Did you ever go to work naked and try to blend into the walls? That’s been my mojo for this week. I’m unsure why I feel like repelling from the world, but it’s just one of those weeks.

No, I don’t miss her. It’s more the world situation. There is something going down which I can’t fathom. There is a repetition in concepts and in rhetoric. No one is coming up with new ideas. The stimulus package, which I am sure will trickle down to my industry, will end up in what happened in the first stimulus package last year. For the 4 or 5 months that the checks came out, there was a frenzy in spending. The people who came to the Club spent willing and I made $30k during those months. Then after that? I’ve made half as much. When the new stimulus comes out, the same will happen.

But that is not what worries me. There is something fundamentally occurring. It has to do with Senators not paying taxes for years. And no one noticing for years.

Sometimes I’m just not sure where I will get the next dollar to feed myself. Or where the next dollar will come for

Why don’t I post the adventure?

My life needs to be recorded.

I saw him. The blonde guy. His eyes met mine. Mine fixated on his. I would not let them go. I had a thong on. That’s it. He started to run. I played flag football when I was in elementery school.

I had the angle.

I tackle him. Crashed his head into the ground.

And then there was dust.

Nothing more.

Just dust.

I have no comment.

it's a man made wonder

I’ve seen him a couple time, tweeted about him. I fucking dream of him some nights.

I dream I am at work attending bar, leaning into a man (see cleavage for visual) and glance to my left and there he is watching me. I conclude my tip inducing behavior with the guy in front of me and turn back to where he was… but of course he is gone.

This, or a flavor of it has happened at least 3 times over the last month. WTF.

Wait, let me correct that.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!!

IF i SEE HIM TONIGHT, i’LL JUMP OFF THE STAGE AND … MERDE… i MEAN Merde… anyway, now that my case is corrected, I’ll jump off the stage and yell at him and ask him why he is in my dreams…

Ok, maybe not that extreme, but I do plan on confronting him even if it means dancing staring at one dude and then jumping off stage naked and walk

When I close my eyes to sleep, I see him: the man with the blond hair. The almost white haire shading half his face, the exposed eye purple. Yes, it’s purple. I see that dream even as I type this….

I don’t know what it means.

I have to go to work. I have to pick some ghost flowers from my soul… or fall of the stage. Wish me luck. Here is a good Otep tune.

So I fell off stage a couple days ago. I felt the fog come on, but I couldn’t get down in time. Remind me not to wear long pants! Anyway, I’m ok, but Mr. Mann, the owner of the club, said if I do that one more time, he’s going to have to let me go. If I don’t dance, what will I do? I’ll just have to find a street corner, dance there, and start falling off curbs.

Dad says he will pay for a MRI. He says he doesn’t like girlfriends who stop working. I’m not sure if I want to do that, but I don’t think I have a choice. The funny thing is when it happened, and I hit the floor, I thought I was still dancing. I saw the crowd, the blank drooling stares of the audience. Of course, while drooling on the floor I saw this guy with striking long blond hair sitting in the front row. He wasn’t into me as he just sat there with a blank stare.  But, when my brain came back and Lexie, the girl who smells like Jo, was helping me up, the guy wasn’t there.

Weird. Anyway, I’m doing research on MRI’s today.

It’s been almost a year since I typed here. Where has the time gone? Where have I been? Who have I been doing? If I said aliens abducted me and made me their love slave, would you believe me? If I said around the beginning of last March, I had a seizure, fell right off the stage and don’t remember any of it, would you believe that?

Not breaking anything, holding onto the important things

Yeah, I would have rather had the abduction. I kept having seizures for like six months. The doctors told me I shouldn’t be. They had me on some good meds (they made me tired and boring). I apologized to them by having a seizure right in front of them.

The last couple months, I have been better. I stopped taking the drugs and have started to realize when a seizure is coming on. Yes, it is strange to see me one minute on stage flying around a pole with one boob hanging out and the next, sitting on my butt Indian style… with one boob hanging out. But I found if I stop what I am doing when I get the feeling and close my eyes, I don’t break anything, but also I see things.

Naked white girls… oh, wait. I see that at work. What I see when I stop and my brain tries to cross the line between consciousness and seizing, I’m still not sure about. I just know it’s something. What, I’m still working through it.

Anyway, I have a date (yes, I may have bain damage but the lower parts of me still work). Wish me luck!

So as I look back on last year, I didn’t realize how much had changed and how little I had documented. I guess a gunshot to the head will cause some memory issues, and I think I forgot to update this. Silly me.

Anyway, I’m thinking I’ll be bring you up to speed on everything over the next couple months. If I did it all in one post, I may actually have to spend more than 10 minutes on a blog post. And since I’m too horny to have to waste time typing when I could be surfing porn… well, you understand.

I’ll start with shocking news. I turned the Little Boy… er, maybe it wasn’t me. I mean, we hit it off pretty good last year, but we only had the one juice filled encounter. It seems sometime around October, he found himself a girlfriend. I’ve met her a couple of times and I think she is adequately yummy if it wasn’t for one thing. Her uni-brow! Nope, sorry. She doesn’t have one. I’m just kidding. No, her real issue is that she has a mustache… that’s not true either but if it was I may have to question if the Little Boy had been turned.

No, her issue, and it is really my issue, is that she smells like Jo. You remember Jo? The girl who dumped my ass so bad that I turned to the Internet to pour out my soul and sexual adventures? You’re probably happy with the latter and put up with the former.

Kaaren, (it’s not a typo) has a sweet burnt smell about her. I’m not sure if it the soap she used or the fabric softener, or just a chemical reaction of how her body odor mixes in the air. Either way, I like Kaaren, but the smell… brings back to many memories which unfortunately the bullet did not remove.

Now, I’m feeling nostalgic. And lonely. And sorry for myself. I think I need to stop typing and go exercise my fingers in another way. A good orgasm will fix my brain… or at least replace out the smell!

It’s been a long journey. It will continue to be. Although most of my scars are gone, but I still don’t feel quite back to where I was.

I started working at the club a couple weeks ago. I’m playing bartender. I wear tank tops and for some reason have a hard time hearing everyone. I have to lean into them. For some reason the men seem to think if I do this, talking to my chest makes it easier for me to hear. It doesn’t but I heard them well the first time. I’m just looking for tips. I want to pay back my dad. He helped me so much while I was in the hospital.

What happened?

According to my brain, nothing. My memories of the incident were removed from my little brain, plus about a week. Sure, some of it is remembered in bad 70′s Polaroid in my head, but for the most part, I have to take other people’s words for it. I had just walked out of the club in late April when I heard a pop. The next thing I knew I was waking up in the hospital with Mr. Mann sitting next to me. He had my hand. I remember squeezing it and he smiled. I remember the next day, or a week later, the Boy was there. He was talking to an older man I didn’t recognize.

In the ensuing months, I learned to eat again. I like to say I had an eating disorder as I put a spoonful of mash potatoes into my ear. I still remembered how to walk, which was nice, but my balance is still off. That is why I am the bartender. I can use the bar to prop me up, and prop up my boobs. I’ll survive. I’ll be dancing again soon. I just have to remember to not let go of the pole.

His name was Jack. At least, that is what he told us his name was. The police sill haven’t caught him. I remember he had just started becoming a regular at the club. He wasn’t a good tipper and his conversation revolved around the weather. He is what we call a time killer. You invested a little time into him until you saw someone with cash. It made him feel observed, and we had something to do.

Why did he do it?

I would like to ask him. But, like I’ve said, the police have not found him yet. Someday, I’m sure I’ll get to ask him. But until then, I’ll work on staying vertical (I haven’t turn my attention to getting horizontal yet, but will soon). Anyway, at least I am blessed with friends who have stood by me and helped me. I love them all.