i’m “clothed”, yet the stripper stigma is glaringly self evident, racism and sexism tucked into all the corners lovingly.

Its dog eat dog  The club wants me out of their hair, the customers miss me, my roommate needs to balance her money against my situation.  Unfortunate, all around.

 The loss of control tears me apart.  I cant stand sitting here waiting for G to come home.  My bulimic urges havebeen hitting me hard… I want to eat and throw up, and feel empty.  Purged once, for the first time in six months.  Furious at myself.  Tried confining myself to the bed until the urge passed.  I don’t trust myself.

G is happy to be in  this townl.. it reminds her of home, she likes it for a change.  It reminds me of home, I  hate it.  I feel trapped, claustrophobic, helpless.  And my outlet has been removed.  I’ll waste a week here while they try to set my next booking.  Can you see the insanity take hold?

Quite depressing… particularly since one of the bartenders was quite friendly, and had promised to come in tonight(his night off) because he wanted to get dances from me.  Cute kid, quite nice.  I’d been looking forward to it.  I might go out to lunch with him, now that i’m not working there.

I hate this instability.  The feeling that no matter how well I do, how professional I am, i have a snowflakes chance in hell of actually succeeding in the world.  Even in my little blacklit niche.  But thats the thing about dancing gigs.  Easy come, easy go.  Losing your job can be as simple as not hugging a manager hello, or a Vice officer grasping a straws to teach a lesson to the immoral strippers and their legal “pimps”-the club.

The second is what happened here.  Vice has HATED this clubs existance…  there’ve been so many protests associated with it and public outcry, that they feel they have “court blanche” and raid frequently.

But why me?  Why not write up one of the dancers for lack of proper nipple covering, or the other for simulated masturbation and oral during stage shows?  Those ARE against the letter of the law.  NOT my not being old enough to accept an alcoholic drink from a customer.

~ by dolcearia on January 9, 2008.