I do love dancing. Its a wonderful feeling to let the music flow in to a body that responds with out hesitation. I tell a story and look out from another layer of myself. I never thought I would dance on a stage or have the sass to pull it off with confidence. I shoot out sparks sometimes...its so fun to project your energy and watch people wake up to it.
There is a new girl at the club. She is Lebanese and has a big love for cabaret and looks like Liza herself. So, we dress up in showgirl outfits and use canes and chairs...campy stuff. She is taking classes for pole dance and has some really elegant spins. I watch and pick up what I can. She is curvy and short and a little self conscious about her body. I love her for pushing through that and making herself do this. Last night she tells me, "This song feels so good to dance naked to!". That's my kind of girl...I have the same experience.
Dressing up is the the big thing at our particular hole in the wall and I love it! We often dance in pairs and we like to match the outfits to the song. Tell little stories or create a particular mood.

We get a lot of regulars...guys who come in for our company and the cheap beer. They ask questions and offer advice. We do the same...as it is a very low key environment and offers the opportunity for this. We dont do lap dances and there is no champagne room. Strictly tips from dancing and we dont pick money up off the floor. We engage with each person in the room after each round.
Its a peculiar place. Not your average strip joint, from what I hear anyway.
So, we are friends with these fellows. I worry about "him" if he doesnt show up for a couple weeks. Sometimes they bring us food and every once in a while, a present. They are our fans and I enjoy dancing for them as much as they like to watch. Its symbiotic and natural and very adult.

I haven't been going in to dance. Its been more important to work on my business and get something done for the holidays. I make about the same amount of money and its more productive in the long run.
My husband finally sent some money...about half what he said he would. He sent along a note saying, "I LOVE YOU", in large letters. Its confusing for me. I get a sting and a spark in my heart simultaneously. I dont want to know that he loves me still. That he misses us. What is the point of all this, if that is the case? Why are we three thousand miles apart? What is going on? Maybe he just wants to keep me hanging on...the comfort of my love to fill in the cracks. I find it comfortable to love him too...I have for so long. I find it difficult not to.
I asked him not to communicate with me in that manner. I told him to express his feelings for our daughter...but to leave me out of it. I dont want to feel anything. I want to ignore it until its not there anymore. I let him know this. He cried. He says he understands...he wont anymore. It makes my heart ache and of course I want his love...but not when its like that. From such a distance...and at the expense of the woman he lives with now. I dont want to be his new false crush...his affair. I know too much. He has a phantom heart that tricks and manipulates. I only want the real love that we had....the one I recognize and feel safe with.

I start a couture sewing class in March. Its expensive. I am not sure why I am pursuing such a specialized skill in this economy! Made to order couture? Am I nuts? Maybe....but this is what came to me and I dont turn down the gifts of the universe. Thats my role as artist. Just keep saying yes to what rings my soul bells...thats how you make the art. It comes through us if we let it. I cant question that....what would be left of me? That is what I am. So I sent the money. Four grand! To a Russian woman....another Russian?! Ella...she is going to give me the tools I need to bring my visions to life. The finished edges that are required for the next step.
Luxery lingerie? Tango dresses? This is what I am thinking about. Dance, hand dyed silk, fashion. Should be fun.

The minimum

I am angry. Its good to be aware of it, I guess. Cannot express myself just the same. It comes out in some twisted attempt at being 'helpful'. Inside, I am full of irritation and contempt and outside there is a false sweetness and feigned confusion. I suggest that You should do it like THIS....when I am really saying...STOP DOING IT LIKE THAT! That sucks and I wish I was more aware and less fake. Some assholes came into the club. It happens...and usually its not a big deal...just more assholes. Sometimes I am susceptible to it and I can get cut down to a level of depression that is so dark and oppressive that it takes days to recover. Two guys are driving back up to New York and stop off for gas and decide to come in to our little dive club and critique us. Thanks fellas. Didn't tip a dollar. What kind of an asshole comes into a strip club and doesn't know to tip even a lousy buck? They proceed to look me over and ask, "where is your ass? where are the tits? Why should I tip you?" Because I am here and this is a titty bar where I dance for money. I am sweating and happy and simply came over to say hello. I am a hostess and I hope you are having a good time here with us...its a simple courtesy. Please be a gentleman. Then they tell me about the $ 80,000 car they drive. They tell me that how they decide to spend money is up to them, not me. That they could start pulling out twenties and fifties...shit...hundreds! if they chose to. They tell me that because I had only expected a dollar, and for that they have no respect...."You dont get nuthing", they say. Huh? I didn't even ask...I came over to welcome them and say hello. I had hoped that they would understand the unspoken expectation. Then one of the Russian girls comes over, furious and breathless, and throws money on the table and says, "Here is some money to tip the woman...pick it up and give it to her!" She knows that I am going to get crushed. She knows me...and has already read these guys correctly. I am trying to be real and connect with them and I should not be. I really should have given up then...I should have walked away. I should have honored my soul and bid them farewell and ignored the insult....but you see....I wanted that money. I got tricked by the desperation in me. I failed to recognize it in time. I was a bad night...and I am so poor. I lost honor in clinging to the hope that they might like me enough to give me on of those twenties. I feel disgusting when that happens. I hate being manipulated by money. Needing it so badly that I put myself to shame. I hate money. I forget that part of the job. I just want to dance and wear sparkles and pretend that I am not in a second rate titty bar in the suburbs of Baltimore. I dont want to see the sad drunk faces of old men through the eyes of a cynic. I want to love humanity....and bring a light and a smile and a little tingle of sex. Let me keep my spark. Please dont rob me anymore. I dont want to hate men. I lost my heart. My arms fell to the side. The lights got dim and the girls looked stupid. I felt old and lost and pathetic. I am so stuck and scared and sad. When does the father of my child have to stand around and beg for money in his underwear just to feed her. When will women get the help they need, when the men just walk away? Who is pathetic? Fucking assholes.

Tonight was a good night.

Tonight was a good night. Made some money and had a few moments of inspiration and levity. Talked for a long time to an ex sergeant army guy who came in to see me. He is raising his three daughters, two teenagers and a seven year old. His wife cheated on him...we talked about how aggravating it is to have your trust broken. How bad it feels to know that your innocence is gone...that you are harder and more bitter than you ever were before. Also to know that you may have caused someone else to feel this way is so sad and unforgivable.
He wants to take me out to dinner...just dinner...because he likes my company. I told him I was kind of involved...and dont want to cause pain to anyone. Its true...I want to keep my soul clean and pure. Take care of the hearts that are giving me goodness so that I can take it in with out guilt.
When he found out about his wife, he threw the guy into a wall. He realized he was about to get himself in deep trouble and decided that he was not going to destroy his future over these people. So, he says, he just stopped and walked away. He is happy.
He pays for poor kids to play football to try and keep them off the street. Young kids are dying on the streets in Baltimore. He wants to do what he can, for as many as he can. He is big into sports and knows its a way to build up their lives. He pays for their physicals and the uniforms and equipment. They have a game tomorrow...the Steelers of Edgewood. Go team!
While I was talking to him another of my fellows came in. Old guy...wears a cute hat all the time and has good style. He is a recovering alcoholic and last week he tells me his AA adviser got in his face and almost got himself punched. I suggested he look for another! Unfortunately the army guy took too much of my time and I didnt get to talk to this one tonight. He left before I got to him. I feel kind of sad about it. You know, its nice that he comes in to see me.
The first time I met him, he was in a terrible mood...I really had to look into him and come check on him often to lift him out of it. He is a regular now and he looks for me. I am into building long term customers. I want to make a safe place for them to come and feel good and sexy and calm.
I have this problem...I am very personal and get into these conversations and then there is a slight jealousy...or perceived jealousy....I dont know....when I dont get so deep with them time and time again. Sometimes I am busy or tired....or just feeling flat myself.
I had a moment tonight, of this flatness. There is always a slow moment that gets to me...and I find myself desperately wanting to get out of there. I feel insecure. I feel skinny and old and pathetic. I worry. I loose my charm and it then gets worse. All the other girls look so good...I see my flaws. Its a kind of stage fright I guess.
There is always a way out though. A great song...a lively customer with a sweet compliment. I end up feeling fine by the end of it. I really love the girls there too. They lift me and make me laugh. Drunk Russian beauties. I am so lucky to be part of this world. Its ridiculous. What a collection of women. I tell Valeria (the owner) how amazing her creation is...her collection...is just fantastic. Real and honest and sweet and sexy sexy.

I work in a titty bar

I work with young Russian girls. They are slim and lovely and I find it easy to work with them. The bartenders are petulant and bored...this is charming to some and annoying to others. The drinks are cheap and simple. We dont get a cut...so we don't hustle the men for shots. Though we do appreciate it when a gentlemen offers us one, and the owner does too. She only makes money from the bar.
Its mostly men on the verge of a divorce....or ones who have already gone through it, that come to the club. I talk to them and make them feel comfortable. I think about the soon to be ex-wife and wonder if she could use the money that they are sticking in my g-string. I know it made me mad when I was a wife. I could have used the money...or a bunch of flowers and some of his time and attention. Thats all over for me now...so I wont dwell on it. I try not to dwell on it. I have insomnia over it.
Through all this talking and flirting I am attempting to find a new version of myself to fill in the void created by my loss of life partner. Some strange new woman must emerge from the ashes and I am looking for her.
These men are full of love and anger. They love women, they hate us...they are confused and conflicted. They love their children most of all. We talk about the children. They advise me. They tell me about the mistakes they made and they slip me twenties for my little girl. We all hurt for the kids we twisted with divorce and separations. A room full of sexual adults, drinking together, flirting and soothing our hearts with liquor and a momentary flash of heat.
I dance my heart out. I sweat and spin and glide...my feet ache and I dance harder. I swing and fly and pray that I never miss the pole. It is a small version of theater and we perform for ourselves as much as for the men. We match the songs to the outfits we wear, to the weather, our mood and to the mood in the room. We are performance artists and deejays all in one. Sometimes its only for one man and each other. I close my eyes and live in it. There are two songs in a set...one to entertain and the second to undress. We dance for seven hours in stilettos. I have worn a pair out?! Before I started I couldn't even walk in them.
Its a strange new life that I couldn't imagine myself in a year ago. I love it. I am sad too. I have to make a living somehow and my life has led me to this dirty Baltimore glamor. I am two women in one each waiting to see who comes to the surface.