Ponge is being really great about the house. It's like he's the housewife and I'm the working dad in some 50's sitcom. He keeps things overall pretty clean (I'm real anal, so it's hard to live up to my standards) and makes food for us even when I can't join him and puts up with my being sometimes grumpy before work. When I slept forever today/yesterday he was like - what's wrong? I was like - I dunno. Which really, I don't. It seemed fucked up to me, too. I know that sleeping and lack of desire to do anything is a symptom of depression, but I don't think I feel depressed. All the times past when I felt depressed I sure as fuck knew it. Maybe I'm bored, so bored that I don't want to get up.
My back hurts. I didn't have to take the muscle relaxers tonight. I thought tonight was going to suck it - Mondays are not good money nights usually. But I did 16 couch dances and one bed dance, which ended up being like $220 in take-home. Most of that was from these two guys, damn but I think I am getting my technique down like hell. I breath all into their necks and rub the back of their ears and move my lips close to theirs like I'm going to kiss them but then move away. It's like I really want to make out with them but I can't. I think guys think I am really into them when I do this, which makes them want to get me off or something, even though they are the ones paying me. I converse in half-truths and lies (like how I only kinda-sorta have a boyfriend, like how I'd love to go out dancing with them some time but my schedule is just too busy). I give one-liners out like a bad movie. (How you doin' tonight? oh, fine..Fine, huh, you wanna do better? Or the guy will say - I like your outfit... Really, wanna see me take it off?)
Not that it was so hard before, but I can spot sex-happy slimeballs a fuckin mile away. The way someone I'm talking to at a party holds my hand or looks at someone, their body posture while standing by a girl. Someone will just give me what I call that "strip-club" feeling. Not that all the guys in there are slimeballs, but it's actually more creepy when they aren't. You can be having a perfectly normal, even funny, conversation with someone about the widest range of topics imaginable. Then, you get them to buy a dance and suddenly you are this insatiable whore who only wishes we weren't at this club so we could really get it on, and they are getting hard as shit or even blow their wad (thank god the latter doesn't happen much) and fucking believing this fantasy personality that you've created. Then when the dance(s) is(are) over, maybe you go sit by them again and resume the conversation like nothing just happened. That is fuckin trippy. At least a horn ball whacko is something I can sum up - these normal or even sorta cool people who just dip in and out of that part of their personality trip me out.
Man, maybe I should take a bath. Mmmmm...bath. I love our bathtub, it's the best part about this apartment. It's one of those old school baths with the high back - meant for days when most people bathed rather than showered, I guess probably due to low water pressure? Anyway, it makes up for our teeny stove and refridgerator. The only thing that is funky is that the pipes get clogged every month or so and we take the toilet plunger to the drain, at which point a bunch of random black and brown flaky shit comes pouring up. Disgusting much? Afterwards I scrub the shit out of the tub. I hope it has nothing at all to do with the sewers and is just rotting pipes - probably full of lead. Yeeeee-haw.