I moved back to Ohio two weeks ago. I’m still trying to decide if it’s for the best, as I’ve been saying since I decided to move.
First of all, I almost lost my mind looking for an apartment that I could actually rent. Because I’m a dancer, I have no proof of income. I’m also 22 years old and have very little credit. Almost every person I talked with needs both or a consigner. I’ve completed two applications (costing 70 dollars in total), looked at 6 properties, and I’ve been online looking for weeks.
After all of this work, I found the smallest studio apartment in ohio and I was able to sign the lease a few days ago!! I’m so excited to be able to move in and start working regularly again. I did go into a club I’ve worked at before on Friday and was disappointed in how much I walked out with. Out of the 400 dollars I would have made in VIP rooms, I received 200. Dances are 2 for $40. The club takes 10 per dance… so I made $10 a dance. Despite working my ass off, I walked out with much less than I would have in Daytona. There are other clubs in the area, so it looks like I’ll be club hopping until I find the one.
Hell I might even get a job that doesn’t require me to shave my ass and allows me to show off my intellect.
P.s. I changed my name to Jane in some sort of identity crisis.
I’m terrified of snakes. A regular brought in his (very well trained) snake and a couple of shots later we were best friends. I would still stomp the fuck out of a snake in the wild. Sorry.
Daytona hosts plenty of trashy events, but this week topped the charts with truck week. Honestly, I don’t even know what the official title is. In short, people drive their obnoxious lifted, lit up, and most of all loud trucks to Daytona beach from wherever the fuck.
Many people don’t know this, but Daytona is actually pretty small. Beachside (where almost every event is held) is no more than a small town during off-season. So, take an ungodly amount of trucks, each measuring twice the size of a normal vehicle and stack them on top of eachother in a span of 5 miles. Fuck me, right? What should have taken me 3 minutes to WALK took me 20 minutes to DRIVE (to the place I get wings after work) so that is where my anger is stemming from.
All of that aside, I had a pretty lucrative night.
So, last night was pretty bland. I’ve been telling myself to works many nights as I can and save as much money as I can for my next big goal. See, it’s still a mystery as to why the job is so exhausting, but here I am taking the night off to relax. Is it a stripper thing to have to take a R+R break more than once a week? Maybe I’m lazy. Other dancers I work with say they do the same thing but I can’t imagine half of the girls I work with soaking in Epsom salt two times a week and doing self-care journal entries as needed.
My next big goal is to save 15,000 to put down on an RV to live in. When I say it out loud, it sounds even crazier than the idea on ‘paper’. First, I’ll just live months at a time at parks until I have the hang of it, then I’ll start moving around a little more. The plan’s obviously still in the very beginning phase but I know that I can make it work somehow. From here, I just need to force myself to go into work as much as healthily possible.
I think it’s pretty clear that my mind has been scattered today (at least for how little is actually on my plate). I need something exciting to happen at work or in life asap to wake me up in my consciousness. I also need about 12 grand.
So I started drinking at 8 last night with Coco, unfortunately, that isn’t uncommon. I spent the beginning of my shift chilling in the dressing room until I went out to stretch on the satellite stage. I ended up sitting at the bar with some randoms after and I kept glancing across the bar because I swear I recognized a girl from high school. I ended up brushing it off until I saw her in the bathroom and immediately said her name which I’m pretty sure freaked her out because we went to high school in Ohio and I didn’t even know she had moved to Florida. She was with a man, the stripper in me knows not to ask a lot of questions; especially when I know the answer. All was well, what a coincidence.
The club started to pick up by the time they left so I was making my normal rounds, sitting with the men/ couples that seemed worth my time. I sat down with a man named Courtney, which would be the only thing I remembered about him except giving a few dances. I don’t remember the actual dances, but I know he bought about 4 private dances. I don’t think the club is supposed to allow people to bring their drinks into the VIP rooms, but I do every time. I’m also very careful with my drinks, whether in my hand, sitting on the bar, or in VIP. During those 4 songs, Im almost positive that Courtney slipped a little sum sum into my Jameson and Sprite. I think I went to the bathroom after the dances then B lined it to the dressing room to smoke a cigarette. When I stood up it felt like I couldn’t walk and when I tried to speak, anything but nonsense took to long to get out. It wasn’t a drunk (although I was not sober), it almost felt like the day after you eat acid and your brain doesn’t function still.
I knew I couldn’t drive, I couldn’t walk comfortably, and I definitely wasn’t getting on stage in my condition so I called my friend Mike to ask if I could stay at his place. He picked me up and made me ramen noodles (my favorite food) which helped tremendously.
Courtney called me like 4 times and left a voicemail. I don’t remember giving him my phone number and it’s not like me to give out my number at work. My phone has some kind of caller i.d. so I knew it was him. I texted the number something like “I was drugged” and his response was “Do you need a ride? Where are you? We’re at the beach, you should come”. What a shady mother-fucker. All of this was last night and I still feel some sort of post-acid / mental misfire. I know somebody got a drug into my drink for sure.
Ladies and gentlemen, please watch your drinks. It is so important to be careful especially in a club around a bunch of strangers. I’ve heard so many scary stories from other strippers just because for one moment, even in a room with only one other person, who your back is turned, some dirt bag can slip you something and take advantage of you.
If you’ve ever drugged somebody, fuck you, you piece of trash, rot.