Bourbon 50 bullshit!!

So Friday night I was at the Bourbon 50 on West Cordova for Reid's CD release party. Near the end of the show I got a phone call so I went outside so I could hear, stepped over the rope and finished my phone call. I hung up and went to walk back in the bar and the doorman (who looks familiar) stops me. “I don’t think so.”

“I’m sorry? What? I was just in there. I’m with the band. I’ve been here all night. I was just on the phone.”

He snorts at me “Oh you are easily the most annoying person I’ve dealt with all week.”

I’m shocked. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I’m not fucking kidding you. You can’t just step over the rope. You’re not coming back in.”

“What the FUCK!?!? You’re not letting me back in the bar because I STEPPED OVER YOUR ROPE?!?”

He shouts at me in front of 20 people standing in line. “LISTEN BITCH!! I DON’T GET IN YOUR FACE WHEN YOU’RE TAKING YOUR CLOTHES OFF AT THE NO5!”

Suddenly I remember where I’ve seen him-- he used to be a bouncer. This guy used to work protecting me. “Look. It’s probably the only Friday night off I’m going to get this year. I just want to go hang out with my friends.”

"So." He shrugs.

"WTF! come on. It's almost the end of the show. I never get to hear them play can you please just let me enjoy the show!"

"Get out of my face bitch."

"What the FUCK is your problem? Because I stepped over your fucking rope? Seriously just let me go hang out with my friends."

He ignores me and walks away, refusing to let me back in the bar and leaving me alone on the street in Gastown. After ten minutes of walking in and out of the bar, ignoring me, he returns. He shrugs, rolls his eyes, and nods for the other doorman to open the rope for me. I glare at him and storm into the bar, heading straight for the stage.

Another bouncer follows me to the dance floor and starts yelling “Hey! You can’t come in here. You didn’t show your stamp!”

“Are you fucking kidding me! Just leave me alone. I’m with the band. I’m on the fucking list and my stamp is right here on my arm!”

“Oh you need you go. Get out!” he yells at me

I’m practically in tears as my friends try to explain it to him. Before I even know it the fucking bouncer has called the fucking Vancouver Police on me!! Of course it has to be some angry chick cop who stands with her hands on her hips glaring at me “You need to leave. Right now. They’ve asked us to remove you. Let’s go.”

I’m on the verge of tears. All I want to do is enjoy my night.

Outside the bitch starts giving me shit about causing trouble and threatens to throw me in the drunk tank. “They have the right to refuse service to troublemakers.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong! At all!” The tears have started.

She refuses to listen to anything “You need to keep your mouth shut. We get a lot of problems in this neighbourhood.”

“What’s the problem?” Reid, the guitar player, asks as he walks out the door.

“You need to stay out of this. Go back inside.” She orders him.

“I’m not about to leave her out here alone.” He replies calmly. “She's a good friend of mine. I just want to get this sorted out.”

“You want to go to the drunk tank too?” She threatens.

“Look. She hasn’t done anything. This is just a misunderstanding.”

Suddenly he’s slammed up against the side of the building and cuffed. I’m bawling. The doorman is smirking at me, laughing.

Obviously the show is really over now that the guitar player is in cuffs. I shout at the lead singer as he walks out the smoking room door.

“They all need to stay out of this.” The cop orders me.

I glare at her.
She glares back.
I’m in a fucking staring contest as I type their badge numbers into my phone.

It takes us another half hour to get Reid released. The promoter is raging. I’m still in tears. What a load of crap. Fucking asshole. The doorman is gloating now. He tips his stupid beret at me as we walk away to wait for the rest of the band to load up the gear.

Maybe that asshole doorman hit on me one day at work and I blew him off. Maybe he just hates me. Maybe he’s a fucking steroid monkey that needs to feel powerful over something. I'm still upset about it. I don't treat people like that. I just couldn't.

lonely

This fucking sucks!

I’m lonely. I’ve thrown it all up in the air in the hopes that changing everything will change patterns. I ended things with Alexander. I was honest with The Musician.

I want more. I want to be more than the affair or the mistress or the fuck-buddy. I want to be with a man that actually cares about me, that believes in me, and that can accept me-- stripper and all.

But I doubt it’ll happen. I’m isolated in a bar and I’m not available for most social events. The logistics of my job make everything difficult. The perceptions of my job make it impossible. My friend Reid told me last night “You’re awesome. If someone would just take the time to get to know you, you’d never have a problem.”

But they don’t.

I don’t want to be treated like I’m disposable the entire time I’m dancing. I don’t want to have to quit the job I adore just to have hope that someone could actually love me.

Maybe that’s how it works. Maybe it’s just a matter of waiting for that scale to tip. My job is still more important to me than a relationship. I love my job. But maybe that’s why dancers retire… when being lonely finally outweighs the love of dancing.

Anonymous said...

"Why don't you get a real job and develop some selfesteem while you're at it. Stupid people are people that keep doing things they hate for all the wrong reasons. You're only a small step above being a hooker, don't kid yourself."

I'm not going to bother deleting this one... or replying right now. So let's put it out there for everyone to read because this person obviously really needs to be heard and I already deleted one comment.

Would anyone else care to respond?

personal connection

“Hey! That’s my wedding song.” He slurs, grinning at me from the padded bench seat.

I smile at him and shout over the lyrics of Bono singing With or Without you. “Aww Honey that’s sweet. You don’t look old enough to be married.”

“You’re hot!” He answers.

I shake my head mildly amused and crawl over to the other side of the stage where men are actually tipping me. The show is uneventful and it feels good to be back on stage after a week off. My body needs the stretch and my wallet needs the money.

I’m on the floor casually selling dances before my next show. As I wander through the dim room I catch the eye of the enthusiastic drunk kid. It’s 3:30 on a Monday afternoon and he’s hammered. I smirk as I notice he’s holding himself up by clutching to the nearby railing.

“So Honey… you want a dance?” I ask, batting my eyelashes.

“Yah!” He shouts. “But only if you suck my dick.”
I sigh and shake my head. He’s too young and stupid to really get mad at. “Sorry Honey. I’m not a prostitute.”

“Huh?” No.” He explains. “I don’t want you to do it for money. I want you to suck my dick because we have a personal connection.”

He looks dejected and confused by my immediate outburst laughter. Grinning I continue to laugh as I turn and walk away.

My tummy hurts within minutes from laughing so hard. Tears stream down my face as I share the story with every other girl in the bar. I jump up and down giggling hysterically and clapping my hands, my boobs bouncing as I jump. “Oh my god!” I stammer between giggles “You have to hear what this stupid kid just said to me. I just heard the line of the week! Dude this made my day!” I say to the DJ relating the conversation.

“Hey you gotta give him credit for originality.” The DJ chuckles.

“Oh absolutely!”

...

Okay I’m going to try and make it back to the blogging world. I’ve been lying on the beach and visiting friends. I’ve been organizing my home and trying to create a sense of home and belonging in Vancouver. I think it’s working. I’ve been swirling in a very real place of self-reflection for the past few weeks. I’ve been writing and writing and writing… but I think it’s better if I keep those rambles and revelations to myself for a while.

So here I am…

Just me.