I got up at 8.30 this morning to take my dog to the vet after working a double after class yesterday, because I took a week off for the start of term and also to grow out my pubic hair so I can finally get waxed and stop beard clipping it which is so irritating but so much better than razor burn–and both mid and night shifts were great, which is good because my vet, a very sweet and kind lady who we have seen for a long time, broke the not exactly startling news that Manny needs more teeth removed. And he has a heart murmur. So bloodwork, ultrasounds, insurance (needed to be renewed) and the ultimate surgery will be about a grand after the insurance kicks in.
I had to take a moment to stare at her blankly trying not to cry before the immediate and visceral poor person panic faded. I am not that person any longer. I am no longer stuck in a minimum wage job. I can actually afford to take care of this. I went saggy with relief and we scheduled for the beginnings of May just to give me some extra time, and then I paid for that visit and his insurance renewal with last nights filthy bills–paying for anything in cash these days always makes people do a double take, especially if it’s over 100$. Which is funny because every local business around here has signs about how great cash is for local business. You guys, I’m supporting you and saving you from credit card fees, now stop giving me that look–and felt really, really grateful for the first time in a while that I’m a stripper.
I’m reading old articles on racism, sexism, and fandom instead of revising an article that is way too academic for words, and definitely for its vehicle, and mentally preparing myself for work.
Now, before I start getting ready for tonight, here is a snippet of conversation from one of last night’s donations to Manny’s tooth fund:
Squirrely little guy, deep nerd, the kind of guy who is a sure thing. He wants a dance but he doesn’t understand why he can’t pleasure me as well.
“Because that’s not what happens in a dance,” I sigh for the third or fourth time.
His friends, regulars, are getting impatient. “Get the dance man, come on!” I approve of them and wish they would just get the dance (couple! Not only enthusiastic, but extra $!) but they are someone else’s regulars. So I’m stuck with Nerdy.
“I just want to lick you all over,” he sighs. This was yesterday’s theme. Good thing I’m calm.
“Well, you can’t. Drink that drink and I’ll be back for you.”
I get another dance, a nice guy, who gives me the patience to go back for Nerdy. I sit in his lap. “Come on, sugarcookie. Your time has come.”
He wraps his arms around me and tries to lick my ear. “No, the time has not come for that. For your dance, silly!” I want to laugh with frustration but his expression is ochen’ seryozno so I keep it to myself.
He’s basically a total chore to dance for, sighing about how much he could pleasure me if only I would let him the whole time. It reaches a real and improbable pinnacle with,
“I just know I could rock your world.”
Who says that? I want Regan there to hear, but for once she’s not delightedly observing my dance-face.
Luckily, I get a private delight from transcribing absurdities here, and it gives me the fortitude to keep going with a straight face.
“Unh huh. Tell me all about it.”
“I can keep going forever. For twenty minutes!”
“And I’m very dedicated. I would wear a tutu and flipflops for you.”
This is like performance art, this is like a joke. And I don’t want to corpse it, so ok. “Oooh I love ballet!”
He preens. “See? I’m dedicated! Once I had a lover who liked me to use an electric mixer–”
I can’t help it. “A what? What did you do with it?”
“Well, it was difficult and it would take a while.”
“Yeah but what did you do with it?”
“I can’t say. It was a difficult angle. But I would do it for you too!”
“That’s really great.” The song has, thank god, ended. I don’t even want to ask him for another, even on the off chance he has enough money. I start getting dressed.
“I just want to chew on your ribs,” he tells me longingly.
“Great! That sounds like a blast. Go sit down now, I don’t want to get charged for two dances.”
Happy Passover! Don’t Passover a lapdance tonight.
1-who shall hereafter be known as Manny, and incidentally the name of last night’s best customer, on hearing which I said delightedly, “Manny! But that’s my dog’s name too! Want to see a picture?” and he was graciously delighted as well.
2-People! Do not buy purebreds! I did not buy him, he was left to my care and I love him and am exceedingly fond of his other mother. But I think this is a purebred and a small dog thing. Big bummer.
3-per Kat’s recent post, not in ones. Clearly.
4-this has actually been a running theme and the novelty has worn off. I don’t want to act as your phone sex operator, I don’t want to listen to you run on about how you’ll pleasure me. I want to think about my homework while I sit in your lap and purr in your ear, or I want to talk about my dog and advertising (see above, the Mannies) or about whatever. Unless you can make it entertaining–electric mixers!–I’m not that invested.