Ah...finally a really nice, easy day at work. I did 5 bed dances and 11 couch dances. They weren't even that much work, I mean, physically, yes, but I didn't really even have to hustle much. I came home with over four hundred dollars, or about $60/hour. On a Monday, and it wasn't particularly busy either.
I feel like something is trying to keep me dancing, or some shit. This is my last week at the club. Three more days and I don't work there full time anymore. Possibly this weekend I'm going to another club in outer Minnesota with some girls from my club. Then onto Chicago for a week of training or whatever. I finally got my AmeriCorps package. Then I start work Monday the 22nd. Crazy, back to normal life. Parts of me are actually scared/nervous about it.
Lots of other parts of me are eagerly anticipating it.
A small part feels a twinge of remorse.
Well, I can always go back full time if I really decide I want to. Tonight Jammer (we've kissed and made up, so to speak) was giving me shit. Saying, and you want to get a real job, huh?
I was like, fuck Jammer I need a job that will sustain me til old age (not to mention fulfill personal goals and expectations, etc.) - I can't be doin this shit when I'm forty!
He said, make money like this every night and you won't be needing to work when you're forty. Well, I don't know about that...that would be about 90K a year if I never took a week (four days) off of work and actually did make tonight's money every night. Which ain't fuckin likely. I was smokin for some reason tonight.
Saturday was good too, but we were packed as fuck on Saturday. It's like people realize summer is almost over and they need to get their partying in. Or they're finally getting used to the heat. So it makes sense for me to have made decent cash on Saturday.
I got an offer from this kid who is the son of X beer company to come party with him and his friends for a day and he'd pay me $800, in advance. He said no stripping, no sexual favors, nothing. I have hard time processing that. If I truly believed it was totally safe I'd do it in a second. That's where the problem comes in. The only thing I can think of to somewhat secure my safety is to get a silent alarm system going (where I call someone who has the address and personal info of this dude at set times and if I don't call at the set time the person calls the police and reports a kidnapping). But that still doesn't necessarily mean shit. I mean, it's great if the fucker would get caught doing something; but it doesn't help after I've already been raped/ tortured/ kidnapped/ whatever.
The guy offered to meet in a public place in advance so we could talk, said he'd pay me two weeks in advance, etc. He didn't seem sketchy at all, actually. But you know what the say about if a thing seems too good to be true...
I mean, I party with random assholes at the bar all the time and the most I get out of it is maybe a few free drinks. I'd definitly take $800 to party with some random dude and his friends. He was at the club with a couple of girls, too. ...if it was safe. Stupid precautions. Stupid fucked up world.
Shit, I need a cigarette.
***
One thing this job has really done is make me want to make some decent money in my life. I don't idealize being broke and scrimping by at all any more. I mean, we live a pretty comfortable life. We have plenty to eat and enough money to entertain ourselves (btw, if you haven't seen Hustle and Flow yet, I highly recommend it). We pay our bills on time and so far things look pretty good for us.
But I can imagine being even more comfortable.
So now comes the conundrum: how do I follow my heart and self-expectations and live my life in a way I can be proud of, yet get some flow myself and basically seek the American dream (as big a crock of shit as that is in many respects).
I mean, really, when the hell did I get so domestic? A car, house, dog, kids, husband, good cookware? These are things I have my eye on. Maybe when I realized I was going to stay in one place for a bit I started thinking of all the things one tries for when one stays still. Maybe it's my crazy hormones (what do they call that? your biological clock?) pushing thoughts of pregnancy and little ones ever more frequently into my mind. Scary.
Fuck it's hot. Mayhap I'll go smoke a smoke (something I need to quit in the next year or two) and take a shower and hit the hay.