and back to work...

What a weekend, it seems like a dream, an exhausting, tumultuous, exquisite and honest adventure. I learned a lot about myself in the past four days. Reflective, and open, I am more willing to experience and risk. Exotic Dancers for Cancer was a great success. We went beyond our target, raising $6000 in an evening. I look forward to seeing this event grow even more in the coming years.

But for now, I’m in Hanna, AB. Home of Nickelback. It is quite the town.



The stage is linoleum. Cracked and faded it should have been replaced years ago. The yellowed hues are evidence of history. But the bar is clean, beer is served in plastic cups, and although priorities in this town have not improved the stage, my room has been remodeled.

Someone has placed a felt flower pot above the TV. The petals are radiate elementary shades. Blissful the primary colours appear exotic in this room. The carpet is new, the furniture faded. Sunlight is dissolved through translucent plastic. Duct tape lines the frame where the adhesive of old masking tape has disintegrated. The discolored curtain reminds me of poor taste leftover from decades ago.

It was whirlwind weekend and I’m glad to be here. I have caught up on my sleep and I am content. It was a perfect weekend. At times emotions ran high, both anger and pleasure. But it was a good weekend.

grey

I am transported back in my mind. The sky is grey, and the ocean is muted. Strangers go about their day, exploring different ways to pass the time. The peaceful routine causes me to speculate, how many times I have been on this ship. How many days have I spent impulsively jumping on this ferry only to be lost in the emotional aftermath? How many trips have I spent gazing at the water emotionally raw, trying to regain composure? The constant vibrations and familiar scenery trigger so many memories. A year ago… I was lost. I was desperately grasping for the edge, despair nibbled holes in my heart.

Sitting in the corner, I am detached and isolated from the crowd around me. Headphones allow for full seclusion. The music is powerful. He thinks I haven’t heard this song before, he thinks it’s new to me. But I remember when he wrote it. I remember snapshots of time, bits of sentiment. I remember sitting, lost and exposed listening to him play it. I remember the turmoil and I remember sitting on this boat. I remember this song.

That was forever ago. It was a million identities ago.

I am so much stronger than I was.

Not yet...

I want to cry. I don’t want to speak. I don’t want to tell anyone how upset or hurt I am right now. I don’t want people to know what a fool I am. I just want this sadness to go away.

I don’t want to walk away from Whiskey yet. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to be all alone with no façade of sensual connection. I know it’s not real. I know it’s a disaster. I know more hurt and more disappointed are inevitable. But I have walked away from too many, necessary, but too quickly. These past six months have been brutal. A repetitive loss of friendship, reminders of a lack of respect, to be tossed aside as the disposable stripper… It has taken a great deal of stubborn resolve to keep looking ahead instead of yearning for the illusion.

It has been six months since I spoke to Maverick. I think of him often, and in weak moments it still burns my soul. But, I took my broken heart, and didn’t look back. Disenchantment still hovers when I think of my dear friend from high school. The Brat is also done. The disrespect and assumptions cut too deep, and I am not willing to sift through the rubble in the attempt to rebuild the naivety. What I thought was there, is not. I will be finishing that today. Still so fresh… at least I don’t have to wait another month to gain closure. There is another leftover affair I have also ended. If only in my own mind I know I will not be going back to that one. He was never worth the effort to formally end. Regardless, all those have ended over the past six months.

I know I’m worth more. I know I deserve more.

But I also know that I have another six months ahead of me in this transient life. I know although I may be more emotionally available than I have been in years, I am not geographically available. I travel. I will not be home for weeks or months at a time. I understand that dating me is difficult under the best circumstances. I understand that dating a stripper is a tall order. I am a peeler. Men I do not know watch me naked. Men try to have sex with me, and I do receive offers of various forms of prostitution on a regular basis. I take my clothes off and reveal all of my flesh for strangers. I flirt, and tease.

… and then I go home alone.

I am hurt, and angry. But I am not ready to walk away. As much as I wish I could, as angry as I am at myself for being so addicted… I don’t want to destroy this one… not yet. I want something to come home to. I want someone to look forward to seeing when I get home. It may be a chimera, but it can be so beautiful. Selfishly masochistic, I don’t want to obliterate every pseudo connection all at once.

Too Beautiful

I watch his hands move over the strings and remember the feel of his fingers along my spine. The creative spirit is intoxicating. I watch him and let the harmony flow through my body. I long for the taste of his lips as he sings. I could sit here forever and listen to him play, my own personal background melody. The rhythm flows, creating an intense aphrodisiac.

He asks me if I’m bored, if only he knew how peaceful I am while he plays.

I do wonder how this will go. I have been systematically ridding myself of the “friends with benefits” and other such men in my life. I’m down to one, Whiskey. I know when this one ends I will hurt. I know there are emotions attached. I’m not in love, and I maintain determined distance… but honesty begins in your own mind. I know I care. I know despite my defenses, I waiver on foolish hopes. Hopes are not expectations, but they will carry disappointment.

I know it will be a disaster, and it saddens me that someday this friendship will dissolve as the others have. Melancholy moments flutter through my mind as I cling to this beautiful day.

I’m not blind. The dynamics amaze me at times because I refuse to assume. I do not know what the months will bring. I could not have predicted we’d be here a year ago.

I’m lying. I do assume. I assume the worst. I assume he does not care. I assume he will not call. I assume he will find someone else. I assume our relationship is superficial and disposable. I know I'm right.

“I don’t think I could date a dancer”
“I don’t date musicians”

Well then… we are quite the pair. I just hope I can preserve some level of emotional distance. It may be futile, but I’m not willing to walk away from this one yet.

It’s still too beautiful.

United we Dance

I get Naked for Charity

Okay people, Exotic Dancers for Cancer is only a few days away. The stars aligned and I have the weekend off. YAY!!! I’m flying into Vancouver for the event. I will be donating a show, and having a blast. (tentative show time 6pm)

I AM SOOOO EXCITED!!!

Silent auction includes items such as: Canucks tickets, symphony tickets, spa packages, Molson Canadian gear, tattoo time, glamour photo shoots, Harley Davidson gear, and a slave for a month.

… and much more… Pole dancing lessons, amateur hour, door prizes, and continuous naked ladies from 4pm on…

Come say HI!!! Come out and support the cause.

http://www.canada.com/theprovince/news/story.html?id=c81e4ee6-bd2d-4a83-bdcf-15638e12a2c1&k=81638

It has been a whirlwind week, and I’m sure by Monday I will be exhausted. I fly out tomorrow morning, and everything seems to be coming together. A bit of late night, last minute graphic design work (see banner below), and a lot of running around… three shows tonight then I drive to Calgary to catch my plane… bright and freaking early tomorrow.




I can’t wait to meet all the girls I’ve been working with to organize this for so many weeks and months. I can’t wait to see my friends. I can’t wait to absorb the energy. I can’t wait to see what we can raise.

The Drake Showroom. Vancouver. Sunday February 26, 2006. 4pm-midnight.

And now I need to shower, pack, eat, run, possibly scream…

step one...

I’m goal orientated. On a resume it sounds very productive. In application it often means I have the ability to pursue a goal with tunneled ambition. I have been highly effective, yet blind. I’ve spent the past year reevaluating my goals. I hope I’m on the right track. I want to be on the right path.

I am trying to be objective and consider all aspects. I don’t want to be financially struggling in school again. I want my debts to be minimal. I want my independence to be secured. I want my higher education. I want a dynamic and fulfilling career.

Step one- apply.

I want a life. I want to feel productive. I want to spend time with friends and be involved in my community. I want to be in a position to make the changes. I want potential for something real.
I think I might be heading in that direction. I hope so…

wonderful tonight

The music rises through the floor. I can feel the bass vibrations as I walk. Soon the music will fade and the crowd will disperse. Soon I will be able to sleep. I know it’s late in the evening because the harmony has improved. By now, the grinding has been replaced by intoxicated romance, and it’s time to secure a meaningful overnight relationship. I stop packing for a moment and absorb the lyrics. Secluded from the meat-market below me, I welcome the nostalgia. The song is lovely. I pause to remember another life.

“My darling, you look wonderful tonight”

It was a lifetime ago. That relationship was many things, but the memories linger. I remember being loved and cherished. It may have been an illusion, it may have been temporary, but when I hear certain songs I am drawn into an isolated memory. I remember feeling safe. I remember being adored. I remember a time when compliments touched me.


I wonder when “you’re beautiful” will mean something again, perhaps it won’t. Perhaps surface images will never hold the same value in my heart as they once did. I may be waiting for someone to see beyond the sex appeal and behind the academia. I may be waiting for someone to appreciate the flaws, the special idiosyncrasies that take time and effort to discover.

It’s been a good week, and I’ve made some good friends. I like the people here. I like the bar, and I like the town. My faith in humanity has gained a few points this week. Tonight I will rest, tomorrow I will drive.

Poison

My car didn’t want to start yesterday. Apparently at -35 it’s just not happy. Nor was I. poor delicate west coast girl that I am, winter and I do not get along. Today it’s warmed up to -13, almost balmy.

It’s Friday, the week is almost over. Hopefully I can survive the weekend without choking on the toxic cigarette smoke. It wafts through the darkness, the recycled poison; stale in the air stings my eyes and burns my throat. The vents are closed to keep the warmth trapped. There is no clean air. I lay in bed coughing and choking on my lungs, wishing my body could dispel the contamination. It was hours before I could sleep. Today, my lungs still hurt and I struggle to breathe. I don’t understand why they feel they have the right to poison the air I inhale. I don’t understand why I am looked at as unfriendly and demanding for wanting to breathe less cyanide.

I don’t think I will ever understand. I don’t think I will ever understand the selfish red-neck disrespect this province is so proud of.

Mushy Day

In light of this February 14, 2006 day I have decided to contribute to the festivities.






Happy throw stale candy hearts and mushy couples day. The following rhymes were sent to me in an email, so I’m sharing my favourites.

Love may be beautiful, love may be bliss
But I only slept with you, because I was pissed.

I thought that I could love no other
Until, that is, I met your brother.

Roses are red, violets are blue, sugar is sweet, and so are you.
But the roses are wilting, the violets are dead, the sugar bowl's empty and so is your head.

Of loving beauty you float with grace
If only you could hide your face.

I love your smile, your face, and your eyes
-Damn, I'm good at telling lies!


Kind, intelligent, loving and hot;
This describes everything you are not.



I want to feel your sweet embrace
But don't take that paper bag off of your face.

My feelings for you no words can tell,
Except for maybe "go to hell".

I see your face when I am dreaming.
That's why I always wake up screaming.

My love, you take my breath away.
What have you stepped in to smell this way?


What inspired this amorous rhyme?
Two parts vodka, one part lime.

Happy Valentines Blog Buddies.

I heart you all.

not going back

I survived the week. I don’t know how, but I did. I never have to go back there. It took every effort to not walk out last week. It took so much to just keep quiet and smile, to take the money, and leave on good terms. I adamantly disagree with how they run their clubs. I don’t believe it’s fair to rob us as they do. But in this industry, no one cares. They can choose to run their club as they see fit. I will choose not to book there again.

We were provided with a shared room in a condemned hotel, for $150 each. I chose to not stay there, so I was only charged $75. The bar collects $750 from the dancers each week for sub par rooms with no privacy.

9pm- 1am everyday is required unpaid floor time where all dancers are expected to be selling VIP dances. Dances sell for $30. $15 from each dance goes to house. For every $300 I earn, I only pocket $150. The money I gave back to house doubled my pay. We pay them to work there, I won’t be again.

There were a number of interesting people last week, weirdoes of the day, and drunken craziness. But to separate myself mentally and emotionally from the club, and keep my job, I had to not think about it… As I leave that town behind, I hope I also leave behind the emotional chaos that plagued my week. I’m in Fort McMurray now. I like it here. The people are nice. The bar is great. It should be a good week.

Pattern

Problem: Too many men view me as a casual fuck without emotional attachment. Some women are “girlfriend nice”, others are like me. I have seen too much, I’ve been single too long and I’m jaded. But in the past few days I have been accused of being “very guarded” and not communicating my emotions. At first I accepted partial responsibility for the events. But now, I have decided this assumption is bullshit. Not only am I open to anyone that asks, but my feelings, experiences, and weaknesses are POSTED in a PUBLIC BLOG!! So I maintain that anyone who does not know I have feelings, or that I care- simply never wanted to know.

I know how to be comfortable as a sex object, and on occasion as the other woman. I know how to play casual, and fake emotional distance. I’m tired of pretending. I’m tired of being disrespected and discarded.

I want this to change. I want the pattern to break. I want more. I want respect, and love, and honesty, and trust. I want someone to bother to ask. I want someone to care enough to see beyond the job, beyond the strength.
I know I’m worth more. How do I do it?

Solution: ????????

I want to go home

I don’t want to go to work. I’m trying to be happy that it’s Friday and the week is almost over, but I feel like crap. My head hurts, my nose is stuffed, and my eyes are foggy. I feel like I’ve been run over by a large dog, a slobbering, clumsy, over-enthusiastic dog. Thanks to makeup I mostly look human, sexy and sultry even.

I’m lonely and I want to go home. I’m very angry at a certain person, and frustrated at the circumstances surrounding that hurt. The past few days have been full of emotional turmoil, compounded with a stupid cold, means I don’t want to be here. I want to go home and start making some changes to my personal life. I can end things, and walk away while on the road. I can’t repair, rebuild, or create new patterns until I get home.

photoshop

Comment on Canadian Politics...

....sometimes there are no words

(photoshop nerds will take over the world, or loose their jobs for wasting valuable company time with satire)

Images stolen from my favourite canadian icon Rick Mercer. http://rickmercer.blogspot.com/

don't know, don't see

Often, a patron in the club will compliment me on how energetic and happy I am on stage. On occasion it will be followed by a complaint on how unfriendly or grumpy another dancer has been in comparison.

Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is get up on that stage and pretend the world is okay. They expect us to be perfect, sexy, and happy. I know everyone puts on a face to go to work, but sometimes it really sucks.

Thankfully we have stage names, and stage personalities. I never share my real identity. Real name, real life, in reality I am weak, and vulnerable. I may hide it, I may fake it, but anyone who knows me as the stripper, or thinks of me as a sex object- I never want to hear my real name come out of their mouth.

Because they don’t know me, they don’t know who I am. They don’t know what I want, or what I can offer. Regardless, I still have to put on a happy face and go to work.


I’m not perfect. I’m not happy today. Once I get to the bar, no one will know. Not the manger, not the DJ, not the men. There might be a moment when it slips, but likely only the bouncer will see it as I'm walking out of the VIP room.

It’s cheesy, but appropriate. I look like Josie on stage, and I read Archie Comics… and I’m frustrated and sad today. I’m looking at a friendship I fear has been ruined. Not ruined because of anything nasty, but rather because of misunderstandings, and my newfound desire to be honest, at least to myself. I don’t think I am willing to fake casual friendship when I get home. But I do have another 5 weeks to think about it, while listening to very bad mushy girly pop...

This is the place where I sit
This is the part where I love you too much
Is this as hard as it gets?
'Cause I'm getting tired
Of pretending I'm tough
I'm here if you want me. I'm yours, you can hold me. I'm empty and taken and tumbling and breakin''

Cause you don't see me
And you don't need me
And you don't love me
The way I wish you would
The way I know you could

I dream of worlds where you'd understand
and I dream a million sleepless nights
I dream of fire when you're touching my hand
but it twists into smoke when I turn on the light
I'm speechless and faded
It's too complicated
Is this how the book ends,
Nothing but good friends?

I wish

I’m expensive this week. I’ve checked myself into a hotel because the rooms above the bar are sub par to say the least. I don’t share well, especially not with other dancers.

I needed the time to myself, time to think, time to relax. I need time to sit in front of my laptop and sort out a disastrous misunderstanding. There is no solution, but there at least can be honest communication. I can’t maintain the openness for much longer. I can’t allow myself to be too vulnerable. Maybe someday, but not yet. change takes time.

I’ve spent days running in circles in my head. I’m thankful for the hours at work where I can be someone else. I’m thankful for the simple seductions of young men.

But real life hits through email. I wish it were easier.

cynicism...

For the record, I was right.

Honesty is NOT worth it, disappointment hurts regardless of geography or how prepared you are. I'm done with that.

Adding to the cynicism…

Oooh I’m way past that. But at least I killed the elephant.

A Good Day

Sunday is a day of rest, rest from the expectations, and the assumptions. A day for me, it feels lovely. I delight in going out alone. With no pressure to entertain, I am able to just relax and be. It was a short drive to Grand Prairie this afternoon. The proximity of the towns allowed for a lovely dinner at The Keg, and time to absorb the love story of King Kong.

I sat quietly in the corner, book in hand. The pecan glazed steak melted under my knife, and for a brief eternity I was lost. The voices of my chosen novel echoed. Though created in my mind the characters came alive as the flavour of the Shiraz washed over my tongue. Chocolate mousse disappeared as I paused to contemplate my life, and my emotions. The taste still lingers.

A lone couple snuggled, four rows behind me, as the images flashed before an otherwise empty theatre. My eyes glazed as tears welled uncontrollably. Beautiful sorrow captivated my heart, yet I found myself silently pleading, just let him live, leave him alone…

I remember a time when I could not be alone. I remember the excruciating emptiness, and desperately craving human interaction. Those years have faded into diary entries. Now I long for extended moments of freedom, for moments alone. Free from entertaining, free from the illusion. I cherish my tears and my weakness. I appreciate my hopes and my smile. Alone, I know it’s real.

Finally, I am able to feel. Isolated, I can express myself. Staring at the ceiling I can contemplate my choices, my desires, and my dreams.

It has been a good day.

Exotic Dancers For Cancer

It's almost time for the Third Annual Exotic Dancers for Cancer Event.

Where: The Drake Show lounge. 606 Powell St. Vancouver.
When: Sunday, February 26, 2006 from 4pm till midnight

In a few short weeks a multitude of beautiful naked ladies will be volunteering in a Strip-a-thon for Charity. There will be a silent auction, as well as door prizes, t-shirts, and a great deal of side attractions to keep everyone entertained for hours. I've heard rumours of amateur hour, aquire a slave for a month, body cages, tattoos, and various other items.

For the first time in history, the Breast Cancer Society of Canada has agreed to accept our money. In the past we have struggled with finding charities to accept the proceeds. Donations from the Exotic Entertainment Industry are often not welcome. This is a HUGE accomplishment, and I am so proud of Annie Temple for making it happen.

As Annie wrote in her letter to the BCSC, “I would like to offer our donation to your organization from this year’s Exotic Dancers for Cancer which is planned for February 26, 2006. I am not sure if you feel that it would be unethical to accept money from exotic dancers as we have heard this from other organizations in the past. I would like to assure you that all the women involved in the event are participating out of their own desire to make a difference. No one can argue that breast cancer affects anyone of any occupation. Exotic dancing is a legal occupation. We pay our taxes and we vote. We are mothers, daughters, wives, and sisters. We dance naked to make a living, but in all other ways, we are no different from any other women.”

One small step for Strippers, one large chunk of change for breast cancer.

Call for donations. I will be on the phones collecting donations for door-prizes, as well items for the silent auction. If anyone would like to donate, please email me. ryannrain@hotmail.com

Donations may be made online through paypal at www.nakedtruth.ca. Click donations. memo "dancers for cancer" under 'payment for'

If you are Vancouver on Feb 26, come join The Naked Truth girls, and all the supporters as we make history, and whole lot of money for a damn good cause!!


The history of Dancers for Cancer can be found at http://www.nakedtruth.ca/forum/default.asp?CAT_ID=13

Exposed.

Sent.
Confessed.
Exposed.

I want to pull the blankets over my head, clutch my care bear and make it all go away. I hate being vulnerable. I hate feeling weak. I hate waiting to see how my bubble will collapse.People say you have to take the risk. Okay, I did… can it go away now?

how I remember...

This is how I remember it...

... I never want that again...





postcard stolen from http://postsecret.blogspot.com/

Damn Elephant

OK FINE!! I admit it. I have feelings. Part of me might want to just close my eyes and jump, and risk it… see what’s there. But the idea of being vulnerable terrifies me. I don’t want to be hurt, and I don’t want to loose what I already have.

I received an email today that has sent me into a very reluctant emotional tailspin. I have been backed into the corner, and I think I have to come clean. I think I have to be truthful. I do occasionally drop in on reality. I am aware that the dynamics of this relationship need to be addressed, or at least the big pink elephant in the middle of the room. But I had hoped to postpone this conversation until March, or next year… or the year after…

I know all these happily coupled people (and I do love you guys) will tell me it’s all worth it, and that you can’t let fear hold you back… but c’mon guys I’m not functioning on rational logic here.

Truly, I don’t believe that any good can come from being honest. Experience has taught me that admissions of emotion lead to disenchantment. Perhaps I would rather keep the ideal in my mind, and the memories that make me smile than risk adding to the cynicism.

I don’t want to. I don’t want to risk it. I’ve been hurt and disappointed too many times.

Somehow I have to find the courage to say, “I care. I want more”. Somehow I have to figure out, out loud, what I want, and what I’m prepared to offer… and be prepared for the disappointment…

Perhaps everyone will be happier, and life easier if I just smile and keep quiet. All I really have to say is… well nothing. Nothing will change, my bubble will remain intact, and life will continue as is. The only downside being… nothing will change, and there is that damn elephant in the living room.

stay

I have nothing to say. I like it here. the people are great, the money is good, the staff is nice...
I have very little material for 'weirdo of the day'

I like Fort Saint John. I wish I could stay.

I doubt I will be as content next week.