I LOVE being a Stripper

Why I love my job...

Sequins are shiny. Playing dress-up is fun.

What woman doesn't love Shoes

Giggles and change room gossip

Friendship. I am surrounded by incredible, sexy, accepting, strong women who are supportive rather than competitive. We’ve seen it. We get it. It is so powerful to be surrounded by women who understand and offer comfort and camaraderie.

Relationships judged on character rather than looks. Everyone is beautiful. Respect in the industry from peers comes from being a beautiful person on the inside… kind, reliable, responsible, encouraging, and accepting.

No topic is ever taboo

The music… the rhythm… the beat. I fucking LOVE dancing.

I crave the stage. Under the lights, allowing the music to move through my body. Channeling sexual energy through my motions and my eyes. I love the sensuality of my job. I love the attention and adoration. I love being the fantasy.

Appreciation of beauty, not perfection (we all have flaws and cellulite). I love watching the sensual beauty of dancers. I love watching the grace, confidence, and energy. They are all so beautiful, and not one is perfect.

Serious cunt love. Women need to love their own bodies, including if not especially their pussy. What an amazing creation the female nude is. Glorious and gorgeous. Learn your body. Mirrors are great. Stripping is great for teaching women to embrace their sexuality and all that is woman. Love your cunt.

Flexibility to work whenever, wherever. The knowledge that I have a certain amount of job-security. In a week I can make enough to get out of a tight spot. I can take as much or as little time off as I want. I can leave, and come back in a year without warning and be working within a week.

Business skills. I am an independent contractor responsible for all aspects of my business… marketing me… Ryann Rain.

Development and fine-tuning of boundaries. I am always aware of potentially dangerous situations. I’ve seen what some men will say, and do. I’ve seen how easy it is for some scum to dehumanize women. I wish all women had the courage, and the boundaries to say “Don’t fucking touch me”. I know of SO many women who have been assaulted, coerced, drugged, raped, or abused… often as a result of a desire for approval and not wanting to be mean.

I’m not afraid to be mean. I’m not afraid to offend. I'm not afraid to be clear and direct. I’m not afraid to say “listen up asshole. Get the hell away from me. Don’t talk to my friends, and don’t fucking touch me. Leave. Now.”

Freedom to travel and the confidence to travel. Drop me in a new town, foreign country, or a strange bar. I have the street smarts and adaptability. I’m not afraid to travel alone.

Appreciation of the less mainstream aspects of relationships.

Marriage/ relationship counseling. We are therapists. I enjoy having the ability to listen to men’s problems, frustrations, and daily stories. Sometimes all they need is for someone to listen. Sometimes there are problems at home. Sometimes I am in a position to offer insight, understanding, and healing. Sometimes he just needs to be reminded to go home and tell his wife he loves her.

Recognition of the humanity forgotten. Nothing negates the value of individual humanity, not addictions, not occupation, not sexuality, not choices. Whether homeless, prostituting, struggling with addictions, living in alternate lifestyles, or making difficult choices… EVERYONE is deserving of respect and consideration.

When bad days and bad weeks happen… everything changes after 6 days. New bar, new girls, new attitude. Never am I stuck in a negative work environment for more than 6 days. If I hate it… I never have to go back.

I know my strength as a woman, my power as a fantasy, and my worth as an individual. Like any job there are good days and bad days. Too many people spend too many years in jobs they hate. I appreciate what I’ve learned. But most days… I love my job.

Melting

I sprawl out on the roof, melting under the warmth as I wait for the sun to fade. The idea of wearing PVC or sequins tonight is repulsive. Sticky stripper flesh is not sexy; I don’t care how good the shiny body looks on stage. I search in vain for costumes that are cool, fewer layers are better. I glance in the mirror and see my makeup glistening… liquefying on my skin. It’s hot. I splash icy water on my naked body watching as it evaporates in an instant. I splash more on my legs, arms, back of my neck… I feel the fleeting shiver as it drips down my spine. It’s good to be back. I’m at The Drake, home sweet home. The jet lag is finally diminishing and I’m feeling like a stripper again. Perhaps not what most people aspire to feel like after a vacation, but I’m glad to be back.

Memories of Europe and everlasting flights are fading into a summer cold. My voice is abandoning me, leaving a raspy, breathy imitation. So sexy, I sound like I’ve been chain-smoking for a century. I feel my immune system fighting the weakness, fighting the threatening illness. I’m not going to get sick! I’m stubborn. It’s time for some post-vaca vitamins, orange juice, ginger, and other fun immune boosters. It’s time to enjoy the summer and the amazing people in my life.

waiting to jump...

Darkness replaces the glimmer of dawn I expect to see when my eyes open. My circadian rhythms have not caught up to the pacific sun. My body is exhausted. Blind faith in the digital numbers of my mobile reminds me of what time I ought to feel.

I’m home; home in my borrowed bed, staring at the scattered collection of belongings I’ve accumulated over the past ten months. I need to pack. Suddenly I’m finding myself torn as to why I’m packing. What am I doing? Why am I in Canada? Perhaps I should jump off the cliff and grab a new idea. Perhaps I should put faith in learning, and giving. I could remember how fulfilling it is to teach. I could…

I’m waiting…

Waiting to hear the reality, waiting to find out the logistics, waiting to decide… I’m trying to be patient and sensible. But I am. I’m not making rash choices without forethought. But when a path appears I do not hesitate. I feel it just beyond my fingertips. I feel it growing in my heart.

I’m waiting to jump…

I try because I hope...

I suppose I can’t really explain it. The more I try the more frustrated and upset I get. I do try. I really really try… and it hurts that people are so quick to judge and decide. It hurts that misguided intentions are so incapable of respect.

They worry about me. They think I’m missing something. They think my choices are damaging… the logic is false, because it fails to take into consideration ME. The observations are based on preconceived expectations and assumptions. It feels like the typical argument in the bar, I’ll sign you up for the “Save a Stripper” mailing list, how’s that? It feels like I am irrelevant, and my reasons are wrong.

I KNOW it takes years to understand me, to know me. I KNOW people are incapable of actually appreciating who I am. But it’s so exhausting constantly being labeled and categorized. The context in which people meet me decides the expectations. But no matter what I say or do, no matter how hard I try to explain they will never see me as anything more than what they want. Some will see me as the stripper, others as a student, an artist, a friend, a teacher, a fantasy, an object, a sister… I AM. I am all I encompass. No more, no less. Nothing negates the authenticity of the other faces of the diamond. Nothing is imitation or false, but much of it is hidden.

I know I’m being cryptic. I know I struggle to make sense, but I do try… as futile as it might be… I still hope.

We went into a peeler bar last night, and I freaked. I did want to see it. I wanted to check it out, but I didn’t think to communicate my feelings before we went. I wanted to go in for a bit. Obviously to other people that means, sit, drink, and party in the club. In my mind (which I didn’t express) I think I wanted to check it out, get a feel for the club, maybe watch a dance or two, and get the hell out. I can’t sit in strip clubs without being “the stripper”. I didn’t want to be the stripper. I didn’t want that life to tarnish this experience. Torn between urges to dance and feeling unprepared and exposed I just wanted to leave.

I’m stupid; I don’t know how to articulate the dichotomy of stripper/ real life. I don’t know how to explain that yes, I like my job; No, I can’t hang out in a club.

It was perceived that my inability to be in the club last night was obviously indicative of how damaging and BAD stripping was. I was attacked with violent assumptions. I should be doing so much more, I’m worth more than taking off my clothes, I don’t have to prove myself, I shouldn’t be stripping. I shouldn’t be exposing myself. FUCK YOU!! It hurt. It hurt because he doesn’t know who I am. He doesn’t understand, and he’s known me for a WEEK. I know I give the impression of being open. I know my perceived open communication is misleading for those that fail to realize how much more is below the surface. It takes years to understand me. He disrespected me in failing to accept my boundaries. He hurt me in assuming that I don’t know what I’m doing. He judged my choices, and judged my worth. He refused to leave me alone. STOP FUCKING FOLLOWING ME!! All I wanted was to be alone. All I wanted was to remove myself from the attacks.

I hate that. If I’m a fragile weak woman needing of protection, then I should NEVER be on the streets alone. If I need a man to protect me, then I should not be in Europe. If I am at risk of being attacked on these streets, then I shouldn’t be allowed to be alone in hotel rooms above peeler bars. I shouldn’t travel. I shouldn’t walk. I shouldn’t work. The logic that I need someone to follow me and protect me when I’m angry is bullshit. It’s selfish, blind, and has nothing to do with me.

There are situations in which I am defensive and protective. Strip clubs do illicit a level of awareness and isolation from me. In the club, no one can touch me. Is that telling of an overall negativity? I don’t know. Yes, I’ve been very cuddly and open this week. Does walking into a peeler bar negate that? I don’t know. I do know it’s not a reaction isolated to the industry. I have the same reaction in some hospitals, and in some houses. I have sheltered myself when faced with certain people, accident sites… Any situation which strikes an intense emotional chord (positive or negative) is likely to result in a defensive reaction.

Yes, I am searching. Yes, I am in transition. I have come so far, and I’m still changing, still searching, and still growing. It’s a natural process, not an easy process. I will be upset. I will have passionate intense emotions along the journey.

My real argument is this: My family doesn’t worry about me. They understand, respect and care about me. My closest friends accept and understand my choices. They keep an eye on me, and they are aware if anything is wrong. If those who love, respect, cherish and know me better than anyone, are not worried about me… there is nothing to worry about. Worry imposed on assumptions and a lack of time, friendship, and understanding is simply disrespectful and selfish.

Slovakia???

Be warned this post is likely to be as scattered as the thoughts in my head. The appearance is calm and reserved. Like a volcanic island, I am portraying an image of serene detachment. Beneath the surface my mind is racing. Circling around so many questions, thoughts, philosophies, purposes, ideas, observations... there is too much to draw any linear conclusions. That path will not be simple. I am spiraling around a vortex of potentials... in awe of the possibilities as they appear before me. The journal is being filled, the books are being devoured. I've just arrived in Slovakia, and no... I don't know why I'm here. I know I'm searching for something and although I don't expect to find answers on the other side of the world I hope to find something. I hope my reason for taking this journey appears soon. In the past week I've been in Scotland, London, Paris... and now Slovakia. The days are blending together and I enjoyed the mellow day of travel. I needed a day to stare out the window and absorb the world. I need to be present in every moment. I miss work. I know that may sound strange to many people... but it's not just a job to me. It's a part of me. I did work a day in Paris, next door to the Moulin Rouge. It illuminated how much I am craving work. I miss being on stage, feeling the lights on me as the music rushes through my body. I miss the feel of sweat and the beat of my pulse. I miss the expression. I miss creating a moment. I will be back at work in a couple weeks. Today I need to experience what this place has to offer.

I’m lost. I wonder what I'm searching for.

in Scotland

Just a quick post to let my friends know I'm in Scotland.
it's been a strange day and I still feel like it's yesterday, but we're here...

I have NO idea how, or why... but whatever.