Tied Up In Knots.


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.



~ by applejaxe on March 24, 2013.

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