Coming Out of Retirement

7 11 2016

As always, it’s been a while since I have written. Gone are the promises of writing more often. I have learned to write when the mood strikes me or when I can. A short recap of my life since my last post…

After leaving my ex in 2015, guess what I did? If you have been reading for a while you guessed it. We tried to work it out. I left Arizona and returned to Tennessee in August 2015. A month later he called and led me to believe he wanted to be a family. He moved down here as well and secured a great job. We were doing well, I thought. Bought a Mercedes, I was working part-time and taking care of the kids, and managed to finish my Bachelor’s degree in August of this year. Two days after graduation he left me for someone he got pregnant at work. Obviously, everyone in his family knew except for me. Good riddance. This time there is no recourse. We have court in December and I will finally be rid of the drama and move on with my life. I have definitely learned my lesson for the final time. He left me with all the bills, two car payments, credit cards, and has barely been to see his daughter. All the jobs I have found want to pay me $15 or $16 an hour as a recent college grad. That’s just not going to cut it.

At this point I have decided that after the first of the year, if I am capable of holding out that long, I will go back on the road for a while to get some money together. My children will stay with my family. They surprisingly support my decision and are totally understanding due to the unforeseen circumstances I have found myself. They said you have to do what you have to do. I will return home often to visit. Who knows what I will do then. Right now I am simply concerned about getting out of this hole I am in. I definitely plan on working the Master’s, Superbowl, and traveling. I’m getting too old for this and it saddens me to leave my kids, but sometimes you have to make sacrifices to get where you want to be. I have completely stopped drinking, which will help my focus at work. I honestly don’t want to return home without at least $20,000 in the bank. I have always been good at making money and now that my vices are gone — cigarettes, alcohol, eating out — I will do well. Will keep you posted with my Crazy Southern Life. I’ll be coming soon to a city near you.





Hello West Coast!

18 06 2015

Life has certainly passed me by since my last post. My baby will be one in a few days. I got sick of the mistreatment from my husband and left. After living for months with no water (because it was frozen and he wouldn’t fix it), loading up two kids and taking showers at the YMCA, taking laundry out in the snow and ice to the laundromat, constantly being told how I was a freeloader because I wasn’t working, being hung up on when I talked to him and he was at work, called named like bitch and cunt in front of the kids, and emotionally being ignored and used for sex, I still stayed. It wasn’t until I found out he was sending pictures of his dick to one of his coworkers that I decided to leave. Now, here I am on the west coast. I packed up the kids, loaded the truck, and we drove three days to get here. We even went through winter storm Sparta. I was determined. I was one of the only cars on the road except for the semi’s. I could hardly see the interstate, but I had decided I wasn’t stopping.
I arrived here in early March. Since arriving here I have bought a new car (my old one was having issues), got the baby in daycare, and am working two jobs. The relationship between my husband and I is tense at best. Even though I am gone I have had to minimize contact with him due to his constant critical and negative remarks about me and my choices/actions. The irony of it is he tells me how unstable I am, not stopping to remember he is the cause of the instability in the first place. I am sometimes blown away by his reasoning skills. He claims that I shouldn’t have left and that we could have worked it out. To me, what he did was unforgivable. Staying wasn’t an option. I knew when I left that I would have to return to work and my days at home with my baby would be over. I just couldn’t have my children living in such conditions and I couldn’t tolerate anymore mistreatment. On top of that he got in trouble for weapons charges. I would have even stuck it out with him through that, but when I found out he was cheating on me I couldn’t find it in myself to honor any loyalty to him.
I’ve been gone three months now and each day is a little easier than the day before it. I am still emotionally broken, hurt, and betrayed. The pain comes and goes in waves. Sometimes I am fine and other days I sit at my desk at work when no one is looking and tears fall out of the corners of my eyes because the pain is too much to bear. I am slowly improving though. Having your heart broken is the equivalent to being sick. The weak, down trodden soul has to have time to recover. Sometimes I even get weak and yearn for the familiarity of the known vs. the unknown. I remind myself that I left him for a reason and that he will never change. He has already moved on and is living with someone else. Big surprise.
To make things worse my mother has had me investigated by CPS twice since I have been out here. She has always been crazy. The only thing I can think of is that she is jealous or resentful because she sees me being there for my kids. Oh well, no one made her stick a needle in her arm and leave. Each time the worker came and told me the case was unsubstantiated and that it would be closed. I have since had to shut her out of my life. Not only have I lost my marriage (or what I thought was one), I have had to let go of other relationships in my life. Lately I have felt very introverted and focused more on self-reliance. I thought, maybe I should go see a counselor. Because I don’t have health insurance I looked up some free services. The only free ones available in the evening wouldn’t accept me because it’s against their policy to accept those with actively open CPS cases. So here I am. Betrayed by those closest to me, involved with CPS, alone, and unable to seek help in a positive productive manner. I am still however, moving forward in a positive, productive manner to the best of my abilities. Life seems to be a lonely place these days. At least I still have my kids, no matter who tries to tear me down or take that from me. No matter what is going on, I try to be grateful. I am no longer being abused — well, not as much as I once was. Now I can choose to disconnect the phone call or not answer. At least I can take a shower again and am not freezing. I don’t have to depend on someone else to be in charge of my life and be a victim of their poor decisions. It is uplifting to the spirit to see the palm trees and abundant sunshine. No matter what is thrown at me now, thank God I am no longer where I was before. At least I am taking the necessary steps to improve my life and get away from these toxic people for good.

problems





To the frumpy mom I saw at the store five years ago…

2 01 2015

As always it’s been awhile since my last post. Happy New Year’s everyone! 2014 was a whirlwind of events. My family grew. Now we are plus one. I probably mentioned that previously in a past post. Let’s see… In 2014 I bought two more vehicles, had a baby (as I mentioned), put an addition on my house, we bought a rental property, and I started a new career (working from home). My husband also got a job that pays well. We also networked and many people.

As expected, I believe what impacted me most out of all those was motherhood. Not that I wasn’t a mother already. I spent a good few months riding an emotional roller coaster. Baby is doing well and is six months old now. Motherhood is not new to me but it has been a long time since I have done this. So long in fact, that I almost thought it would be a piece of cake the second time around. Many nights I have slept less than five or six hours. My life has turned into a constant barrage of never ending piles of laundry, wondering what’s for dinner, cleaning up after my husband and daughter, and bitching at them when they don’t clean up after themselves. What really pisses me off is that I don’t feel my efforts are appreciated, nor are they respected. This type of treatment from them makes me resentful and gives me an attitude towards them. I imagine myself at work. I miss my carefree stripper days. Don’t get me wrong — it’s not as if I didn’t have worries. I went into work with no money and was in the hole $60 when I walked through the door each night. But these are different worries. If I didn’t make the money I wanted to, I could always return the next day and try again. It’s not that way anymore. I stay home with the baby for various reasons: daycare costs, lack of good jobs within close proximity to my house, etc. Mostly because we can afford for me to and I want to spend the time with her that I didn’t get to spend with my 13 year old when she was a baby. People think my life is easy because I get the opportunity to stay home. I have heard many people insinuate that perhaps they thought I do nothing or don’t do enough. It aggravates me and I can’t help but suppress the urge to ask them what fucking business is it of theirs what I do all day? Who cares? Are you jealous because you don’t have someone providing for you? If you don’t, you should probably find a new husband. That’s what they are supposed to do! Then I have to listen to my husband tell me daily how my life is so easy and I should be more grateful. Ugh… My point is that even though I am staying at home, it comes with a price. It’s not free. It comes with aggravations, judgments of others, and I’m not going to lie — my husband kind of thinks I am his gopher now that I am home. I expect to do things like dishes, cooking, laundry, and taking care of the baby. It wouldn’t be fair of me to expect him to do that when I am home all day and he works. I feel resentful towards him for making me feel inadequate for not earning as much money as he is. I am probably not emotionally stable either. When confronted with these situations my thoughts go something like this:
“I could just leave and go back to stripping. It’s cold as hell up here anyways. What if I get down the road and regret what I have done later on in life? That’s not really a fair thing for me to do. I owe it to the baby to work things out with her dad. I am getting too old to be starting over. I will have to buy all new shit. Maybe all marriages have these issues. Maybe I am being a coward and running out the door prematurely. Is this normal? How do I know what normal is? I have never had a healthy relationship my whole life.” But I only get time to think about these things at night. During the day I am feeding the baby, changing the baby, cleaning up puke, putting the baby to sleep, cleaning, cooking, running errands, trying to get a shower while the baby is sleeping, doing laundry, paying bills, you get the idea. There are days I feel pulled in so many different directions. I now know what women mean when they say they have lost themselves. And this is not a pity party. I highly doubt my husband feels like he is found either when he works six or seven days a week so that I can stay home. My identity as a stripper is gone. I have become caretaker of everyone in the house yet have not been taking care of myself. I am constantly tired from lack of sleep, not eating right or making the right food choices when I do, and my weight is not coming off like I thought it would. I nursed at the beginning and it came off a little. I will be honest as much as it pains me. I am fat and it makes me so sad and miserable. I don’t feel pretty. I don’t feel like I have opportunities and the world is my oyster. I also know that the cause of this is not the kids. I feel drug down by the unappreciative tones, unspoken expectations over and above household duties, lack of regard for my efforts, and being brow beaten over and over about how grateful I should be, how he works seven days a week, and my lack of income or thereof. I daydream a lot. I often find myself seeking the right answers. Maybe I am just being a twit. I don’t fucking know. I wish I did. Who is to say what the right choice is or isn’t? I guess you never truly know until years after you’ve made your choice and are living with the outcome of those choices. I feel so mediocre. That’s something I haven’t felt before this point in my life. I always felt there was something out in the world for me. Now I just feel like fuck it. I’m fat. Why try? Why do anything? This is an awful way to feel. It’s yucky and discouraging. I know the negativity in my environment helps stoke that fire. It makes me feel better to get it out though. It festers inside me every minute of every day. Is this what life is? I once scoffed when I saw the unkempt mother at the grocery store with her hair a mess and unflattering clothes. I ridiculed the way she let herself go. I even thought I was better than her with my mac makeup, fuchsia streaks, bebe heels, perfect spray tan, pedicure, and Louis Vuitton purses. I was such a bitch. Maybe she too had given up her identity and lost herself and was just doing the best she could. Maybe she had mentally given up. Maybe she was so busy taking care of other people that she didn’t have time to work out, spray tan, or get a pedicure. Perhaps she felt beautiful once but now she looks in the mirror and her once clea, smooth skin is dry. She has a few wrinkles she didn’t have before and dark circles under her eyes from lack of sleep. She feels her ship has sailed and her best days are her yesterdays. Perhaps both her beauty and her soul have lost their luster. I’m sorry for judging you. You should have told me I would be you. Then maybe I wouldn’t have turned my nose up in disdain.





Where does time go?

13 10 2014

I can’t believe it has been so long since my last post. It seems each day goes by quicker than the last. Have I gotten busier than I was before? Do I have more responsibilities and that’s why it seems to go by so quickly? I saddens me to think that one day we look up and are losing time. Life is good when the sand is at the top half of the hourglass. It seems when the bottom starts to fill it just gets faster towards the end, doesn’t it? Seems metaphorical for the time we have in our precious lives.

What have I been doing? Well, as of this month it’s been a full year since I was swinging around the pole. I had a baby in June. I just want to pinch her cheeks! It’s probably a good thing I had her. She brings out the softer side of me. I decided to take real estate classes and should be licensed sometime soon. I have met some nice people in my class and met a really cool lady at the Laundromat of all places. She is from Tucson, Arizona and comes up here for the summers and sells specialty items. She and I are just alike except she is probably about twenty years older than me. Hmm… My husband. He does better. Things have improved. I don’t get the amount of help from him that I would like in regards to the baby or anything else really for that matter. It’s like having a bad roommate that pays 100% of the bills. But this also comes with a cost. For one, it gets lorded over my fucking head everyday, about how I don’t work and he does everything. Which is technically not true because I work from home part-time. Sure, I don’t make what he makes but at least I am doing something to contribute. When he refuses to help me I plead with him… I do all the laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, real estate classes (one hour commute each way), work part-time, and take care of two kids. His response to my plea? “No one told you to do all of that. I told you you didn’t have to work.” I am not going to even go into the many reasons why it’s important for me to maintain some type of job. You’d think he’d be grateful I’m not a lazy bitch who just sits at home and refuses to lift a finger! It’s a catch 22. If I work I have martyred myself and it’s my fault and if I don’t I have to hear his mouth about that. So either way whatever I do it’s not right…

Bullshit. That’s what I used to think. I used to seek his approval and let every hurtful thing he said to me send me into an emotional breakdown. Guess what happens when you go through that for years? You get to a point where you don’t care anymore. Say whatever you want. Oh you have a problem? Sounds like a personal problem. That’s your problem. Not my problem. It feels so good and empowering to feel like this! I’ve realized it’s not me, but him. I can’t change another person’s behavior but I can choose how I will react to it and to be honest I have too much shit on my plate to sit around and worry about what the hell he thinks. But his mouth gets on my nerves and sometimes I would like to punch him in it. Other than that, things are not that bad. I think this is mostly because I have found peace within myself to deal with these situations. It could be worse, could be better. There are women whose husbands don’t come home after work and go to the bar instead. Or don’t come home for days… Or beat them to a bloody pulp. So instead of focusing on what I don’t like I am satisfied that things in my life are acceptable and my life is going in a good direction. I feel confident about my future and more confident about myself than I have in a long time. And… We got our first rental property, which is really exciting for me. We talked about that being a goal of ours for a while now and it finally came true. That’s one thing positive I can say about my husband. He is a good provider. We aren’t rich but we are comfortable. So things could be worse right? I have also learned a negative attitude keeps me down. I only want to be around and surround myself with positivity. If it’s negativity I don’t have time for it. Everyone gets in their shit sometimes but the goal is to not sit in it too long. This attitude has certainly served me well, although it’s not easy to be positive every day. Wishing you the best and paying the positivity forward… Until next time.





What If’s and My Real Life Lesson in Karma

2 02 2014

I guess tonight I have been sitting here what if-ing. I am not wallowing in self-pity. Some of my what-if’s are nostalgic, some are melancholy, and some are simply wonders of how my path may have changed had my circumstances been different. I am not under the assumption that this thinking is going to change anything in my life up until now. I am not a fan of such thinking for this very reason. I don’t let my mind venture into this area often. I even find myself what if-ing my path for the future and considering possible outcomes. I guess this is what keep us breathing and living life. Hope and possibilities.

I suppose this was brought on by some events that happened over the past few days. I was on Facebook talking to an old friend. I knew her when she was twelve. I think I was fifteen at the time. What we had in common was that we were both wards of the state. We met in juvenile prison. I spent three years inside those razor wires and was released into a halfway house that helped federal prisoners transition back to the real world upon their release. I went there a month before I turned eighteen. It was right around my birthday and they had to waive my age in order to send me there since I was not yet legally an adult. Anyways… My friend and I were talking about old times as we sometimes do. Old times in Plankinton, South Dakota where the prison was located. We started discussing where the others may be now and who we had heard from and who was still amiss. We have reconnected with some of the girls on Facebook. When she started spouting out names I realized that two of the girls were on my friend’s list, but I had not seen them post for a while. I went to their pages and guess what… They have passed away. Both Native American girls. One was twenty-seven. She was killed in a car wreck about a year ago. Another girl died too. Although I could find obituary information, I could not find anything relating to the cause of death. I considered messaging her family and friends on her page. I decided against it. I don’t want to reopen the wounds for them. I may inquire in the future if my curiosity will not rest, who knows.

I was shocked that this had happened. I didn’t know what to say or how to feel and the fact that two were gone made my heart very heavy. Two other girls we were in there with committed suicide upon their release in 2000. That’s a total of four lost. My friend and I discussed this for hours reminiscing the laughable memories and the bad ones. I started checking around to see what happened to the other girls. I even made a secret group on Facebook and invited everyone. I don’t want most of these girls as life long friends, but you don’t spend three years with these people and not ever wonder how they are doing. I figured this would be a good way to catch up. After doing a little digging, the stories I heard were sad. One girl had got on heroin, but is now clean so that’s good news. Another girl has six kids and is pregnant again. One of the girls I was close to started stripping, had a daughter, and got into a horrible car wreck. She won a 1.5 million dollar settlement which she smoked up within a couple years. Then she resorted to robbery and is now serving 45 years in prison. Another girl lost two of her kids, but seems to have gotten her life back together. Another one is on meth and in and out of prison. One went literally insane and last anyone heard was in an asylum somewhere in Colorado. There are only about three or four of us out of 40 or so that are doing any degree of decent. What was even more painful was the memories… The memories I realized this week that I had stuffed so deeply and trained myself not to think about that I almost forgot them. When my friend was telling me about incidents that happened, I hardly remembered them. It’s as if I wasn’t even there. Then I realized how little I allow myself to go back to that place. I am amazed that the human mind can make itself forget so much as a coping mechanism. Some things came back to me and some didn’t. I know for a fact she has a very vivid memory. She can recall in great detail. This is part of my life I tried so desperately to leave behind. I thought I had done that. I tried to do that. I don’t discuss it with anyone other than the girls that were there with me. No one else would understand. It seems taking the time to tell the story would be in vain because no one else would grasp the magnitude of what happened. However, I think this is my sort of therapy. I need to tell it. For myself.

The campus was called the State Training School. The place came under fire and government scrutiny in 1999, I believe. When the heat really started coming in they started releasing us. One of the facilities on the training school grounds was a juvenile prison which also housed an intake unit for girls waiting to go to Cottage B aka boot camp. This is the program I was intended to go to. But when I arrived at the prison my aggression and behavior kept me housed in the prison. I’ll fast forward many of the details. Sometime within that time frame a girl was forced to run in the boot camp, like all the girls were. This girl was severely overweight. She ended up dying of hypothermia due to the heat. She urinated on herself and was foaming at the mouth. Her internal temperature went as high as the thermometer would go which was 108 degrees. The staff on duty that day thought she was faking. They ridiculed her, made fun of her, and ignored her needs for medical attention while she lay their dying. They would later be charged with felony child abuse. That was the straw that broke the camel’s back. That article can be found here: http://www.motherjones.com/politics/2000/11/camp-fear.

Right after the girl died we rioted in the prisons. The girls and boys prison on campus had a riot that lasted hours. Staff wouldn’t enter the room. We broke everything we could and many of the girls engaged in severe self-mutilation. Their was fighting and blood all over from the girls that had mutilated themselves. Sadly, these are some of the same girls that committed suicide in 2000. They ended up calling in staff from the adult prisons to handle it. The riots lasted almost 24 hours. Then they came in with tactical gear and handcuffed and shackled every one of us to our beds.

That’s when the state legislators, representatives, and other government officials started coming down and touring through the facility. One day in the middle of a behavior they brought them through the day room. We were told to tuck our shirts in, use line norms, and be on our best behavior. Me at 15? Fat chance. When they came through I asked them if they wanted to know what really went on in there? One guy stepped forward and said yes. He was a state representative. I spent four hours telling him about how we were maced, stuck in isolation for weeks at a time with no psychiatric care (which should have happened, especially for those on suicide watch), and the facility used illegal restraining procedures. Sometimes we would be forced to do PT in shackles until our ankles bled. Even with the bleeding and the sores they wouldn’t take them off causing deep gashes in our ankles. Our group members (other inmates) were expected to hold us accountable as part of a positive peer culture setting. This often resulted in several of the girls taking cheap shots at one girl when she got out of hand. When we were restrained and refused to change into suicide garments male guards cut our clothes off with scissors. We would be four pointed for up to 18 hours at a time. Four pointing refers to a restraint procedure in which a 6 foot by 3 foot raised rectangular slab of concrete is poured and metal hooks come out of the side. The officers can handcuff your hands to these hooks, located by the inmate’s head. They also run a pair of shackles through a hook at the bottom. We were denied food and use of the bathroom. We were denied access to our family and friends. Our phone calls, letters, and visits were peer monitored meaning you had to have a visit with two other inmates present. If you said anything against the facility or the way they treated you, your visit/phone call/letter was ended or intercepted and you were told that you were victim stancing i.e. making yourself a victim. Most of us were also given psychotropic medication without our parents consent. There were many other issues that came out as well.

It wasn’t long before I got a phone call from the Governor of South Dakota. He asked what happened when they cut my clothes off. I told him and he blamed me. He basically told me I got what I deserved. He also threatened to fire the staff that allowed the representative access to us if they ever did it again. He passed down orders that no legal representatives or advocates were to be allowed access to us. It was therefore denied when they tried to interrogate us. After a period of time they came and started investigating. We told them our stories. The media got involved. I was interviewed by a child’s law center out of Washington, D.C. We took depositions. We sued them in a class action suit and won. A summary of that can be found here: http://www.ylc.org/our-work/archive/past-litigation/christina-a-v-bloomberg/ and here: http://www.leagle.com/decision/20011261167FSupp2d1094_11156.xml/CHRISTINA%20A.%20EX%20REL.%20JENNIFER%20A.%20v.%20BLOOMBERG. They had to change procedures and would be under ongoing investigation to make sure they remained compliant. The training school ended up getting shut down and was bought out by a private outfit and later reopened. By then, most of the inmates there had been released. It was ironic how quickly we all were released after the shit came down, especially since we had been there for years. We were then contacted by another attorney to sue in a private settlement. We won that too.

Bill Janklow, the then Governor of South Dakota who had also served his state in the House of Representatives, was a huge proponent of military style programs for juvenile delinquents. What was more ironic was that some of us were there for very petty charges. I was not there for anything criminal. I was there because I was designated as a Child in Need of Supervision or what they called a CHINS order. This basically meant I had no parental supervision and was running wild and unruly. A few years later I got my satisfaction. In an ironic twist, the boot camp proponent was driving drunk and killed a biker. He was convicted of second degree manslaughter. He served 100 days in jail and his political career came to an end. Janklow was no stranger to trouble though. While serving in the legal field on a reservation he was accused of raping a 15 year old Native American girl. The tribe barred him from practicing law on the reservation after that. Janklow died in January of 2012 of brain cancer.

The state representative that was a key player in starting the whole movement was found guilty of raping and molesting his foster daughters a few years later. He was sentenced to prison. He also tried to copyright his name so no one could use it and denounce his American citizenship. That article can be found here: http://rapidcityjournal.com/news/former-rep-ted-klaudt-seeks-to-renounce-citizenship-reverse-rape/article_79dbc26a-94c1-11df-a00a-001cc4c002e0.html. It stunned me how one man could be one’s savior and turn around and act in such an evil manner. The whole thing still blows my mind.

At 31 years old I still haven’t come to terms with it. I have considered writing a book about it for different reasons, one being an advocate for juvenile civil rights while incarcerated. I will admit the task seems intimidating. I also worry about the repercussions it may have on my personal life. It also made me wonder… The two girls that ended up committing suicide… Was it suicide? Was foul play maybe involved? I have no evidence to base this on. It just didn’t sit right with me. I often wonder if Plankinton ruined those girls or if they would have ended up in prison regardless. It’s sad to me because even though we were juveniles, we were still children. I can see some of them still… Young and beautiful. Some of them were so beautiful they looked like Native American dolls. Still laughing and giggling through all the bullshit. We never were given release dates. Even if we had them most of us didn’t care because we had no one to go home to. The state wouldn’t let us go back to our alcoholic, abusive families. Yay, we get to go to foster care or another placement. At least we knew the other inmates where we were. We had formed a bond. All we were in the end were scared little girls who overcompensated by showing how scared we weren’t. I know it has affected all of us in a way that we will never be able to explain to an outsider. It changed us. To be honest, I am kind of a train wreck. Given my circumstances I have done fairly well as opposed to my counterparts. If anyone is reading this take on thing from this… These places do not teach your child a lesson. They do not help. In facilities such as these around the country, children are abused by those in positions of authority. Be sure you know what you are getting into when you decide to commit your child to the state. Be prepared to deal with the consequences.

Tonight my heart goes out to the girls that took their lives, the ones that passed within the past year, and their families who are still trying to recover from the pain. I really hoped more of the girls would make it. Part of the problem is that some of them never left South Dakota or never got off the reservation. I am hopeful for the girls that are still with us. I hope they find their path and peace in life. It’s not at the bottom of a bottle, a needle, a crack pipe, or a one night stand. At the end of the day though I can hope for the best but ultimately have to worry about me and my family here. I feel this all happened to me for a greater purpose. I just don’t know what or how I am supposed to channel it. Perhaps there’s a certain amount of healing that will come with figuring that out. I suspect I suffer from some degree of PTSD. This is especially true within the past few days. It was really bad after I was first released. I felt I had gotten better but nope. I had just stuffed it down and tried to forget it.

This is one of my more honest and raw posts… Probably the most honest I will ever get. I put forth a good deal of time and effort writing it so please feel free to leave your thoughts and any feedback you may have. Perhaps that will help too. It’s the little gratification I can get for pecking away at this keyboard. If you choose to be an asshole for some reason I think my skin is thick enough to deal with that too. I would prefer you didn’t however. 🙂





Farewell 2013…

25 12 2013

Merry Christmas! Here we are again… Almost at the end of another year, as crazy as that seems.

When we get what we want we realize it wasn’t what we thought it was. Ugh! I don’t even know where to start with this one. I thought I wanted a relationship with my brother and had always wished we were closer. I now see that relationship was better left the way it was. I always wondered what it would be like to be married with a college degree and a somewhat normal life. I’m not sorry about any of it, but it wasn’t all it’s cracked up to be. There were other things I wanted, which I won’t speak about because I will sound like the biggest asshole ever. I got them. The old adage, “Be careful what you as for…” is true.

Helping family and friends usually results in you being the asshole. We learned twice over the last year that staying with family and trying to help them is nothing more than enabling them. It also results in them feeling they can run you over while demanding and placing certain expectations on you. Nine times out of ten the positive, selfless things you do out of the goodness of your heart will not be remembered. When the dust settles they will only remember every time you didn’t cater to them, give them their way, or kiss their ass. After five years of being married I have yet to see an experience where you try to help a family member go well or be appreciated.

I learned what a real family is. I never had one. I had a dysfunctional, broken family. My years growing up with my father are hallmarked with controlling behavior, ultimatums, intimidation, negativity, shaming, and naysaying. I won’t go into my issues with my father in depth. Unlike other dancers I do not have the “my daddy molested me” stories. I definitely could have had it worse. The physical and mental abuse over the years did leave me emotionally and mentally wounded. There are still some deep seated feelings and beliefs I consciously know aren’t true, but still struggle with in my day to day life. It wasn’t until I became close to my husband’s family that I realized what family means. They really want the best for you. If they do something for you it’s not because they expect something back or are trying to benefit themselves in some way. They don’t try to control you and tell you what you should and shouldn’t do. They are there for support and to talk if you need an ear. In the end, they don’t participate in ultimatums and controlling behavior. I wasn’t used to such behavior. In the beginning I often found myself feeling bad that people were so nice to me – as if I was undeserving. I also found myself trying to figure out what the motivation behind their actions was. What did they want? Surely, there had to be a reason for all of this. I have never felt welcomed by my own family as much as I have by my husband’s. They accept my daughter and in all truthfulness treat her better than my own family, with the exception of my mother. She is exempt from any statements made regarding my “family” or lack thereof.

You can depend only on yourself. No you can not rely on people that make you promises. Fact is, many of these people can not effectively manage their own lives and to be honest you really weren’t as important to them as they would like to believe or make you believe. I can think of three instances with three separate people this year that were sorely disappointing. To be honest in the end it’s really no one’s responsibility to allow you to depend on them either. Believing you can is unrealistic, as is putting them in that position to begin with. As an adult it is ultimately your responsibility to be self-reliant.

Everyone was right… There really will come a point when you can’t strip anymore. I have known this for a long time. It did seem like that time would never come. That time still has not came. But it will… There is no cut off age for dancing. It’s about your image. As long as your image is still considered dancer material and you are making money, age is nothing but a number. Regardless of what anyone who doesn’t know shit about the industry says, you can dance until you are forty. I have seen it done. That is one of my pet peeves. If you aren’t a true expert on what goes on inside the strip club then shut the fuck up. Plain and simple. It’s not all about looks. It’s also about attitude and personality. I have seen some more mature women make good money. Obviously, making your appearance a priority and attempting to eat right and keep yourself in shape is important.

Instead of comparing your grass to your neighbor’s grass, you should invest time watering your own. Ultimately, you are the one responsible for your own happiness. Most of that truly depends on your attitude. It’s easy to look at Facebook and see other people’s pictures, the things they are doing, and the story that is painted through their pictures and think their life is somehow better than yours… Admit it… You’ve thought that. That time spent wishing is better spent creating your own portraits or changing your painting if you don’t like it. Instead of playing the victim it is better to be proactive in your own solutions.

It’s okay to cut people out of your life if they aren’t healthy for you. This again is in reference to my family and supposed “friends” I once had. I really have no use for them. Both categories were unhealthy for me in various ways and are better left alone.

Your children really do grown up quicker thank you thought. Pretty self explanatory. My daughter will be thirteen soon and I have realized she is almost not a child anymore.

It seems 2013 was more a year of realizations than anything. You never stop growing, you never stop learning. I might not have the ideal situation that I would like… But I am happy and have what I need. I hope 2014 is a great year for everyone and always strive for more!





To South Carolina and back…

21 11 2013

I suppose a post is long overdue once again. Hmm… Where to start. I have been in Pennsylvania since June now. It is very cold up here. This is something I am not used to. Twenty degrees? Um, no thanks. We are living about an hour to an hour and a half outside of Pittsburgh, way out in the country.
I returned to South Carolina a couple weeks ago intending to stay for a month or two. DH was here in PA with my daughter whom I couldn’t take obviously since she has school. I stayed about two or three weeks. I was having a blast. It was good to be back. The weather was optimal, the food was great. I even did three champagne rooms in one day. When my trip came to a screeching halt. I found out I was pregnant. Was I surprised? Not at all. We were trying for a couple months and actually had quit trying when we found out the bun was in the oven. Don’t get me wrong… It was good news. It doesn’t make for wonderful nights at work. After I found out all I felt was tired, bloated, and sober, which is what sucked most of all. It’s not that I necessarily get plastered every night because I don’t.  There were a few nights I was totally sober, as well as a few nights where I had three drinks in eight hours. I would just like to know if I want to go have a couple shots at the beginning of my shift or if someone offers me a drink I can indulge. I felt very awkward going into work and could not sell a dance. My earnings went from over a thousand dollars to fifty dollars a shift. WTF!?!? I think it was a combination of a foreign, but familiar environment, feeling bloated, tired, and honestly… I really couldn’t feel good dry humping some guy with my baby, no matter how developed, in my stomach. I can’t make money going to work and feeling like a mother. I have to be in a certain zone and being pregnant was putting me nowhere near that zone. So I returned to Pennsylvania with my tail tucked between my legs and defeated. I think the industry has definitely changed. I have changed. The industry will continue to change in the near future based on the court proceedings that have labeled dancers as employees as opposed to independent contractors. I am aware that certain clubs have structured their schedules, etc. and they will be immune to these court proceedings. My home club in particular. I don’t know… Maybe it’s time to cut my losses. I am sure I won’t feel like that after my pregnancy when my body is back down and I am back to making more in a day than most people make all week. Every day isn’t great, but it’s still more profitable than a real job. I will not be making any declarations at this point, that’s for sure.
So that’s my summary… Pregnant and back to not dancing. I will definitely have some time for blogging while I am pregnant. I will mainly be at home.

I have so many other things I would love to share, but unfortunately I can’t for fear the wrong person will find my blog. I am just way too fucking shady. I amuse myself. Anyways… Till next time…