•December 15, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Something that is worth anything big or small has a beginning and an end.  I have always struggled to get to the end of anything with out giving up entirely. Or better yet, taking some backwards circle to where I have always landed. Same crippling spot.  For the first time in as long as I  can remember I have started and completed something.  I have decided that it is time to close the chapter of this blog.  Lollipops and Razorblades has been a raw, open wound of self loathing and doubt.  When I started this blog I could not grasp what kind of reality that I had lived in, most of it was fantasy.  I had to learn to try to start making steps.  I was not so successful most of the time.  I wrote about it.  I thought being a stripper was the most definitive mark in my life.  More times than not I was delusional . . . no judgment it’s just what it was.   I could, for a long time, write in an anonymous space the things that I could never say to any common day individual.  Shit, half the people around me still have no idea who I am.  It’s okay.  This blog has been my darkest hour that has lead me out to some light.  I keep coming back to writing, I stare at this blog and I can not contribute anything else.   For the longest time, and still to this day I have always said, “I don’t have much but what I do have are my words”.   I have gotten better . . . Healthier and Happier.  I stare down at the end of this road, a decade of my life and the only thing that I can think to say is you truly make your own life.  No one can bring you happiness, it is all inside and it’s all a choice . . . as in the choice to suffer or just accept that it is part of this magnificent world.  Everything you need you already have, I have it.  I can see that I have it.  I never could before.  I have let myself be loved, therefore I can start to love more.  It feels good to walk away from something that I have completed.  This is the work of my soul.  I am letting  the lightness now shine down all knowing  now that it is always the darkest before the dawn. Let all animals be free of suffering let them be at peace and ease.  Thank you to my beloved bunny Sebastian who looks down on me . . . gives me the beauty that I see . . . the light. While writing under my “alias” has been painful and fun.  For the foreseeable future I won’t be writing as Applejaxe. Thank you for reading. Warmly, Rebecca

Just Along For The Ride.

•October 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I have been a little bit disconnected from this blog.  It’s not that I haven’t anything to say, even at my most mundane there is always something of interest I can bring to the table even if it is just me being myself . . . showing up is enough  . . . more then enough.  I realize that putting a blog out there there is always a way for someone to find you out.  That is fine I have always stood my ground and never would take any of it away.  This is the real me, it is though unfortunate the people that have found. It was through an honest mistake (my Sparrow).  Let me tell you, this is the last person that should ever get their hands on this kind of material.  This blog is a big gapping open wound to me, its a heartache and a love story.  Its my story, my life.  I feel somewhat cheated, this has been an outlet for me, whoever wanted to listen could, could not whatever . . . a life of a stripper trying to find a way.  The cheat comes because its almost like handing someone a fucking grenade to blast you with a shit storm of your private demons. Information that could only be used against you, nothing good can come from it. I am the one left vulnerable.  What brings me back today is the fact that I don’t have a lot, really I have nothing to call my own.  I have my fucking words and to me that is everything.  A certain situation stirred the pot, got me thinking about this blog and my life and what the heck I am doing.  A few weeks ago on Facebook I noticed that someone had reposted a status that I literally wrote a year and a half ago.  This was not someone reposting or sharing some stupid Marilyn Monroe quote that we all have read ad nauseam over and over again.  It was something that I had written, and posted.  This person reposted it and took the credit for herself.  I seriously went bullshit, if you liked it that much just simply repost it and attach my name at the end of the quotes you fucking idiot.  Nope.  There was none of that.  I told this person that kindly remove my words if you are not going to source properly.  Fuck you.  I thought about it for almost an hour, I was so mad  at something that some would think is silly, because  at the end of the day all I have are my words. All any of us have are our words. I can’t give away my power right? This is mine, always has been.  I have unfortunately felt the need to censor myself, because of this I have been unable to write from an authentic point of view, my view.  I thought that it wasn’t right, felt wrong and if I can’t keep shit real well then what the hell is the point?

I have never been one to beat around the bush.  I feel like parts of my sexual identity are finally getting back . . . shit it getting right.  Its almost like I have these little triggers, flashes of her, of me and it all becoming one.  Being able to articulate all the fantasy in reality all while knowing and being the fantasy without getting completely lost.  I tend to go there and play fantasy in my mind alone.  Like if I jerk off, I keep it all to myself . . . never sharing keeping something of that undisclosed all  for me.  I feel. . .or at least I have felt that in the past that somethings are better left to the imagination.  Maybe not anymore, maybe I should just let Sparrow fuck my ass until it bleeds all while fisting my pussy.  I think I might keep some of the wrong things to myself.  Sparrow has often said, you gave everyone else this side of you . . . the complete strangers that paid you.  I realize this  . . . maybe that was part of it for me, I always was thought to be an exhibitionist.  I think I have to be one at home more, don’t get me wrong we fuck and we fuck well.  I miss this part of my blog, I am sure the people that should not be reading this are not going to want to read the direction this is going to go.  Unless of course you want to read at how wet my pussy gets when I cum or how well Sparrow fucks me and fucks me hard.  For the first time in a while I feel free, I am not chocking my words back.

I really don’t have a clue what direction this blog will go in, all I can promise that it will be real, and it will be raw.  Maybe it will turn into my sexual diary.  I seemingly want to explore the unspoken carnal desires that lie deep with inside me.  One already from reading knows  what my mental state is, this should make for interesting  research, and writing material. I struggle struggle every fucking day, I still think there is a valid point to me stripping.  At a fresh 34 I think I never have looked better and fuck the thing I said about being dairy in that business maybe more like a  unrefrigerated almond milk.  You still are going to expire but you got a little time.  My Sparrow . . . oh man he loves me.  Oh and does anyone have a fucking suggestions to not get accidentally “glutened” I am lucky now to be gluten free along with being vegan.  It’s a little too much. I miss my fucking pasta.  What is a good Italian girl to do?




His Vows.

•September 30, 2013 • Leave a Comment

 The trees have begun to shed their leaves . . . god, it seems all too early, my annuals are still in bloom.  I watch one by one as they fall.  I always seem to wake up this time of year.  I seem to become alive as everything is pushing to the maximum before its yearly death.  I feel a sense of peace knowing that winter is coming and then all is quiet.  I need that.  I think back to last year, this is when I do my yearly check in to see how I am or what has progressed in my life.  I am certainly not close to being where I should be but then again fuck that  . . . we are all different.  I don’t know if I struggle as much with the decisions that I have made in the past anymore.  That was just my path smart or not, I was just me.  Like I said we are all different.  Not one of us has everything and the old saying of the grass is always greener on the other side.  I envy no one.  I don’t want to be anyone other then myself . . . somedays I would like an easier version but all in all I’m okay with the package . . . its pretty fucking cute as well.  I am trying to be more present within my life now, not thinking in my past or worrying about what is going to happen in 6 months and what about the security? There is no fucking security, thats all I ever wanted.  Security from what?  I had no idea that life was going to be this difficult, I never understood the concept that anything worth it takes work . . . I equated it all to money.  Part of me always will.  There is never going to be enough,  there is never a right time  . . . and you keep living like that your life is over and . . . fucking nothing. This has been racing through my mind so much lately.  Sparrow and I were supposed to marry last year.  I thought because of our situation we were in it wasn’t the right time, things were so uncertain.  How could we marry it seemed like a bad idea.  One year later has come and gone . . . the two of us thinking aloud, god we should have do it last year.  Things aren’t that much better, I mean Sparrow has a job, but I am a lunatic as always and I was in mentally a better place last year.  We love each other more, I can only imagine how much love there will be in ten years.  

We married on September 19th in a rose garden, just the two of us and my father.  It was almost like the world had stopped to give us the perfect day.  I never in my mind thought that marriage would mean what it means.  I mean I guess I thought that it would change things a little.  I did not think that that I would feel safer.  I always thought it was going to be the two of us and it has been.  This though brought it down to a much deeper level almost like for me its all okay.  Okay in no matter what happens we have each other.  I think more about a future then I ever did before . . . like I want to live and live with him.  I don’t want to be in this vicious circle of suffering anymore.  So I have been thinking of trying to stop.   I wish had a voodoo doll for all the people that piss me off.  I know a random digression,  but really. . .you really can’t rely on anyone, no support no, nothing.  Not too many people were supportive of us getting married, I mean all the “friends” and ” acquaintances” were but at the end of the day they don’t matter.  Quiet frankly they don’t matter to me either but if you hurt the people that I love then you become my problem.  And like I stated the voodoo doll would be lovely.  But I also on the other hand think wow . . . to not be happy for two people just married you must be a pretty miserable fuck.  Thats their shit . . . not ours. We are just this one beautiful love.  Like I said I envy no one. 

His vows were to protect my sensitive heart and to nurture my quiet soul.  I am the luckiest girl in the world. I married the one soul who gets me.


Unwinding Ties.

•September 3, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I was thinking about my girlfriends . . . the friends that I used to have.  I was always a girls girl, never had many but I had a few best friends.  The ones the knew it all.  I remember being in my twenties and looking through picture albums and seeing the same three faces, some since kindergarten.  We were all growing, we went in different directions but all remained pretty compact . . . together.  There was never a large group with us sometimes two never more then four and we just were.  I thought it was strange that I was unable to connect with others. Later it was because I learned that making friends when you become an adult isn’t so easy, there seems to be a price.  People  would say that was such a rarity to have friends from your childhood, that I was really lucky . . . I didn’t really get it then, it was all that I knew.  I don’t think that I ever took it, or them, for granted . . . they for one were like sisters . . . oh, so maybe I did.  The thing about your childhood friends is that they know you inside and out, you couldn’t pull one past them if you tried.  That is the good and the bad, when you grow up you change, that shouldn’t matter but inevitably it happens.  Friends get married to others that you don’t get along with, others have babies and you get a cat.  Life evolves . . . then something is said, and things can, but really can’t, be taken back . . .  you always know where to hurt them or vice versa.  You just can’t get over things like you use to and don’t feel that you should.  Then time starts going by  . . . so much time.  We become stubborn, angry and won’t budge.  It’s no ones fault, mean things get said, we should forgive and move on . . . but we don’t.  No one wins, both sides are losers.  Hurtful words turn into years of unspoken truths . . . the truth is simple, I miss you . . .  words that never get said.  Life moves on, you have learned to live without that constant in your life, you mourned it and it may have never been dead.  Too much time  . . . wasted time, holding on to nothing just loss. Maybe I should have guarded my girlfriends tighter, they were the sisters I never had.  Maybe I should have not let so much time go by . . .  maybe if my head were just a little healthier.  I just shut the fuck down.

I have gotten back in contact with one of them . . . a sister by heart.  We are though unable to seem to make it back together, we have been “trying” to see each other for 6 months.  I know it will never be the same, it just feels strange  . . . and quiet frankly I am stranger now then I have been.  I have changed, I have in someways gotten better . . . not stripping.  But there are other ways that I have gotten a whole lot worse  . . . read the fucking blog. I don’t want to be seen in the state I am in at this moment, I keep thinking maybe when I get better. What if I don’t?   It’s like I can’t face my truth it would be staring back at me.  “Friends” that are made as adults just point blank fucking suck, nobody gives a shit unless its about them and nobody will ever get to know the real me . . . it just too fucking much. I don’t trust very easily and THEY are crazier then me . . . if that’s possible.  I think about this as the weeks approach to my last true single girl days . . . as I re watch old “Sex and the City” episodes and remember getting ready  to go out in my “Carrie” outfit as my other half was clearly “Samantha”.   I think back on the fondness, the innocence of true girlfriends  . . . the love  . . . and I still have it.  Maybe it is time.



Sands of Time.

•August 16, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I remember walking through the warm sand each step bringing me closer and closer to the horizon.  After each one of my steps I only seemed to sink a little further.  Back then it didn’t matter, I had done this so many times the sand did not burn anymore.  I had become weathered for just a small season of time.  Everyday I would walk the endless beach front searching, listening to the sea gulls and listening to the waves crash up against the jetty.  I was this single soul searching . . . it was peaceful. I would then stumble upon a beautiful smooth piece of  blue sea glass.  That was what I was always looking for . .  beauty the small things that I suppose every seeker was searching for.  I picked it up careful and placed it in my basket. Other things were in there as well, scalloped shells, pretty snail shells that had turned specked and those iridescent shaped ovals.  Ovals were a treat I made a small hole and slide a tiny black cord through the shell and wore it.  They were small things that brought me joy.  In my basket I had along with my findings a journal and shoes.  The tide was going out and like anyone that has spent enough time at the beach would know  low tide was approaching.  That smell that only a beach lover can appreciate.  I loved it all . . . it was dusk now.  I would put on my shoes and start walking. When I was a child I would call it walking out through the “Iggies” . . .  (lots of mush and snails) out into the sea reaching the channel.  I was greeted by the most beautiful sandbars.  The water was so warm. I sat down on one, five miles or so off from the shore.  It was quiet people were clamming, some had their dogs with frisbees, this time was magical.  I was sitting in the middle of the sea watching the sunset all these possibilities.  I usually would find a piece of driftwood along the way and draw in the sandbar  . . . etching something that would vanish in hours. Somehow it always remained  with me deep inside decades later.  I remember looking back over to shore on the private little beach that was ours and seeing my parents sitting together holding hands, smiling and waving to me.  Everyone was so happy  . . . so healthy. I yearn for these moments again.  What a beautiful life  . . . its mine.


beach girl

A Piece of Cake.

•August 12, 2013 • Leave a Comment

There are times when you just crave having your asshole ripped open  . . . not like that, well maybe. No.  When someone just tells you all the horrible things to your face that you already knew.  Just solidifying in your mind that you are a fucking loser, a nobody at best . . . you are a weight that drags most into the abyss of sadness.  The thing is that,  you can never take back words, you can’t take shit back that you say to yourself.  If you move  into a better place, still you are left remembering those horrible yet true or untrue things.  No matter where you go, words they cut and they cut deep.  I think about the way that I talk to myself, I respect myself but I don’t think I love myself . . . that is the problem.  I believe that in reality I have something to give I truly do, but, there is no way for me to access it. There are so many cuts full of loathing it amazes me that I am still breathing.  The fact that I still give a shit amazes me.  I want a life, not one that means something . . .  one that has meaning.  I was lying on the bed the other evening and I was once again overwhelmed with being myself, the idea of waking to normalcy all in and of its self leads me to terror.  The lack of coping skill is astonishing.  I cried and when asked what was the matter all I could come up with was ” I don’t want to suffer anymore”  . . . I couldn’t believe that is what came out of my mouth.  It is true though. Sparrow has words tattooed in some fashion on him to the likes of “life is suffering” it a Buddhist thing.  People are so uninformed they think that it is a negative thing, anyways . . . I digress . . . the point of it is that once you realize that life is suffering then you will be able to live with the pain and maneuver through life with grace.  Acceptance for what is there . . . always pain always suffering. You can never then be disappointed.  I can’t be like that. I wish I could, I want to be exactly where I am, there is no other place to be. Right? I am tired of coming back to the same fucking spot of uncomfortable comfort.  Every time just a little deeper and much harder to crawl out of.  God and there is that talk again, remember the last time you were here . . . fucking loser, worlds biggest underachiever, who chooses to be a stripper?  Just think of what everyone else is saying about you this time  . . . you were always known as the “crazy friend”  . . . right you don’t have any, anymore.  I guess that is okay I don’t think that I could really handle that kind of pressure to be there for someone at the moment, when I can’t be there for myself

Please I just want it to stop.  I don’t want to suffer with self hate, I want to get in the fucking car and just drive somewhere that I don’t know how to get to and not have it be hysteria.  Then there is a part of me that wouldn’t know what to do without it all.  Like who would I be if there was nothing wrong?  I am so attached to what I think or what has happened in the past.  I live my life through a rear view mirror.  Have you ever taken a look at those things? . . . they are really tiny.  Such a small perspective such a beautiful world that I am missing out on.  Standing on the sidewalk watching the seasons change.  I think of normal and to me it seems, wait . . . I know the whole what is normal thing.  I don’t want to go there, so like I was saying to me normal would be like a delicious slice of angle food cake, toped with a lemon glaze and some strawberries. I think that is what it is  . . . my mother use to make it like that.  Life would be a light, sweet, heavenly bite.  I always wanted the sweet life . . . even if my reality is more than a bit skewed.



Stealing Beauty.

•August 6, 2013 • Leave a Comment

At the end of everyday I just need to be thankful that I am loved . . . the shit that I put the ones I love through.  Another year has almost gone by . . . and wow it seems like it is traveling at a whirlwind speed.  How is that? How was it just February and now it is creeping down into the last of the summer weeks. . . the dog days.  Soon I will be married, I love him and that is all that I know for sure anymore. I can’t remember the last time I was at peace.  I seem to have slipped further and further from “myself”  . . . I don’t know who that is anymore.  I mean I do, sorta  . . . but it all has changed.  I don’t want to be one of those miserable people that fucked their life up so bad that they are angry about everything.  Someone that has that constant face of disappointment and can never understand why people are so happy.  I have to say that I for one have become that  . . . I can’t remember the last time that I laughed so hard that I almost peed myself.  I should, I was always one of those people.  For fucks sake I will not be that women in stop and shop who rams their fucking cart into you and keeps going without saying sorry . . . fuck you and fuck that.  I am scared that another birthday season is almost here . . . and nothing that I planned on working out is happening.  I still have him.  Jesus the panic has gotten worse, I don’t like leaving the house at all anymore.  I just want to stay safe.

I never thought that I once again would be face to face with a cold chrome pole.  After the years of placing my hands and my body against you I really never took the time to get to know you.  The pole was just a prop for me.  Yes I was not a stripper who had any idea of how to do any kind of pole tricks.  You did not need to for money making purposes.   It was either do pole tricks for maybe 20 bucks or 3. I could  though, lay up close to a customer at the tip rail and cajole them in to doing dances with me after I had “done my time”.  I choose the latter. People assume that if you were a stripper it was a prerequisite that you were able to pole.  Come the fuck on, people its a strip club,  they don’t care if you are deaf dumb and blind as long as you pay your house fee and DJ you’re good.  You have to be pretty . . . kinda?  Someone asked me the other day when I was at yoga about me and my pole dancing.  Didn’t you like, learn that as a dancer? Didn’t they teach you? Um no. Okay.  People to this day still have no idea what a strip club is about and it ain’t the pole dancing  . . .unfortunately. It’s about what is on the take out menu and blow jobs nowadays.   And like everything else in my life I made the wrong choice, I should have learned the fucking pole when I could have because I then would have a fucking gainful skill.  Who knew back in 2005 that pole dancing was going to become so mainstream? I always said I wanted a pole in my house and everyone looked at me like that was strange.  Pole classes are everywhere now.  I could have had a studio, it could have all paid off and morphed to something else.  But no.  So I got myself a pole and I am learning . . . who the fuck knew I would have been so good so fast.   Maybe it is all the yoga. Maybe it is  the years of seducing men and myself through the reflections and the lights.  All I know is that when I saw my reflection this time when I was practicing I saw a glimpse of her  . . . the girl that was a little more wild and free, she is still there.  I said the other day that yoga to me is so sacred it’s the quiet that I so desperately need, the focused breath and the showing up and trying to let go.  It reminds me that I can change when I am ready, its always open to embrace me and to break me. I don’t always like it and more other then other times hate it . . . Yoga forgives me every time.  It nourishes my sensitive heart.  The pole on the other hand . . . it devours me it’s almost like feeding my soul.  I don’t know, maybe its a good thing that there is something that makes me feel alive.  I was kinda wishing I were dead for a while, a long while.  Kinda makes me feel bright. . .like a star.



•July 21, 2013 • 1 Comment


Fuck. Slide deeper. Go.

She had decided a while ago that at this particular juncture in time she was just going to go by “she”.  It was easy to see how this happened.  Too much of everything, and not much of anything in particular.  She had trouble making the connections, putting the pieces together and adding them all up to one functioning soul  . . . she did far too much subtracting.  She went into dream mood some of the time, imagining grandiose situations where everything was limitless. She was injected with this semi permeable wholeness from the inside out.  Strange how she would be walking on air with ease all while coherently being Angelina Jolie in Mr and Mrs. Smith.  Barnes and Noble at 2 in the afternoon would never be the same.  She navigated her wholeness up and down the isles in Marc Jacobs aviators, she never wanted to be seen, it was hard.  She would go for noticed that was enough.  For years she was seen.  She checked her reflection to make sure that every strand was in place, fuck now who was she kidding . . . she smiled amused at her eventful afternoon. Satisfied with herself she applied some clear lipgloss, her lips were like the flesh of ripe peaches  . . . she smelled good, she knew that.

She in the wake of name change, unconsciously  she decided somewhere within and began subtracting the right and adding the wrong that it was time to just get back to the she that she only knows.  One the used to love to fuck.  The one that use to love to take the photos. The one that was so inappropriately funny.  The paralyzation of the mind was what was ruining the physical body as well as the mental spirit.  She was told to put her spirit into a box and hold it there and it will be blessed and renewed.  It was obvious even to the ones that were not close to her that she needed some serious dusting off.   Inprisonment of the mind was just one of the vast problems at hand.  She left the house less and less.  She had become overwhelmed with simple tasks like doing her banking, picking up the dry cleaning was like jury duty.  Life as she knew it, use to know it, or what she thought is was or was suppose to be . . .was not and it was too much.  Fucking brat.  She did not only imprison her mind but her body . . . the wild and carefree days were seemingly fewer and fewer.  More disconnected then ever, more yoga then ever and zero connection to her soul.  Buried deep she knew it was all there . . . somewhere  as she lay deeper in pigeon pose, her backbends became deeper and handstands became stronger.  Disconnected, scared, she struggled to let go of the past, that is what people are told to do right? Let it go  . . . move the fuck on.  But wait she could not let go because in her past lay part of her soul that she cut off in an attempt to let it all go.  In doing so she lost it all. The connection, the joy, the strength and the little light.  She was starting to understand the power of her own mind.  She unbeknownst to herself actively killed part of herself.  How does this happen? She thought when things needed to go they needed to go away forever.  It was easy, that shit is frightening, how does she manage  . . . plainly. . .she doesn’t anymore.  She holds on to the things that weren’t killed off with the iron fist, keeping them close, untarnished and pure.  They are safe  . . . her yoga practice being one.


The Expected Unexpected.

•June 2, 2013 • Leave a Comment

She read one day that if you face the sun then you cant see the shadows. The not so optimist wanted to believe this, she beamed her porcelain face right straight into the rays, closed her fragile eyes, clenched her fists and  . . . nothing.  Almost like she wanted the sun to devour her whole so she didn’t have to look back.  Quietly she waited.  She was alone, she always was even when she was with someone.  Sitting there small but unmistakably visible she drank her tea, silently she screamed. The only noise that was audible were her 3 charm bracelets that she wore.  She fiddled with them, rubbing her fingers over her “S” monogramed charm, that was the special one.  She closed her eyes, always as she thought of him she would tear up something fierce.  Her beloved bunny that she knew was watching over her.  The wind outside had begun to pick up she loved this, it fed her . . . the swirl and the upturn, the unsteadiness followed by some calm only to start over again. She could sit for hours listening to the windchimes.  It seemed to nourish her.  Goodbyes at one point were hard, exceptionally hard, she just seemed to stay far too long.  She at one point was the youngest of the bunch  . . . she exceeded them all at this point.   She was learning the hard way that staying put doesn’t move you along. Staying safe and quiet no matter how much you need it is a determent.  It looks like lack of productivity and laziness, nobody wants that.  She held on to it all.


She went on the computer later in the day.  She had to be doing something with her mind at all times even if she was doing nothing to keep her mind from the panic state.  She surfed along social media and wondered if these people that were her “friends” really were actually living the way that they represented themselves on here.  Can’t be, she had no real life of her own and it from time to time would “appear” that she had it all.  So I guess it wasn’t really the case.  She thought everyone wants to seem way better off then they actually are to people they don’t care about, she guessed this is what society has become.  A very overly connected disconnect if that could make sense.  She at that point in the day decided that it was okay to be herself  not a part of much, not trying to be anything that she wasn’t.  She stared at the screen for a little bit longer, just enough to aggravate her.  She slammed the laptop shut and interlaced her fingers resting her chin on her hands.  Staring out of the window she then glanced over her shoulder . . . waiting for her guard to be down.  It just took a millisecond.  She was startled as she often was, the outline was a blackened version of herself staring straight through her soul . . . she let out an exhale. She didn’t want to look back  . . . it was always something that pulled her there, she wanted to be swallowed by the light.


Tied Up In Knots.

•March 24, 2013 • Leave a Comment


Last thursday night I had a massage appointment with a friend of mine  . . . she is also one of my yoga teachers.  Interesting character to say the least, I have learned so much from this woman, in the yoga world we all come from such a  place of fucked up . . . we get along well.  Sparrow does too.  Before my session we gather downstairs in her room and I sit on the table, the room is filled with fairies, pictures, figurines, candle holders if it can be a faire something its there. She in fact looks a bit like one as well, very small with long red wild curly hair . . . she as well has a I don’t give a fuck attitude.  The room smells of sage and coconut oil. Delicious.  She begins with you have such cute feet, oh thanks I say . . . you see them all the time.  This was the set way, she then randomly out of no where tell me a story of her gay friend out in LA who was struggling to make ends meet.  She took a look at his feet and told him that he should be a foot fetish model, maybe he could bring in some extra cash.  They together went and posted an ad in what I would think was a “village voice” type printing and waited to see what happened.  She then told me he was having guys jerk off all over his feet for like 500 dollars a pop . . . pun intended.  Talk like this is nothing shocking, its how we all are.  Then we started talking about me and stripping.  I think that she thinks some of its interesting, heck she gave it a go and couldn’t do it.  Better that she didn’t.  I said, “I never did anything like that working . . . she looked at me like I was an urban stripper legend.  What do you mean? she says . . . I say that I never did anything like that, no extras . . . although I do have a few foot stories from the Vip that are kinda funny that if anyone is interested I can incorporate in to the Letters from ZJ section.  Let me know, oh fuck I’ll write what I want.  Getting back to the story, she asks how much I would charge and I told her between 400 and 450 a half hour. She was like like you didn’t jerk them off? No contact like that, nothing?  Yes I said nothing, I was the girlfriend experience  . . . GFE.  So l love her and I know that if I were jerking guys off she would find nothing wrong with it, but this time it sat with me.  Leaving a icky feeling in my gut.  Yes I know that the majority of strippers out there are doing dirt, I was there, I also was one of  the few that weren’t  . . . we do exist.  Maybe this is why when I ask Sparrow, why does nobody ever asks about me dancing? He responds “with because this is what most of the people think that strippers do.” Okay. I get it, but it was kind of upsetting when a friend thinks you were giving blow jobs and hand jobs in the strip club.  Shit that is what I prided myself on, what saved me were the fucking iron clad boundaries that I had.  Laughing  . . .I still made more then bitches slutting it up.  Stripping is not an easy job PERIOD.  I feel like I will have to explain that I was not “that kind of stripper” for the rest of my life.  We then together over then next two hours took our roles as “sadist” her and “masochistic” me as I had the lovely experience of grinding elbows in my scapula and forearm straight into my IT band. We shared an orange later together and some coconut water.

I have recently come back in contact with an old friend of mine, she was my best friend, my sister by heart.  She hurt me terribly as I did to her as well.  Shit sometimes gets fucked up.  There is a specific blog post in here in reference to her and our friendship.  I think it went something like “I wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire.” Time has gone by . . . almost 2 years without her, I learned to live without her.  I use to cry for the loss of my best friend the one that knew me better then anyone  . . . the one that never judged me.  We were girls that became women together.  We slowly after the New Year began speaking, I find it hard to trust again.  For a while I thought well, at least we peaced shit up, maybe that is all it was suppose to be.  We just grew apart and that is okay, I didn’t want to hold that resentment anymore . . . that was only hurting me. Hate and love run the same line together.  I began texting with her again, its like no time has passed . . . I rethink trust. I rethink 20 years of a friendship.  I think of all the people that I know, I  know a lot  . . . can’t really say that I can call any real friends.  People are shady as fuck.  I think how much I have missed her and really needed her these past few years.  I was cleaning yesterday and I had my iPod on Shuffle  . . . “American Woman” came on. . .the Lenny Kravitz version.  I was immediately catapulted back to the year of 2000  . . . I can’t believe what I am going to say here because it is so cheesy  . . . I did a wet t-shirt contest at this bar. It was a shit hole and I was not yet 21.  She was with me being my biggest supporter.  That was where I made my first sort of public debut.  I was hysterical cleaning the toilet blow.  I texted her  . . . she said some of the best stories begin in a hole in the wall bar.  Ain’t that the truth.  Time has begun to heal.