I have a question for you. Have you ever been so astounded by the words spewing from someone’s mouth all you could do was stare?
I ask because I found an old shirt in my closet today, black, long-sleeved, low-cut, one I wore as a uniform when I used to deal cards. The shirt jogged a few memories. Namely, the last day I wore it, and my “friend” Mark told me I “dressed like a slut”.
And I want to talk about why that word pissed me off.
Maybe I’m a rarity, but I don’t care what people wear. Please…
Years ago, I used to answer phones for an escort service. I also happened to be a “flirt girl” for my boss’ side hustle. The job was pretty straightforward.
Lonely men looking for a conversation instead of sex would call in. They’d pay a premium to chat with young women, who mainly were me with various fake names: Barbie (me), Ginger (also me), Heidi (definitely me). I would pocket some of the fees per minute, plus tips.
“You won’t be talking sexy. I have another line for that,” my boss had told me. “Just tell them it’s not allowed. Don’t…
Note from the author: Please enjoy this audio recording of the story narrated by me. Thank you for stopping by! (I couldn’t get it to embed, sorry!)
The one with the most teardrop tattoos and the leader was like a son to my manager at one of the bars I used to deal blackjack at. “I’ve kept him out of jail and taken care of him returning from prison a few times. They’re good kids, you’ll like them,” she’d told me.
I wasn’t concerned. The boys were always respectful, said “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am,” held a decent conversation…
“So, do you still think you like girls?”
My mom asked this today when she called to check in on me, as she does a few times a week. The question came out of nowhere. I think she’d wondered if I’d started settling into my new home, and I told her I made friends with the security guard at my apartment complex.
We hadn’t talked about how I liked women since I told her a few years ago, and I wasn’t sure why that was the perfect time for the subject. …
It started with a text message Saturday morning from the wonderful front office staff at my new apartment.
Pet owners, click here! It said. Something like that. Only the contents mattered anyway. It was a very polite note about how there was dog poop around the absolutely beautiful campus, even though we have a dog park, and to please be more careful.
Living in a city apartment can be challenging for everyone in various ways. It’s an acquired lifestyle for sure. …
Idon’t remember liking Joseph Gordon-Levitt’s Facebook page, but when he popped up on my feed, I stopped anyway. There’s a Facebook trend going around where fan pages ask their followers to write a scary story. Rules are you can only four words. Mr. Levitt had jumped on board.
I’m not sure why I stopped to read the answers, which reached over 583,000, either. None of them were particularly remarkable even if some did make me snort-laugh. I spent a good hour sifting through pretty much all of them.
Top comment with sixty-five thousand reacts went to “Biden is still president”.
Recently, I moved to Orlando to perform at a theme park right in the middle of COVID. Terrible timing, right? The thing is, we all thought the world was starting to bounce back, and it was then or never, but here I am about to start work as theme parks around Orlando start to drop Halloween events, some raising capacity all while positive COVID cases climb without a lock-down in sight.
And instead of getting hyped up to be in this incredible city and do what I love, a part of me keeps wondering if I’m part of the problem?
I was walking around Rite-Aid today when I noticed it — something was off. My body didn’t feel quite right. My thighs weren’t rubbing together anymore, only brushing. For ten years and some change, and to many women struggling to accept their bodies, this realization would have been a monumental moment.
The old me would have celebrated, clicked my heels, even. But honestly, I didn’t care. Not at all. And I don’t think any of us should.
Yeah, it’s easy to say “stop caring about your weight,” when only 5% of women have the “media perfect” body and 20 million…
Tori had come to play blackjack at my bar one night, plopping himself on the only free seat and tossing a $50 my way.
“Give me plenty of ones to tip you with,” he’d said with a wide smile.
“Sure thing,” I’d told him returning the grin because you know, it was my job.
Tori asked me a lot of questions throughout the game. He was a budding blackjack player who hadn’t realized counting cards takes years and years of practice and even then it’s a brutal career.
I didn’t have to talk to this kid, but I wanted to…
“We just had Taco Bell, I’m not into it. Besides, I want to see this.” I’d laughed because their lips on my ear tickled and I was a little annoyed. We’d been waiting months for the season premiere.
Then they said the dumbest shit I’ve heard in a minute before bouncing off to the bathroom really quick to beat it: “But you’re naked.”
They didn’t always say stupid things. But when they did, it left me kind of breathless. Or at least I thought it was stupid. …