A good friend of mine celebrated her 29th birthday yesterday. A week ago, she decided to go to a strip club for the very first time. I was stoked! I’ve only been to a strip club once and because of the slight experience I have I felt obligated to take her under my wing and show her the slopes. She and I met up with a few friends and together, entered a whole new world. When we arrived, first we showed the bouncer our I.D. and were seated in front of a beautiful woman already dancing and of course, naked.
When I say, “beautiful” I mean BEAUTIFUL! She was tall, long black hair, petit, and flawless. She danced around her mini stage and twirled her slim body around the pole. After ordering our drinks, we cheered her on and dropped a few dollars on her feet. Slip a few dollars on her g string as well which was below her knee. Fifteen minutes later, another stripper stepped up to the stage to dance. As we learned, they rotate around the clock and when they’re not dancing, they take their place next to a gentleman and make small conversation.
Every stripper was beautiful in their own way. I followed one dancer with my eyes and observed her. She sat next to a man with a bottle of champagne on his table. He said something in her ear and as their cheeks touched each other, they eventually made out. The rest of the strippers were either working the stage or the crowd.
While mesmerized by the naked bodies around me, I found myself asking this question: besides the money that these women make on their own stage, do they also get paid by a payroll? If there’s no payroll, does that mean they only make whatever is thrown at them? Why do this line of work? Do they have children/husband or boyfriend waiting at home? I almost asked one of the strippers but thought that maybe they would get offended.
Every woman has a choice to do whatever the hell they wanna do for a living. I just wished they didn’t choose this type of work. Not because I think its degrading or dirty. Its because I think that every woman can do better.
Over all, we had a great time. The dancers were amazing and the atmosphere was all about good vibes and positive smiles.
How many friends do you have who sincerely listens to rock or alternative music? Most of my friends listens to hip hop and R&B among other genre of music. Rock n roll doesn’t even make the list. Mainly because when someone mentions rock n roll, all one thinks about is the loud, screaming voice of the lead singer banging his head in the air, letting his hair move about to the rhythm of the music. Since when was this wrong? I for one grew up in the 90’s and rock/alternative music was all my parents listened to among other slow, meaningful songs back in the day. It saddens me that my 5 year old nephew isn’t interested in the music I listen to. Okay, of course he’s not going to like it-he’s five! But what I’m trying to do is expose him to alternative music other than the rap music he’s been introduced to (thanks to his friends at school). Not all rock n roll songs are loud and screams. There’s definitely some love songs into it with meaningful messages. I understand and can appreciate that every generation is different, but there’s definitely nothing wrong with staying the same…or at least some things anyways.
Went out for a drink or two with friends after work last night. It was a fun, simple get together. Its good to spend time with the people you haven’t hung out with for awhile. Catching up with the latest gossip on our sex lives and on the people we used to know and laughing at their misery. Sounds horrible, but name a friend who hasn’t talked shit about someone. Thought so.
What I like about catching up with friends is the stories we share. Like my friend, Amanda. She told me that her boss yelled at her for forgetting a folder in the restaurant. Later that day she spit in his coffee and I’m not talking about a weak saliva. She spit phlegm! Then there’s George. He told me that he clogged up the toilet and let his 8 year old take the blame when his wife started asking questions.
Okay, it sounds like my friends are horrible, but that’s just part of our catching up. Usually after the laughter, the sad stories follows.
I guess that’s how it is with friends. You share the important, funny, sad part of your life. No sensors.
I love thrift shopping! Unlike rich, Beverly hills kids they’ll probably say, “Eww!” But not me. There’s so many things you can find in the thrift store. A pair of boots that has its own story; a pair of worn out jeans obviously been through an adventure; someone’s vintage shirt or dress; a cabinet with drawers that has hidden many secrets. All for a cheaper price.
When I get to the thrift store, I see people collecting their own cart and stroll about. I like to walk in and blend in with the crowd. I like to carry the clothes I find interesting and let them hang onto my forearm without the hangers, of course.
Before checking out, I like to prepare my shopping bag because the store always gives you those huge see-through trash bags for you to show the world what you bought.
Thrift shopping is fun. You get to see generation upon generation of clothing and style. Its affordable and no one has to know where you got it from.
I am currently enrolled for the first six-week term for this summer and so far it has been a living hell. I’ve sacrificed my friends’ get-together parties only to drown myself in my never ending book pages. But my mother always say, “its all going to be worth it!” Well, is it? Because I’m missing so much this summer and all I wanna do is spend time with cool people and my family.
My Professor isn’t helping neither. Let me just say she’s a ten with a kid. She wears tight skirts and three inch high heels. All the guys in class always makes a drooling face whenever she enters the room.
I recently had a conversation with her last week about the final paper we are to write before the semester ends. She gave me some ideas how to write my outline and how to put my conclusion properly.
When she and I were talking, she was sitting in her chair, papers on the desk while I stood beside her. I was leaning down so I could hear her and see the notes she was writing down. She was talking and talking and then it happened. She reached for my hand, held my index finger and used it as a pointer. I was shocked. She looked up and caressed my hand. “You have soft hands.” She said to me with a playful smile. I just stared at her.
My mouth was dry and all of a sudden I lost my train of thought. I mean, who the hell wouldn’t? If I were a man, I would have gotten a boner-immediately! But as a woman, I needed some time to let it all sink in. Was she flirting with me? Honestly, I wasn’t offended. I’m flattered actually. To have someone as gorgeous as her to want someone like me.
The next day, she acted as if nothing has happened and I thought to myself maybe I was just imagining it or maybe it was just a dream. But no. It really happened. Because after class, she asked for my number and she gave me hers.
Its been two days since she gave me her number and honestly, I don’t have a fucking clue on what to do. She’s my professor for freaks sake! I’m so lost. Help.
Drove around town earlier this evening and there I saw a couple groping each other as they make out on the sidewalk. I was jealous. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I enjoy being single. I can do whatever I want with my free time and I don’t have to explain myself-where I’ve been, who I was with, blah, blah, blah, to anyone.
But it gets lonely sometimes. I miss the old days when I was dating and going out to places and interact with other human beings. The feeling of excitement as I pick out my outfit and deciding which pair of pumps that matches it. So here I am taken by my work and school. By life itself. Sucked in by the world of dullness.
It isn’t easy to move on when you’ve been with someone for the longest and have gotten used to the norm of what relationship should be. Its hard when things don’t work out and you’re left with a decision that is both painful and stressful.
So here’s a cup-a toast for every single person out there. Let’s share this drink as we make a vow to go on a date very, very soon. Cheers!
My father was a drug user. He passed away a year ago from lung failure along with his diabetes and high blood pressure. When I was six, my father used to bring his drunk friends in the house and would gather themselves in the kitchen sometimes in my sister’s room when she’s in school and would do their business for about an hour or two. I never knew at the time what they were doing. I would simply wave hello to the men I’ve gotten used to seeing and to the new faces. I fully understood what he and his friends were doing when my mother came home from work a little early than usual and caught my father in the act. They were getting high off cocaine.
“You’re doing this while your children are in the next room? Have you lost your mind?”
Were the words I remember my mother yelling at him. He repeatedly asked her to calm down and to lower her voice. She didn’t. She continued to question him and demanded his friends to leave. The next thing I heard was a loud noise. A slap in the face. He hit her. With pride, he walked out the house with his pals. My mother, sitting on the dinner table with tears coming down her cheeks. She hugged me tightly and sobbed. I will never forget that day.
Months have passed and mother continued to put up with him. All she wanted was a whole, happy family. Was that too much to ask? For him, it was. I was nine when my mother finally left his sorry ass and moved to her home province. We were so happy without him. Away from his presence, his drugs, his friends, and his wrath. Several months have passed and I heard a knock on the door. It was him. The son of a bitch couldn’t handle life without her. He begged her. He begged my grandparents. I remember my grandfather standing behind the kitchen door with a knife in his hand. But my mother accepted him and before I know it, we were back home with him. I don’t know what my mother saw in him.
Not being ungrateful or anything. I just hate him for putting the woman so dear to me through hell.
When he passed away, I shed a tear but not because of the fact that I won’t be seeing him any longer, but because he and I will never have a chance to truly know one another. He and I will never have brunch on a sunny Sunday and catch up on things. He and I will never have that father-daughter relationship I’ve always wanted.