Friday, January 15, 2010


"Fragile, she doesn't see her beauty
She tries to get away." ~NIN~

Sigh. You know when Homer and Marge walk by that hot dog vendor, and the guy says something along the lines of "Lady, he's putting my kids through college"?

Well, if Dr. Yu has kids, and despite his rampant adult acne I am assuming that he does, then this girl right here is sending those kids to fucking YALE.

I am going in for another surgery next Thursday. Ma and Pa, in their infinite-yet-misguided wisdom, have agreed to lend me the money. The surgery itself is $5,350, and has, count 'em, EIGHT follow up appointments. This will get my wretched mouth back to normal.

The total cost, including my initial surgery, comes to over 18 grand.

I cannot help but torture myself with images of all the things I could have bought, had I not succumbed to my eating disorder. The cost of my teeth isn't the only shocking waste of money - food, especially incredibly delicious, high-calorie, elaborately presented food, ain't cheap.

I should have just stuck with the drugs. Why couldn't I be satisfied with just one fucking soul-destroying addiction?

Anyway. I don't have long to write, as I am actually working tonight! Girl Agent and I are off to Tourist Ski Town, which is a world famous ski town about an hour's drive from the city. I am hoping desperately that a) the guys aren't complete douchebags, and b) they feel like tipping. Kg needs to pay her bills! I am in a fairly good frame of mind, as endless obsessing has helped me realize my mistakes at the last stag. I got the chance to put my theory to test, as I worked two days this week in the clubs. I understand now that my defense mechanism of becoming aggressive was both out of character and supremely inappropriate. I had forgotten how I used to handle these situations without resorting to alcohol. I got the chance to try my usual defense mechanism when I worked at the club this week, as I was incredibly uncomfortable while I was onstage. The worst was watching the other dancers gasp in shock at my weight gain, then proceed to talk about it in front of me like I wasn't there. I felt so vulnerable, and then of course you add when guys are not paying attention or say crappy things in front row, and I suddenly I feel like shit. This is when I need to find a way to cope, and this past week, I did.

I had forgotten how much I enjoy playing the stand up comedian. It kind of fell to the wayside in the past few months, basically because I thought that my looks were good enough, and I didn't have to make any extra effort. But now...well, now I need every weapon at my disposal.

I may not have the best body anymore, but I am smarter than most of the girls, and I have a wicked sense of humor. Not to toot my own horn, but I need to have something that I feel I am good at, and now that I no longer have that body, well, this is it.

And so I started cracking jokes. I love how shocked the audience is when I say something clever - they just aren't expecting it from someone who gets naked for a living, I guess. But for every show I did, I rocked it! I started by saying things to each group individually, and by the end of each show I was shouting things to the room at large. And it worked! As more and more people slowly made their way to front row so they could hear what I had to say, I felt less and less embarrassed about my rapidly expanding body. Everyone was looking at my face, waiting to hear what I would say next.

I ended up really enjoying all of my shows, which is something I haven't experienced in a very long time. Too long, really. And so tonight, that is my plan, my coping mechanism.

Bf sounded really disappointed when I told him I was working tonight. Yesterday was a really bad day. I spent twelve hours on the couch, crying and sleeping. When Bf got home last night and discovered me in the exact same spot he had left me in, he was supremely frustrated. And when his endless efforts to get me up and moving about failed, he finally snapped.

"This is not normal!" he yelled. "People don't stay in the same spot for twelve hours, doing nothing!"

"I know," I said miserably.

"So why are you doing it?" he said, exasperated.

"I don't know," I muttered.

He stared at me for a long moment. "Are you going to come to bed with me tonight?" he asked finally.

"Yes," I whispered.

"Fine. I'm going to bed," he snapped, and walked away.

I heaved myself out of the recliner and went into the kitchen to feed Moo. While I was waiting, I decided to make myself something quick to eat. I wasn't hungry, but I was too cowardly to follow Bf upstairs when he was so mad at me.

I had just pulled the veggies out of the freezer when Bf appeared in the doorway.

"Are you coming to bed with me or not?" he demanded.

"Yes, I just wanted to make some food," I said lamely. I was trying to avoid him, and we both knew it.

"No," he said from the doorway. "No! You promised me that you would come to bed with me tonight."

What the fuck am I doing? I wondered to myself. Why am I acting like this? What the fuck is HAPPENING to me?!

"Okay," I said, and put the veggies back in the freezer. "Okay."

He just stared at me. "I don't know how to deal with you when you're like this, Kg."

"I know," I said again.

He threw up his hands in frustration, and stomped out of the kitchen and up the stairs. "If I wake up and you're not in bed, I'm taking Baby to work with me," he yelled over his shoulder. "I don't know what else to do with you."

I didn't know either. I was too exhausted to feel anything, too tired to reply. Normally I would fucking spaz at such a thinly veiled threat - though of course, I would never earn an ultimatum like that it in the first place. But being talked to like that normally makes my blood boil, and I would never just let a comment like that pass. I don't fight, and I wouldn't have yelled back, but I wouldn't have just swallowed it without comment and followed him up the stairs.

This is how disconnected I am from myself right now. I just don't feel anything at all, save for sadness and exhaustion.

I gotta get ready for work. I'll write when I get back.


I'm back. It is now Saturday morning, and I just saw Baby and Bf off for the day. I am going to go to Sears to buy Bf a frying pan, and then I think I might need to come home and have a nap. I am pooped!

Last night went really well. My plan to use comedy as my defense mechanism was once again a raging success. The guys loved me! I smiled and cracked jokes through my whole show, and was cuddly and doting with all the guys. It's funny what I used to stay inspired while I was doing this - of all things, the person that I kept thinking to emulate was, for some reason, Jessica Simpson.
I KNOW, right? I can honestly say that I have never, ever wanted to be like that jammy twit. What I was actually thinking of was a story I read about her, years ago, which presented the theory that Jessica Simpson is just playing the role of a dummy, to generate interest in her reality show. The article suggested that she was actually pretty smart to be playing the role of the happy ================================================================prprrrrrr
Oh God, sorry. I fell asleep.
Anyway, I channeled Jessica Simpson last night, and just smiled and laughed and pretended that I was the life of the party, instead of just agonizing about all the things I would rather be doing. And it worked - once I started to act like I was happy to be there, I actually became happy to be there. I ended up enjoying my job entirely clean and sober, and I made a ton of cash doing it. My experience last night kind of renewed my faith in myself that I have been mourning these past few weeks - I can do this sober, I don't need drugs and alcohol to get through any of this. I just need to keep my sense of humor. I was on cloud nine when I left the stag with Girl Agent last night. All my wallowing in self pity and self doubt started to fade away as I was reminded how well I do this job when I am sober. I love making people laugh, and I love doing a really good show and defying the stereotype of dancers that I was unfortunately personifying for a while. The non-bitch is back!

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