Thursday, January 7, 2010

FUCK YOU! (Not you. YOU) PART 2

For whatever reason, I can't seem to add on to the previous posting. So I will just pick up where I left off.

So, I couldn't get them to stay in the room while I did my show last night, save for one. The rest of them kept wandering around, doing this and doing that while I stood there with my top off. In my supreme embarrassment at being ignored while I got naked, I got more and more aggressive with them, until finally I just yelled. "Look, do you guys want to see my vagina or not?!", which I thought would get me some kind of reaction.

It did, that. Douchebag #2, a wiry, faggy-looking affair with trying-too-hard designer stubble and male pattern baldness, ran up behind me and yanked my pants and underwear down to my ankles, during the one and only time everyone was in the room.

So I turned around, took careful aim, and slapped him across the face.

Now, then. NOW, THEN.Yes, I know that I am a stripper. And yes, I also realize that I was going to get completely nude anyway. But I found his action to be bordering on violent - he yanked my pants down so fast he actually burned me - and totally intended to humiliate and degrade me in front of his friends. And perhaps a slap across the face wasn't exactly warranted, but in my experience the other guys find it hilarious and it keeps the douchebags in check.

Christ. The way this little man went off, you'd think I just slapped his newborn child or something. What a whiny little BITCH:

"This vagina show SUCKS," he started to yell as soon as I had moved on from him. "Boo! Boo!"

That's when Douchebag #1 stood up and took off his belt, and told me that since I had 'smoked' his friend in the face, he got to hit me once, across the ass.

"No you fucking don't," I said sweetly. "Your friend had it coming."

I felt a sharp stab of fear. Douchebag #1 was a really big guy. In fact, I recognized him from being head doorman at a club downtown that I went to in my youth. He grabbed my wrist and tried to yank me out of his friend's lap, his belt dangling from his other hand.

I dug my feet in, but he was too strong for me, and a moment later he had me bent over. I tried to fight him off, so scared was I that he was going to get his friend's revenge for him. Thank Christ he was just goofing around, and just gave me a light smack with his belt. That dude could have left me with some serious welts. I was relieved that at least he had a sense of humor - and that he didn't give the belt to El Faggot.

I finished my show as quickly as I could, trying to maintain my dignity while Douchebag #2 continued to heckle me. As soon as I could, I announced that the show was over and bolted downstairs to get dressed. I had to get out of there, I just felt so low and unappealing and hurt and angry. Douchebag #3 followed me downstairs, and of COURSE had to make an issue out of paying me - I smugly displayed the text from Girl Agent, which displayed all their information plus the wage I was to pick up, which shut him up - and then I fucking bolted. I was crying before I reached the car, where I called Bf before I even unlocked the door. I knew he would be worried, as it had taken me so long to get the show over and done with.

He answered on the first ring.

"Are you okay?" he asked, as I threw my suitcase into the backseat of Trent the Tracker.

"No," I said miserably. "I mean yes, but no."

"Okay, come home, baby," he said. "We can talk about it when you get here, okay?"

"Yeah," I said, and hung up. I was just throbbing with disappointment. I had so hoped that my first sober stag would go well, as a testament to my ability to do this job perfectly well while maintaining sobriety. But tonight had shown me just how risky this was going to be - I had a major desire to drink while I was in there. And even though I didn't, and I know that 9 times out of 10 stags go really well and they love me, there is still going to be that other 1 in 10 where they treat me like shit, and I have to find a way to deal with it.

I just don't know how to deal with it, without snorting copious amounts of drugs.

When I got home, I found Bf asleep on the couch in front of the Daily Show. I was actually a bit relieved to find him asleep - as much as I appreciated his support, I was in quite the craptacular fucking mood. And I had already decided before I even got home that I would spending the night in front of the television. That was to be my coping mechanism - a little Stephen Colbert, and then leave the tv on for the rest of the night. That way, when I woke up scared and angry and disappointed and hurting, I would be immediately soothed back to sleep.

It's no illegal drug, but it will do in a pinch.

My pissy mood lasted through treatment today, where once again I was pinned into a corner and encouraged to share. I managed to back out the first time, but apparently everyone was concerned by the fact that I was rocking back and forth and refusing to make eye contact, and they just kept bringing the conversation back round to me until I finally just told them why I was angry. And I don't know if it was the sharing with the group, or that when I went home for lunch Bf and I got hot and heavy in the kitchen, but when I went back for the afternoon, I was back to my old self again.

Well. Almost. I still have to figure out what I am going to do about my fucking job.

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