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.

FUCK YOU! (Not you. YOU)

"no news = good news = I pray" ~Ugu~

Ugu had it right - I haven't written, cuz things have been going well. Who wants to be bored with that?

Thank God then that I went back to work for the first time tonight and it FUCKING SUCKED.

I had a good day today, my two-weeks-sober anniversary. Went to treatment during the day, then picked up Baby and met with Sponsor for coffee, then after dinner I took Baby to an Eating Meeting. While I was there, I started to get frantic, non stop phone calls from Girl Agent.

The buzzing finally drove me nuts and I checked my phone, to discover that she had a show for me, tonight at 11. I had already shared in the meeting, going first so that Baby and I could stop distracting everyone else and leave early. She actually did amazingly well, but I didn't want to push it. I called Girl Agent once we were out the door and said that I would do the show, then drove Baby home.

Bf was nervous when I told him. I can hardly blame him - did you know that the night that I blacked out for seven hours and had to call my parents to rescue me that Bf and Baby had driven around for over an hour, trying to find me? WELL NEITHER DID I. I have absolutely no memory of the fact that Bf got Baby into the car in the middle of the night and drove around downtown City for over an hour, trying to find his blackout drunk girlfriend in her crapped out car.

No wonder he was pissed when I didn't call the next day.

Anyway, I reassured him that everything would be fine, as he and Baby helped me get ready for my show by applying makeup to each other's faces. The end product of their artistry was to evoke my last genuine laugh of the night. By the time I was ready to go, my confidence had dissipated entirely, leaving me feeling certain that my reflection resembled a fat old drag queen. Not the best frame of mind to head out to do a stag in, but I had no one to blame but myself - I have been eating shit for weeks, not going to the gym on a regular basis, and I haven't hit the tanning bed in months. I looked like shit, I reasoned, because I have been a lazy fat ass. So suck it up, Princess, I thought, and get your fat ass out there.

I couldn't have orchestrated a worse scenario for my first sober stag had I brought MS back to life to sexually assault me for sport. It was seriously soul destroying. And yes, I am being melodramatic, but it's my fucking blog. So get bent.

I couldn't get them to come into the living room so I could start my show. Seriously, it was like trying to herd cats, they were all over the fucking place. Which did nothing to help my already decaying self esteem. When I finally got them all into one room and got Douchebag #1 to play some fucking music - which took about 20 MINUTES - they stayed for maybe a minute, then started coming and going during my show. This was especially upsetting since there were only 5 guys and 1 girl, plus two topless waitresses.

Ah fuck, I am so tired. I'll finish this tomorrow. Sorry.

The Worst Week, Like, Ever

Last week was enough to make me wonder - does God fucking hate me? Perhaps He had finally tired of my abject, antisocial cowardice, the shameless waste of my intellect, or the massive self abuse my poor vessel of a body has been forced to endure over the years. Or maybe He was just bored, and like the producer of a crap reality program that had decided to fucking FUCK with me. Whatever, the fact that last week ended without any attempts at suicide is a perplexing mystery.

To recap: after receiving slack/ being shit upon constantly about my weight during the week, by Thursday I had been pulled out of my last booking before Xmas because I was too thin; despite repeated efforts to improve it's etc, my car finally died on Saturday; which was, by the way, the day after I lost control coming off the highway and slammed into a parked semi, tearing my side view clear mirror off before bouncing me into the ditch. When I got out of my stuck SUV and ran back to the middle of the road to get my side view mirror out of the way, I slipped on the ice and lay there, momentarily stunned, until the approaching cars started to honk like mad in warning and I actually had to ROLL out of the fucking way. Later that day, BF got very upset with me when I recanted my promise to spend Sunday with he and his family doing Christmas things because I wanted to work (he was so mad, he called me by my real name. He hasn't called me by my real name in 16 months, it was horrible). Let's see, what else happened this week? Oh right, i had money stolen from my room at the dancer house, even though I had hidden it quite well in my computer bag. Somewhere between three and four hundred dollars, not entirely sure as there were a couple hundred loonies in there too. Then there was the Douchebag Hat Trick - 3 assholes in the bar that were friends and sitting together, and each one treated me worse than the one before - the first one grabbed my boob in a private dance, the second touched my VAGINA, and the third made me bark and beg and sing and dance and prove myself worthy as a human being to get him to buy one dance, and in the end he told me that if I didn't do any extras, he wasn't going after all. All of these things, coupled with the fact that I had run out of my meds and was currently on an emotional free-for-all and that I had to stay two extra days in Mid Province City while Canadian Tire raped me for my car repairs, and you had one stripper that just wouldn't get out of bed anymore, for fear of spontaneous combustion.

Things didn't improve when I first got home last night - on the fucking GREYHOUND no less, since Can Tire was still sexually molesting my car at MY expense - and BF would barely even look at me. This occurred just minutes after I had awoken on the bus as it pulled in to the Calgary station and discovered that when I had fallen asleep with an open bag of Skor Bites in my hands, I had managed to upturn the whole bag and dump it into my lap. Over the next hours, the little chocolate balls had wedged themselves under my thighs and then MELTED from the heat of my sleeping limbs. When I stood up to exit the bus, I discovered what looked like a soggy pile of diarrhea sitting on the seat I had just vacated. A couple of other passengers murmured their shock (and then sympathies), then kindly confirmed for me that yes, I did have melted chocolate all over my ass. I was so embarrassed, and tried to explain that I had fallen asleep on my chocolate, but I looked down at the brown pile on the Greyhound seat, shut my mouth, and just walked off the bus. I didn't tell the bus driver, as I had proclaimed to the other passengers I would - I just kept walking, through the terminal and into the ladies room, where I sat down to cry in the handicap stall. I was starting to wonder just how much more I could take before I lost it completely.

I finally walked back into the terminal, my grey cardigan tied around my waist to hide the chocolate stains on my pants. I was disappointed that Bf and Baby weren't there yet, so I decided to wander around and look for them, in case they were waiting somewhere else. As I walked down the corridor, I came across the girl who had been sitting behind me on the bus, who had expressed sympathy at my chocolate misfortunes. I sat down on the floor and chatted with her for a few minutes, watching as she searched through her cavernous hockey bag for her iPod USB so she could plug her iPod in to her computer and charge it before she had to get back on the bus. She couldn't find it, though, so I lent her mine while I continued to wait.

A moment later, my phone rang. It was Bf, wondering where I was. As it turned out, he had been there the whole time, parked just outside the front door, waiting for me to walk out. I quickly gathered up my iPod USB and started towards the door just as Bf appeared. I started to run towards him then faltered, unsure of whether he was happy to see me or not. He seemed as unsure as I, and we came together awkwardly. We exchanged stilted pleasantries, then quickly returned to the car, where Baby was waiting.

At least someone was happy to see me! She started laughing the moment I sat down, and chatted and laughed the entire ride home. Just like every time I haven't seen her in a week, she looked different - a little bit older, a little more child-like rather than babyish, a little more understanding of her surroundings and her ability to communicate. Thank God she was there to lighten the mood! Things remained awkward and stilted with Bf, to the extent that he would barely even look at me during the drive home. I wasn't sure what I had done, but lately this was just par for the course. I think I irritated him even more when I had to ask him to take me to get my meds on our way home, as I was getting more nauseous and irrationally emotional with each passing breath. Then the kicker, just as we arrived home - Baby Momma called for apparently the billionth time that night, drunk and screaming at BF for forgetting that it was her birthday. BF tried to put Baby on the phone with her mum, but Baby was too excited to see that her Kg had finally come home, and kept pushing the phone away and trying to make a beeline for me.

I stayed up late that night with Baby, who seemed to want to stay up and be in my company as much as I wanted to be in hers. Bf had offered to let me watch her the next day, and I had eagerly jumped at the chance to redeem myself and spend time with the little one. Our short little visit that night was awesome, we cuddled up on the couch together and watched t.v. and even talked a bit. Every day she is throwing out more and more perfectly formed words, and asking lots of questions. The funniest thing is when I try to run upstairs to grab something, she'll drop whatever she is doing, shout "I COMING TOO!" and tear up the stairs after me. She is just so fucking cute!

Anyway, my week of hell and abject misery may have been worth it after all. Perhaps I had to suffer to truly appreciate the blessing that Bf threw my way tonight.

We were discussing our plans for tomorrow. I had asked Bf if he could drive me back to Mid Province City so I could pick up my car, and that's when I got my surprise.

"I have to go to Family Services tomorrow, I have an appointment," he said. "Do you want to come with me?"

My mouth opened to reply, but nothing came out. I was a bit stunned, to be honest. I had known about his appointment for the past three weeks, but he hadn't brought it up again, and I wondered if he would still pursue it. But then to ask me to come along? Really?

"Could I?" I asked, a bit dazed. "Could I really?"

Bf looked perplexed, like he didn't know if I was happy or displeased by his offer. But my mind was already racing away, thinking of all the possibilities this appointment presented. I would finally get to tell someone, someone that mattered, everything she had done to me. I finally had an audience that would care about my suffering, that would agree with me and confirm that what she was doing to me was wrong, that I wasn't just overreacting. I guess, in essence, I would finally get a chance to get my fucking revenge.

The best part was that I wouldn't have to lie to do it - all I had to do was tell the truth and I would get her back. I wouldn't have to sink to her level after all, which I have wanted to do so desperately for the past three months. But now I am so glad that I reigned myself in. It hurt so much to shut my mouth and just take her abuse, but now it is going to pay off. In a custody dispute, it's got to matter that while she shouted and swore and abused and insulted me, I acted like an adult and did not fight back. I really want some validation for that, and the people mat Family Services are who I want it from.

There is of course the possibility that I am reading way to much into this, that I am hoping for way more than this appointment can offer me. Still, I am so desperate for a reason to hope, I can't stop thinking about it. I hope that this will turning point in our family dynamic, and step towards making living with that woman a little more bearable.

Please, God. Please.

Too Sexy? Or Too Skinny? (unfinished)

Too Sexy? Or Too Skinny?

That is the question that is currently plaguing every facet of my fucking life. Agent BBMed me last week, and told me once again that I was getting too thin. He has really been coming down hard on me these past few weeks, but on Monday he made his first reference to their being some real consequences to my continued resistance to putting some weight back on:

"Agent: Manager talk to you?

Kage: No, about what?

Agent: Ur weight. Start puttin weight on grl the clubs r noticing..

Kage: I honestly have been, but I will try harder I stopped going to the gym until I gain weight I promise I am trying!

Agent: You gotta put weight on or clubs r going to take a pass on u

Kage: I know, Agent, can't you see that I have already gained?

(Picture sent)

Kage: Please don't give up on me Agent, I am not anorexic again and I am going to put the weight back on!

KAge: Are you still gonna send me to Tourist Mountain Town next week, or do you want me to do Small South City?

Agent: I filled Small South City now cause I need kickass girls in Tourist Mountain Town but honestly I'm concerned about you. I'm going to be on u hard to put on weight

Kage: Ok, Agent. I promise I won't let you down in Mountain Town. I'm still a kickass girl and I'll put the weight back on, I promise.

Agent: Please do. Ur a great grl.

Kage: Thank you. I'm sorry for worrying you."

So that was Monday. I didn't really hear from him again until Thursday, when he knocked me sideways with his aggression.

“Agent: Call me in the morning I need to talk to u

Kage: Ok. What’s going on?

Agent: Talk to u tomorrow

Kage: Did I do something wrong? Please tell me

Agent: Ur getting moved out of Tourist Mountain Town next week week I'm working on gettin u something in twn. U need to get healthy again I want to see you in the office monday and ur going to explain to me why u think being 5 foot 9 and 85 pounds is appealing to most people.

Agent: Stop it

Kage: Ok (cuz what else could I say?)

Agent: I still love u though

Kage: I still love you too. Please, please reconsider sending me to Mountain Town, I am still a good girl and I think I just look really thin to people who know me cuz the weight loss was so rapid. All I hear from guys in the audience is how amazing my body is, but I can gain a few more pounds by Tuesday I am ordering takeout right now and i’m going to cram it all down and then eat some chocolates.

Agent: I will think about it but I’m not hearing positive reviews frm the clubs and this will be my 2nd week bookin Mountain Town I’m not risking it I will put u in twn until I hear ur puttin weight back on.

Kage: Ok.

Agent: U can hate me all u want but if I have to be a prick to you so u start eating. I’m bringin a scale to the office and we will agree on a fair weight 4 u. This is ur fuckin life and u seem to surround urself with pussies that won’t be honest with u. Ur abeautiful girl with a great personality but ur perception of reality in regards to ur weight is wacked.

Kage: I don’t hate you, Agent. I want to get better, what happened with my teeth actually got my a referral to City Eating Disorders, I’m on the waiting list now and i’m still going to my own counselor. Actually, I guess that’s not entirely true, I haven’t seen her in a couple of weeks. I do want to get better, I’m just so scared of getting fat, being thin is the only thing I’m good at.

Kage: Please don’t tell anyone I told you that, though. I don’t want that psycho Baby Momma to get any more fodder to throw in my face if word gets out that I am going to counseling for food issues on top of everything else.

Agent: K"

NEXT DAY

"Kage: Hey, sorry to bother you, I was just hoping to find out if you’d found any work for me next week?

Agent: U will be covering shows in twn I will see you at the office at 2 pm as well

Kage: Am I still working the week after?

Agent: U asked to be off the 21st then Our City 28th? That's what I have on the call sheet

Kage: Oh fuck, I thought there was one more week before Christmas."

And that was it. He hadn't even seen me to see that I had gained some weight, he just took Manager's word

for it, and pulled me out of work the week before Christmas.

Manager came into the club that afternoon while I was onstage, and I felt my hurt and anger swell at the sight

of him. Because of whatever crappy things he had said to Agent about me, I had been fired the last week

before Christmas. As soon as my show was over, I went backstage to confront him.

"Hey Manager," I said as I pushed through the double doors with my stage bag. "Do you have some free time

later? I was hoping you could sit and watch me eat before I lose any more work."

I was trying to be tough, but my voice was shaking, and I could see that he knew it.

"Kage," he said softly. "Come here."

Reluctantly, I dropped my stage bag onto the floor and walked over to him. He held out his hand for me,

and after a moment's hesitation, I took it. He clasped his other hand over mine and gave it a warm squeeze,

then he looked me right in the eye.

"Kage, Agent and I are worried about you," he said, still speaking softly and holding my hand. "Look at

you, honey. You're so thin, you've lost so much weight in such a short period of time. You look unhealthy,"

he emphasized with a shake of my hand, as if to to rattle me, and suddenly my exhaustion hit me full force.

I began to cry.

"Come here," he said, and pulled me into a hug. I let him wrap his arms around me and he held my head

as I cried silently into his chest. "Agent is scared," he continued. "He doesn't know how else to help you.

This is just his way of trying to make sure you get better."

I started to chant off my usual excuses for how I had dropped so much weight, and then just stopped. The

damage was already done now, there seemed little point in trying to justify my weight loss.

I pulled my head back up and wiped my eyes, and he lifted my chin to look straight into my eyes again.

"We know you're not doing drugs," he said.

I squeaked with outrage. "You're fucking right I'm not!" I snapped.

"I know," he soothed. "But Kage, you still look really unhealthy."

I nodded, then picked up my stage bag and walked away. I knew that I was too thin. The stress that I have been under with Baby Momma, coupled with the oral infection and

consequent surgery that left me unable to eat solid food for two weeks, had dropped my weight to below 113 lbs, which was

my anorexic weight back in 2000. I didn't really think that my appearance warranted such a dramatic reaction, but I knew that

I really had no choice - if I wanted to work, I had to gain some weight.

The most frustrating thing was all the mixed revues that I was getting. Manager and Agent clearly thought I looked disgusting,

but all I heard from all of the guys that I took to VIP for a private dance kept telling me how amazing my body was. "God, you

are just so tiny, I love it," and "You must work out a lot," and "You're body is just so perfect" were what I would hear from virtually

every single dude I danced for. It made me want to drag each guy backstage, plunk him in front of Manager and demand that he

repeat word-for-word what he had just said to me.

But since that might not help me sell dances, I had to find a way to gain some weight.

For the next two days, I ate whatever I wanted. Between meals of whatever fatty foods I craved, I would also stuff my face with

Hershey's Kisses and Jelly Beans. By Friday I knew that I had gained some weight, even though I didn't have a scale. I could tell

just by my appearance in the mirror - my arms had filled out a bit and looked healthier and not as bony; my abs weren't quite as

sharply defined; my legs looked a tiny bit less scrawny. I was feeling pretty good about myself as I walked around the club after my

show, signing posters and selling dances. After a while I decided it was time for a smoke break, and headed backstage.

As I pushed through the double doors into the back of the bar, I was happy to see that Manager was there, having a smoke too.

To Be Continued...