For close to three years, he said he loved me. He talked about marriage within three months of dating.I had never wanted to get married, but for him, I loved him enough that I did.
I have revolved my entire life around what's best for us. I planned our future. I spent tireless hours trying to find him the better job he wanted (because he would complain, but never fill out an application himself). I tried to plan a time when I could make more money so he could go back to school. I tried to plan a small business to run from home so I could (in the future) home school our future kids. I painstakingly worked to make our house a home for us. I struggled to take care of most of the house to show my appreciation that he made more money than me.
I felt as if I put us first, and he put himself first, and I told him this, tearfully, and begged his help.
And he, tearfully, agreed. Telling me he loved me. Couldn't see his life without me. Was on the same page as I was regarding our future.
And then. He moves out. While I'm at work. Without telling me.
And why the breakup? Because my priorities were wrong. Because I "put him on too much of a pedastal." I "loved him too much". He had realized he was "no longer in love with me", no longer "saw himself marrying me", and "wasn't ready for this."
I may seem confused and bitter. But that's because I am. I am not trying to be the bitch painting him as a horrible man, because he isn't. I'm trying to understand what went wrong. And because his logic makes no sense to me, I find myself worrying that it isn't true- there must be more that he isn't telling me. And my mind is going crazy.
I wish him the best. But I will never understand.
I left school because I wasn't happy with it, and thought I could build a better future for us by creating experience that would look good on a resume. I strived towards owning my own business so I could be a stay at home mom for our kids. I have been busting my ass to loose weight so that I could one day bear the children we wanted.
Now that my life has revolved around him and what I thought we wanted.
Now that he's not around.... what do I do with my life?
Monday, June 18, 2012
Tuesday, May 8, 2012
For a fabulous prize, choose between door number 1 or door number 2.
When I was in elementary school, I knew I was going to grow up to be a writer. I'd write constantly. Short stories, poems, lyrics, anything. I filled notebooks with my words, convinced that one day my words would be bound between leather covers. And, I was decent. I was better than other kids my age and had some natural talent. Then, in fifth grade, a teacher told me that to become a good writer, I would have to take classes and workshops and work hard on my craft for the rest of my life. I decided that was too much work, and set my sights elsewhere.
By sixth grade, I decided I was going to be an actress. I daydreamed of Broadway and Tonys and breathing the energy of the stage nightly. And, again, I was decent. I had some natural talent. And in my tenth grade acting class, I was told I'd have to take classes and learn different methods and create my "craft" over my lifetime, ala Stanislavski. One again, I decided that was too much work, and set my sights elsewhere.
By eleventh grade, I decided I was going to be a director. I felt excited at the prospect of controlling the emotions of the audience and creating my dream atmosphere on stage. Once again, I had some natural talent. And by my second year of college, I realized that pretending to give a rat's ass for college classes I was well beyond was too much work.
Anyone else see a pattern beginning to divulge? I joked to a friend a week or so ago, that, "I may not be amazing at one thing, but I'm pretty above average at LOTS of things!" And it's so adequate. I've dabbled in so much: writing, acting, directing, jewelry design, painting, sewing.... and I never stick to anything long enough to truly become great.
Which leads to the question: is this a generational thing? Or a female thing? Or a Pisces thing? And am I happy living life this way? While I'd love to be considered the "expert" of a subject, or at least become recognized in a particular thing, the concept of doing the same thing every day for the rest of my life makes me practically suicidal.
So what does that mean? I bounce back and forth between different minimum wage jobs for the rest of my life so I feel some form of stimulation? Or, the opposite: I force myself to sit through my boredom to accomplish something worthwhile in my life, despite how I feel about it?
I feel like I have an infinite number of options for what to "do with my life" or "what to be when I grow up". I feel like I don't choose something and stick to it, I will be unsuccessful in life. I feel like if I do pick something and stick with it, I'll spend my entire life wondering "What if?".
Am I alone in this?
By sixth grade, I decided I was going to be an actress. I daydreamed of Broadway and Tonys and breathing the energy of the stage nightly. And, again, I was decent. I had some natural talent. And in my tenth grade acting class, I was told I'd have to take classes and learn different methods and create my "craft" over my lifetime, ala Stanislavski. One again, I decided that was too much work, and set my sights elsewhere.
By eleventh grade, I decided I was going to be a director. I felt excited at the prospect of controlling the emotions of the audience and creating my dream atmosphere on stage. Once again, I had some natural talent. And by my second year of college, I realized that pretending to give a rat's ass for college classes I was well beyond was too much work.
Anyone else see a pattern beginning to divulge? I joked to a friend a week or so ago, that, "I may not be amazing at one thing, but I'm pretty above average at LOTS of things!" And it's so adequate. I've dabbled in so much: writing, acting, directing, jewelry design, painting, sewing.... and I never stick to anything long enough to truly become great.
Which leads to the question: is this a generational thing? Or a female thing? Or a Pisces thing? And am I happy living life this way? While I'd love to be considered the "expert" of a subject, or at least become recognized in a particular thing, the concept of doing the same thing every day for the rest of my life makes me practically suicidal.
So what does that mean? I bounce back and forth between different minimum wage jobs for the rest of my life so I feel some form of stimulation? Or, the opposite: I force myself to sit through my boredom to accomplish something worthwhile in my life, despite how I feel about it?
I feel like I have an infinite number of options for what to "do with my life" or "what to be when I grow up". I feel like I don't choose something and stick to it, I will be unsuccessful in life. I feel like if I do pick something and stick with it, I'll spend my entire life wondering "What if?".
Am I alone in this?
Thursday, March 15, 2012
The lovers, the dreamers, and me
Okay, here's a not-so-secret secret of mine. When I was a kid, I was terrified of balloons.
Stick with me on this one.
I had to have been about five when I got a balloon from a grocery store. I remember in the parking lot, letting go of it, and watching it float up into the sky. My childhood imagination wondered where it would go, and what would happen. Would it hit an airplane? Would a bird fly into it? What damage could this balloon do to these things? Surely it couldn't simply explode- otherwise people would be hit on the head with latex balloon droppings from the sky daily.
In my terror, I refused to hold a balloon again.
Unable to articulate my fears, I would beg and plead for a balloon everywhere my parents took me, simply to scream and howl that they hold it, not me.
At this very young age, I felt a strong responsibility for things far beyond my control.
As a teenager, this feeling manifested in my social life. I would constantly try to control social situations and help my friends in their problems to an unhealthy degree.
And now? As a young woman?
I have GOT to get the next few years of my life in control. The wedding, the marriage, my home, my career, and the future.
And I've kind of let things chill for a few months. I have had a very laissez-faire attitude towards life. Boy and I have been engaged for six months and other than some casual lookie-loos, I haven't really progressed much.
I've been in a pseudo-depressive funk lately, and its because of the lack of progress. So, here's to the next step in my life- whatever it may be. I'll know it when I see it. But, I've got to get to the point in my life where I'm looking again. No more waiting around.
Because who knows what will happen?
I'm kind of like a balloon, floating up, up up..... Hoping to God a bird doesn't smack right into me.
Stick with me on this one.
I had to have been about five when I got a balloon from a grocery store. I remember in the parking lot, letting go of it, and watching it float up into the sky. My childhood imagination wondered where it would go, and what would happen. Would it hit an airplane? Would a bird fly into it? What damage could this balloon do to these things? Surely it couldn't simply explode- otherwise people would be hit on the head with latex balloon droppings from the sky daily.
In my terror, I refused to hold a balloon again.
Unable to articulate my fears, I would beg and plead for a balloon everywhere my parents took me, simply to scream and howl that they hold it, not me.
At this very young age, I felt a strong responsibility for things far beyond my control.
As a teenager, this feeling manifested in my social life. I would constantly try to control social situations and help my friends in their problems to an unhealthy degree.
And now? As a young woman?
I have GOT to get the next few years of my life in control. The wedding, the marriage, my home, my career, and the future.
And I've kind of let things chill for a few months. I have had a very laissez-faire attitude towards life. Boy and I have been engaged for six months and other than some casual lookie-loos, I haven't really progressed much.
I've been in a pseudo-depressive funk lately, and its because of the lack of progress. So, here's to the next step in my life- whatever it may be. I'll know it when I see it. But, I've got to get to the point in my life where I'm looking again. No more waiting around.
Because who knows what will happen?
I'm kind of like a balloon, floating up, up up..... Hoping to God a bird doesn't smack right into me.
Wednesday, January 4, 2012
Words of Pseudo-Wisdom
Ah, there are few things I am certain of in this life.
1) No one will keep or remember their New Years Resolutions, six months in.
2) True love isn't about soul mates or destiny, it's about two people who are adult enough to realize it will be a struggle many days, but that they love each other enough to work on it.
3) Contrary to what John says: a birthday is not just another day. It's the one day of the year that people are forced to believe that you are the princess you know you are. Birthdays should be extended to birth-month celebrations.
4) If someone shows you who they are: be it a giver, a liar, or anything else- BELIEVE THEM. Don't stay in a toxic relationship, thinking it will change.
5) Your family is just that- people bound to you by blood. You don't really have any obligation to keep your great aunt or whomever in your life because they are family. If they are scummy, keep them out.
6) If someone says: "You think you're better than me," it's truly indicative of who they are. They are very insecure of who they are in comparison to you. If someone accuses you of being self involved, they are probably insecure about being self involved themselves. People who spit out nastiness have a lot of nastiness inside them and you should brush it off.
7) Love is all you need. Love and everything that comes with it. Respect, trust, honesty, commitment, hard work: all of these are things that go hand and hand with love and you can't get very far without the whole package. That's true of every relationship in your life: family, friends, significant others, and coworkers and bosses.
8) I refuse to be in my sixties and complain about the things I wish I had done when I was younger. I have a long list of things to do, and I intended to check them off. Life is the longest thing you will ever experience, and you should make the most of your time and do as much as possible and experience as much as possible.
9) Back rubs are God's way of saying: Either this person really cares about you, or you really care about yourself to pay for this. Either way, it's an expression of love.
10) The world would be a more magical place if people broke out into song randomly.
Happy New Year. Share the love, and most of all: Love Yourself. If you don't love yourself, who the hell else is gonna love you?
(Yup, that last line was stolen from RuPaul. But hey: it works and it's right. I always make sure I'm number one, and I've got a lotta people showin' me love in my life.)
1) No one will keep or remember their New Years Resolutions, six months in.
2) True love isn't about soul mates or destiny, it's about two people who are adult enough to realize it will be a struggle many days, but that they love each other enough to work on it.
3) Contrary to what John says: a birthday is not just another day. It's the one day of the year that people are forced to believe that you are the princess you know you are. Birthdays should be extended to birth-month celebrations.
4) If someone shows you who they are: be it a giver, a liar, or anything else- BELIEVE THEM. Don't stay in a toxic relationship, thinking it will change.
5) Your family is just that- people bound to you by blood. You don't really have any obligation to keep your great aunt or whomever in your life because they are family. If they are scummy, keep them out.
6) If someone says: "You think you're better than me," it's truly indicative of who they are. They are very insecure of who they are in comparison to you. If someone accuses you of being self involved, they are probably insecure about being self involved themselves. People who spit out nastiness have a lot of nastiness inside them and you should brush it off.
7) Love is all you need. Love and everything that comes with it. Respect, trust, honesty, commitment, hard work: all of these are things that go hand and hand with love and you can't get very far without the whole package. That's true of every relationship in your life: family, friends, significant others, and coworkers and bosses.
8) I refuse to be in my sixties and complain about the things I wish I had done when I was younger. I have a long list of things to do, and I intended to check them off. Life is the longest thing you will ever experience, and you should make the most of your time and do as much as possible and experience as much as possible.
9) Back rubs are God's way of saying: Either this person really cares about you, or you really care about yourself to pay for this. Either way, it's an expression of love.
10) The world would be a more magical place if people broke out into song randomly.
Happy New Year. Share the love, and most of all: Love Yourself. If you don't love yourself, who the hell else is gonna love you?
(Yup, that last line was stolen from RuPaul. But hey: it works and it's right. I always make sure I'm number one, and I've got a lotta people showin' me love in my life.)
Monday, December 26, 2011
Something Old, Something New...
For those of you not in the know, Boy and I became recently engaged.
As a twenty two year old who hasn't been to a wedding since her Aunt Stacey's, when I was two years old, its been an interesting experience preparing for a wedding that's a year and three months away.
For most, over a year means plenty of time.
For a control freak like moi, it means, never enough time.
As I scour the first thirty pages of Google after searching, "Affordable Nashville Wedding Venues", my mind and heart begins to race. I am ineviatebly sent to dozens of wedding blogs filled with... wedding porn. For those of you unaware of this phenomenon, as I was three months ago, let me enlighten you. Wedding porn means hoards and hoards of beautiful pictures of weddings that will never look like yours.
In the beautiful world of wedding porn, brides are never above a size five. (And they never have the armpit-fat that I'm terrified will plague my wedding pictures just as they plagued my prom pictures.) Sunshine is impeccably always over the horizon. The camera focuses on the bride, allowing everyone else to look fuzzy, making the bride look beautiful. There's hardly any crying, either out of emotion of the beautiful day or because Uncle Fred got drunk and fell on the cake. And there are alway pictures of random things showing that the bride easily got her bridal party to work their fingers to the bone wrapping Mason jars with pretty ribbons and dropping tealight candles inside, then hoisiting the Mason jars into trees.
Seriously.
What the hell?
Not only that, friends, but if I see another black and white photo with a single, in-color red rose, I'll scream. If I see a photo of the brides shoes with the wedding ring slipped onto the high heel against a solid white background, I'll scream. And those breeze, Thomas Kincaid-like photos of the bridal gown on a hanger, against a picture window where the sunlight streams in magnificently? I'll scream again. (Seriously, these photos make me wonder: Did the photographer wait for hours for the sun to get into the right position? Or was Walt Disney himself the wedding planner and did he command the sun to move and shift in the same way I'll undoubtably command my bridesmaids to move and shift both out of my way and to avoid harm [i.e, the afroemention drunk Uncle Fred scenario])?
The wedding porn is addictive, to say the least. With two male brides"men" and one female bridesmaid with a two year old, I find myself wondering: "Whose going to help me cut out paper butterflies, write poetic quotes on them, and string them up so high above the reception, no one will be able to read the quotes, much less see the magnificent detail I've put in each damn butterfly?"
The answer, my friends, is no one. Maybe my mother, but she'll just look at me like I'm crazy if I were to suggest such things.
It doesn't help that when I mention such things to the Fiancee, (like: "What if we gave out honey jars as the wedding favors? They would have our names on them and say 'Meant to Bee'. How cute?!") he begins to squint his eyes, sighs, and says, "How much will THAT cost us?" (This is coming from the guy who suggested a back yard barbeque wedding. Seriously. He wants me eating barbeque in a wedding dress. I can only imagine the stains and how vibrantly well they will show up in our photos.)
So, I sit, a year and some months away, freaking out to myself. And maybe that's okay. Maybe soon I'll adapt a more laissez-faire attitude and say, "What is the easiest way we can have a fun time, feed our friends and family, and look good for the pictures we'll show our grandkids?" And maybe I will soon stop trying to figure out a way to hire the Disney corporation as full time wedding planners on a Sam's-Club-Brand-Soda budget.
Or maybe I will figure out a way to hire them and all the stress will be off. Either way, it's going to be a hell of a ride.
As a twenty two year old who hasn't been to a wedding since her Aunt Stacey's, when I was two years old, its been an interesting experience preparing for a wedding that's a year and three months away.
For most, over a year means plenty of time.
For a control freak like moi, it means, never enough time.
As I scour the first thirty pages of Google after searching, "Affordable Nashville Wedding Venues", my mind and heart begins to race. I am ineviatebly sent to dozens of wedding blogs filled with... wedding porn. For those of you unaware of this phenomenon, as I was three months ago, let me enlighten you. Wedding porn means hoards and hoards of beautiful pictures of weddings that will never look like yours.
In the beautiful world of wedding porn, brides are never above a size five. (And they never have the armpit-fat that I'm terrified will plague my wedding pictures just as they plagued my prom pictures.) Sunshine is impeccably always over the horizon. The camera focuses on the bride, allowing everyone else to look fuzzy, making the bride look beautiful. There's hardly any crying, either out of emotion of the beautiful day or because Uncle Fred got drunk and fell on the cake. And there are alway pictures of random things showing that the bride easily got her bridal party to work their fingers to the bone wrapping Mason jars with pretty ribbons and dropping tealight candles inside, then hoisiting the Mason jars into trees.
Seriously.
What the hell?
Not only that, friends, but if I see another black and white photo with a single, in-color red rose, I'll scream. If I see a photo of the brides shoes with the wedding ring slipped onto the high heel against a solid white background, I'll scream. And those breeze, Thomas Kincaid-like photos of the bridal gown on a hanger, against a picture window where the sunlight streams in magnificently? I'll scream again. (Seriously, these photos make me wonder: Did the photographer wait for hours for the sun to get into the right position? Or was Walt Disney himself the wedding planner and did he command the sun to move and shift in the same way I'll undoubtably command my bridesmaids to move and shift both out of my way and to avoid harm [i.e, the afroemention drunk Uncle Fred scenario])?
The wedding porn is addictive, to say the least. With two male brides"men" and one female bridesmaid with a two year old, I find myself wondering: "Whose going to help me cut out paper butterflies, write poetic quotes on them, and string them up so high above the reception, no one will be able to read the quotes, much less see the magnificent detail I've put in each damn butterfly?"
The answer, my friends, is no one. Maybe my mother, but she'll just look at me like I'm crazy if I were to suggest such things.
It doesn't help that when I mention such things to the Fiancee, (like: "What if we gave out honey jars as the wedding favors? They would have our names on them and say 'Meant to Bee'. How cute?!") he begins to squint his eyes, sighs, and says, "How much will THAT cost us?" (This is coming from the guy who suggested a back yard barbeque wedding. Seriously. He wants me eating barbeque in a wedding dress. I can only imagine the stains and how vibrantly well they will show up in our photos.)
So, I sit, a year and some months away, freaking out to myself. And maybe that's okay. Maybe soon I'll adapt a more laissez-faire attitude and say, "What is the easiest way we can have a fun time, feed our friends and family, and look good for the pictures we'll show our grandkids?" And maybe I will soon stop trying to figure out a way to hire the Disney corporation as full time wedding planners on a Sam's-Club-Brand-Soda budget.
Or maybe I will figure out a way to hire them and all the stress will be off. Either way, it's going to be a hell of a ride.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
The Change of Life
Well, I've been toying with an idea for months and I've been too nervous to tell friends and family, so here it is in the blogosphere. Maybe if I can articulate my feelings, I can make a final decision.
I'm thinking of dropping out of college.
Honestly, I haven't learned a damn thing in 3 years of post-high school education. It is very frustrating.
I am tired of waiting for my life to truly begin. There are things I want to do. I want to spend my energy writing a book and trying to get it published. I want to focus on my job and acquiring some form of financial security. I want to volunteer with charities and contribute to the world. I want days off so that I can stay at home and work on my relationship with my fiancee. I want to start my own business and watch it flourish or fail. I want to learn from crazy mistakes and be able to say: "Hey, I have experienced some crazy things."
Between working full time and going to school full time, I haven't been able to do any of those things in quite some time.
I'm also beginning to think I should change my major from theatre to public relations. I need time to think that through.
Also, I have a year to plan a wedding, and I want time to focus true creative energy into that so that I can have a true once-in-a-lifetime experience.
These are simply thoughts in my head. I haven't made a final decision. But I'm walking that fine line.
Now I simply need the nerve to tell my mother.
I'm thinking of dropping out of college.
Honestly, I haven't learned a damn thing in 3 years of post-high school education. It is very frustrating.
I am tired of waiting for my life to truly begin. There are things I want to do. I want to spend my energy writing a book and trying to get it published. I want to focus on my job and acquiring some form of financial security. I want to volunteer with charities and contribute to the world. I want days off so that I can stay at home and work on my relationship with my fiancee. I want to start my own business and watch it flourish or fail. I want to learn from crazy mistakes and be able to say: "Hey, I have experienced some crazy things."
Between working full time and going to school full time, I haven't been able to do any of those things in quite some time.
I'm also beginning to think I should change my major from theatre to public relations. I need time to think that through.
Also, I have a year to plan a wedding, and I want time to focus true creative energy into that so that I can have a true once-in-a-lifetime experience.
These are simply thoughts in my head. I haven't made a final decision. But I'm walking that fine line.
Now I simply need the nerve to tell my mother.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Strip Clubs and You: A User's Guide
One of my dearest and oldest friends was getting married. Lisa and I had known each other since we were 8, and I was so excited that she was getting married and that I would get to be a bridesmaid. So, in leiu of a traditional bachelorette party, we decided to have a much classier celebration. We ignored the tradition of penis straws and "last night" sashes. We got all dressed up and went out to the Melting Pot.
And after dinner, found ourselves bored.
"I don't wanna go home yet," she frowned.
"Well, Miss Bride to Be, where do you wanna go?"
"Strip club?"
So much for the classy evening.
After a few giggles we realized it would be our first time at a strip club. We excitedly hopped in the car and headed to the only all-nude male revue I knew of in town... only to discover it has been turned into a Jazz club.
I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"
"All girl strip club?"
Without another word, we turned around and headed to a strip club, that boasted hundreds of beautiful naked girls.
The two of us in a titty bar was interesting to say the least. Lisa was straight as they come and I am a 2 on the Kinsey Scale. But the reason Lisa and I have been friends for 15 years is because we're always up for the experience just to say we did it. The "why not?" attitude has got us through a lot in the past.
We walked in tentatively, to be told that it was BYOB, meaning alcohol was not served on the premises. But with our receipt, we could get complimentary sodas, since we were "ladies". We joked to each other how odd that they would be conservative on their drinking policies, of all things.
And, what is there to say about the first trip to a strip club that hasn't been said before?
My personal brand of feminism has been from the Playboy era of sexuality. If a woman is beautiful and smart, what the hell is wrong with her exploiting her sexuality in a fun and safe environment? Who are we, the public, to judge her personal sense of fulfillment? Plus, I've always said if I had the body for it, hell yeah, I would strip. Lisa and I had even very jokingly discussed the possibility of stripping because plus sized girls would appeal to the fetish market, which would mean more money.
I assumed the atmosphere would be fun and playful. Perhaps it was Hollywood's influence, but I expected dancing and cheering and hootin' and hollerin'. I assumed girls would rip off their tops in dramatic flairs and dance to the music, as they happened to be naked. What girl wouldn't enjoy being paid to be cheered at for looking beautiful?
Well, I can answer that now. The six girls I watched dance looked completely dead on the inside. Their faces were all frozen in what was not even an attempt to look happy or flirt with the customers.
We watched girls dance, and were shocked by what "dancing" meant. Call me crazy (or blame Hollywood) but I always assumed strippers would dance... well normally... as if they were at a club. They just happened to be naked.
But no, strippers don't really dance. The music is there incidentally. I don't even know if the strippers I saw even heard the music. They simply gyrated, worked the pole, and simulated sex by spreading their parts for the world to see. During one particularly widening performance, Lisa stared at me.
"Can she do that?!"
"I guess she can..." I murmered.
And the audience? Well, half of the audience unsurprisingly were older men. These men weren't having fun either. They sipped their cokes and stared, zombie-like, at the girls performing. I wondered if these guys were regulars, who hung out there every night. If so, why did they keep coming back? Fifteen dollars for emotionless performances from girls who wouldn't flirt back with you? Watch porn for that! And if there weren't any regulars, how the hell did this place stay in business?
The other half of the audience? Young couples. Men who shyly tried to figure out what they could and could not look out without seeming like creepy old men, and their prospective girlfriends, who tried to cheer and laugh and encourage their boyfriends, but obviously were dealing with low self esteem themselves. None of these girls were beauties nor were they likely to climb a pole without triggering an asthma attach. But hey, at least they get brownie points for trying to spice up their sex lives, I guess.
The most pitiful thing I saw was when Lisa asked me where to smoke. We found a back patio, sectioned off for smokers. As we walked out, I almost laughed out loud. One half of the patio was occupied by strippers who were "off" at the moment, laughing and chuckling and chattering away. The other half of the patio was occupied by men, awkwardly shuffling their feet.
"This segregation between boys and girls reminds me of a third grade dance," I whispered to Lisa.
As we left, I began to think. My entire view of strip clubs had changed. Who was "empowered" here? Certainly not the strippers. The only people in the club who seemed satisfied with their stations in life were the men walking around in business suits who walked around importantly, obviously a part of management. I had also always assumed that if need be, I would have no problem accompanying my boyfriend to a strip club to reassure to him that I'm not the jealous type and that I want to encourage him to explore the sides of him that may feel repressed.
But frankly, if he was turned on or thrilled by seeing these lifeless girls, I'd be pretty disgusted.
Lisa and I had walked in determined to stay at least until we felt we had gotten our money's worth, the $10 lady cover charge. Between dances, I'd ask her questions, determined to not make her last night single a complete bust.
"You want some singles to throw at the girls?"
"Uh, no."
...
"You want a lap dance?"
"Yeah, I don't think so."
When we finally felt as if we had gotten our $10 worth, we left to the parking lot.
I complained bitterly, frustrated by my deflated expectations.
Lisa looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, while you examined the sociological aspects, Brandi, I was busy myself."
"Really?" I brightened, glad that our uneventful bachelorette party may have been more eventful than I realized.
"Yes," she told me. "I was busy watching the strippers and how they moved their bodies and let me tell you, I have moves to perform for my wedding night."
I guess I was wrong.
I guess someone walked out of that strip club feeling empowered, after all.
And after dinner, found ourselves bored.
"I don't wanna go home yet," she frowned.
"Well, Miss Bride to Be, where do you wanna go?"
"Strip club?"
So much for the classy evening.
After a few giggles we realized it would be our first time at a strip club. We excitedly hopped in the car and headed to the only all-nude male revue I knew of in town... only to discover it has been turned into a Jazz club.
I looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Well?"
"All girl strip club?"
Without another word, we turned around and headed to a strip club, that boasted hundreds of beautiful naked girls.
The two of us in a titty bar was interesting to say the least. Lisa was straight as they come and I am a 2 on the Kinsey Scale. But the reason Lisa and I have been friends for 15 years is because we're always up for the experience just to say we did it. The "why not?" attitude has got us through a lot in the past.
We walked in tentatively, to be told that it was BYOB, meaning alcohol was not served on the premises. But with our receipt, we could get complimentary sodas, since we were "ladies". We joked to each other how odd that they would be conservative on their drinking policies, of all things.
And, what is there to say about the first trip to a strip club that hasn't been said before?
My personal brand of feminism has been from the Playboy era of sexuality. If a woman is beautiful and smart, what the hell is wrong with her exploiting her sexuality in a fun and safe environment? Who are we, the public, to judge her personal sense of fulfillment? Plus, I've always said if I had the body for it, hell yeah, I would strip. Lisa and I had even very jokingly discussed the possibility of stripping because plus sized girls would appeal to the fetish market, which would mean more money.
I assumed the atmosphere would be fun and playful. Perhaps it was Hollywood's influence, but I expected dancing and cheering and hootin' and hollerin'. I assumed girls would rip off their tops in dramatic flairs and dance to the music, as they happened to be naked. What girl wouldn't enjoy being paid to be cheered at for looking beautiful?
Well, I can answer that now. The six girls I watched dance looked completely dead on the inside. Their faces were all frozen in what was not even an attempt to look happy or flirt with the customers.
We watched girls dance, and were shocked by what "dancing" meant. Call me crazy (or blame Hollywood) but I always assumed strippers would dance... well normally... as if they were at a club. They just happened to be naked.
But no, strippers don't really dance. The music is there incidentally. I don't even know if the strippers I saw even heard the music. They simply gyrated, worked the pole, and simulated sex by spreading their parts for the world to see. During one particularly widening performance, Lisa stared at me.
"Can she do that?!"
"I guess she can..." I murmered.
And the audience? Well, half of the audience unsurprisingly were older men. These men weren't having fun either. They sipped their cokes and stared, zombie-like, at the girls performing. I wondered if these guys were regulars, who hung out there every night. If so, why did they keep coming back? Fifteen dollars for emotionless performances from girls who wouldn't flirt back with you? Watch porn for that! And if there weren't any regulars, how the hell did this place stay in business?
The other half of the audience? Young couples. Men who shyly tried to figure out what they could and could not look out without seeming like creepy old men, and their prospective girlfriends, who tried to cheer and laugh and encourage their boyfriends, but obviously were dealing with low self esteem themselves. None of these girls were beauties nor were they likely to climb a pole without triggering an asthma attach. But hey, at least they get brownie points for trying to spice up their sex lives, I guess.
The most pitiful thing I saw was when Lisa asked me where to smoke. We found a back patio, sectioned off for smokers. As we walked out, I almost laughed out loud. One half of the patio was occupied by strippers who were "off" at the moment, laughing and chuckling and chattering away. The other half of the patio was occupied by men, awkwardly shuffling their feet.
"This segregation between boys and girls reminds me of a third grade dance," I whispered to Lisa.
As we left, I began to think. My entire view of strip clubs had changed. Who was "empowered" here? Certainly not the strippers. The only people in the club who seemed satisfied with their stations in life were the men walking around in business suits who walked around importantly, obviously a part of management. I had also always assumed that if need be, I would have no problem accompanying my boyfriend to a strip club to reassure to him that I'm not the jealous type and that I want to encourage him to explore the sides of him that may feel repressed.
But frankly, if he was turned on or thrilled by seeing these lifeless girls, I'd be pretty disgusted.
Lisa and I had walked in determined to stay at least until we felt we had gotten our money's worth, the $10 lady cover charge. Between dances, I'd ask her questions, determined to not make her last night single a complete bust.
"You want some singles to throw at the girls?"
"Uh, no."
...
"You want a lap dance?"
"Yeah, I don't think so."
When we finally felt as if we had gotten our $10 worth, we left to the parking lot.
I complained bitterly, frustrated by my deflated expectations.
Lisa looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
"You know, while you examined the sociological aspects, Brandi, I was busy myself."
"Really?" I brightened, glad that our uneventful bachelorette party may have been more eventful than I realized.
"Yes," she told me. "I was busy watching the strippers and how they moved their bodies and let me tell you, I have moves to perform for my wedding night."
I guess I was wrong.
I guess someone walked out of that strip club feeling empowered, after all.
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