•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.


Gone Baby Gone.

•March 18, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Lollipops and Razorblades

I can’t stop thinking practice what you preach.  Nothing aggravates me more then that.  Especially when it comes to me  . . . I have always tried to keep shit real even in my fucked-up world of pretend.  Life has changed and it has stayed the same.  For the past year Sparrow and I have been dealing with his current unemployment  . . . what ever happened to the american dream? The land of opportunity? What happened to a decade of experience and a college degree that compliment each other. Fuck, right, should have just become a plumber . .  .everyone needs a toilet that flushes. This is where we are at, it’s past scary, we are not the only people but it is unbelievable how we managed to make it this far with both being him unemployed and me underemployed.  My anxiety has been through the roof, I am still trying to deal with getting a “job” while being in school and the crazy thing is I just don’t know how to do it.  Maybe it is because I have never worked more then a 12 hour work week and had all the time in the world to be idle . . . crazy and stare.  I do though find enough time to re organize the perfectly organized closet and re fold folded tank tops over and over again.  That though maybe a case of my OCD kicking into overdrive.  The OCD has been bad for the past few days, I do weird shit . . . over pluck my eyebrows, cut my cuticles down way too far so they bleed . . . I basically black swan myself.  The living situation with Sparrow and I has become a little rough  . . . we have spent over a year together everyday and night, even the best couple would have problems.  What is sad is that it is the circumstance, not our life together . . . we love each other. Something has gotta take a hit . . . it has been our sex life.  When shit gets really stressful  I want to be left the fuck alone and Sparrow just wants to go and fuck it away.  Unfortunately, I have been the winner of the arguments. So this brings me to what I started this post with . . . “Practice what you preach” I seriously am the first in saying that the only things you have to do in a relationship is feed them and fuck them.  I haven’t been doing enough fucking and at best I have been a real lame version on myself. I am not there, nobody wants that . . . its like being at the strip club watching the girl on stage staring off into the distant reflection of herself completely dissociated and bored.  I am not bored with sex but I think  . . . no I know, I haven’t been giving it my “A” game, shit I think I maybe a C-.  Totally not acceptable.  Like, hi, where the fuck did I go? I am trying to work on pulling out my sexy stripper again, I buried her deep away to “let it go”, okay so maybe it was kind of damaging to pull pieces of my personality and disregard them.  I know I am trying to put back together the crazy plate of myself . . . just better organized this time.  I think Sparrow would really like some of that back  . . . poor guy, the shit he has to deal with.

I hate when people don’t own their shit, okay wait, maybe they don’t know it is their shit yet.  Let me rephrase, when you know it is your shit please fucking own it.  I have never been someone that places blame, I for one have always been the one that I hurt and I let others do it as well.  So I was to say the least a little bit taken a back when I was called out on not owning my own faults recently. Like I said earlier I have been very anxious but also feeling ready to do things even if they scare me.  Huge step for me.  I have felt angry at Sparrow. I am mad that our life is still what it is . . . very stuck in the wrong ways.  I though have found movement.  I found myself saying quote, and me crying, “I have for the first time in my life feel that I can move forward and because our life is what it is I can’t.” It was haunting me  . . . I was so fucking pissed and sad.  Sparrow told me that was one of the most hurtful things that I could say  . . . it is only a matter of time until I leave.  He told me he was doing everything to get a job . . .  I know he is.  All he wants is for me to be happy.  Still I was convinced because he is unemployed my life can not go on.  I was on the phone with my father, telling him my sob story.  He fired back . . . “Hey do you think it’s time for you to stop blaming everyone for your own mistakes, no one is telling you not to move on  . . . you just don’t know how to.”  “Stop blaming Sparrow for your faults.”  My dad just made  me own my shit . . . I do, and I am really sorry.  I feel like a real jerk.  I guess my life begins here . . . how the hell am I going to work a normal job? So I guess I will have to start to go mainstream  . . . who  the hell knows how this is going to turn out.


Against the Dying of the Light

•March 14, 2013 • Leave a Comment



It has been no secret that this blog has been very inactive for months.  I needed to step away from it, all that it contained, my pain, my self loathing and my personal uphill struggle.  I didn’t need to talk about it anymore.  I had to just fucking let it go  . . . unchain myself from all the missteps, mistakes and lessons that got me to the unpleasant reality of my life. I was the only one that could change it, stop blaming the death of my mother or my overly generous father, my anxiety disorder. My decision to spend close to a decade in the strip clubs escaping.  Escaping nothing but adding more and more layers of hurt with set backs.  Prolonging the inevitable that someday I will have to step out into the light  . . .into my life and start to learn to live.  I never stepped back into the club never danced another set.  It’s over.  I am healthier now then I ever have been, I am back in school pursuing a new career that I am excited to embark on. Sparrow and I are still here holding on  . . . we remain strong even when the waves keep trying to pull us under.  I like to say, “just like air we rise above”.  I have not decided if this will be my last post, it may be.  This blog is very difficult to re read for me, its still very raw.  I don’t like to stay here very long.  These are the darkest moments.  I got out  . . . I got out as a tear makes it’s way down my cheek.  I regret nothing, I am who I am because I did what I did.  I didn’t make it easy and I never seemed to choose wisely . . . but after almost a decade, I got through, or maybe making it through. Work is constant.  I work hard everyday to be kinder, with others as myself.  I am far smarter then I gave myself for  . . . I wish I could have seen it sooner.  I have accepted that I just wasn’t ready, strong enough.  Sitting in your shit and being forced to look deep within is fucking scary, it’s ugly . . . in the end it makes you more beautiful.  To everyone that has been a faithful reader, I thank you with more then words, the support was much needed  and I am grateful, thank you for being a part of my healing.  My favorite poem I will quote here  . . . it is very near and dear to my heart.  This sums it up. 


“Do not go gentle in that good night . . . RAGE, RAGE, against the dying of the light.” Dylan Thomas


Lastly . . . may all beings and animals be filled with loving kindness, free from pain and suffering, may you be free  . . . 

Thank you for listening, truly,



•October 10, 2012 • Leave a Comment

Lollipops & Razorblades.

“Send me your flowers of your December.  Send me your dreams of your candied wine.”

Until death do us part doesn’t seem to mean shit anymore.  This past weekend was an interesting one, although Sparrow and I were not involved in either of the ceremonies, really that is alright.  There is a little bit of a back story to one of the recently wed couple, I do not want to relive it, it seems though that no one will ever seem to let it die. Both of these couples are from the yoga studio that we belong to  . . . the drama that festers within these wall of “finding your inner peace” and “knowing the difference between effort and surrender” the god damn Dali Lama himself would have thrown up his hands and walked away from this place.  Sometimes I love this studio . . . sometimes I think it’s an absolute waste dump for the anorexic mindless nitwits who want desperately belong to “something” it becomes all encompassing.  I mean really at the end of the day, if you belong to a yoga studio and love yoga shouldn’t you be doing yoga? They sit around and spew all the garble . . . yes there is something to it, but you really should practice what you preach, like on your mat.  Or  just do what I do  . . . shut the fuck up and go to yoga practice.  I digress.  One of the couples was a lesbian couple they have been together for about six months, adore them, they said that the whole marriage idea came from Sparrow and I.  How we were going to through some caution to the wind and just say screw the wedding and get married  . . .  glad that we could be some sort of a touch stone along the way. Gotta love the gays, and really at the end of the day lesbians are moving in together in less then a week after dating so they get a pass with passing the finish line to married life.  Thats right, what I have been saying to Sparrow since the delay of our marriage . . . it is a marathon not a sprint, whats with the rush? Today’s forever is only until the next best thing.

This brings me to the other couple that wed this weekend in a very traditional ceremony.  The bride wore a white sweetheart lace strapless gown, she carried a bouquet of calla lilies  and walked down the aisle to the “man of her dreams, she like any good soon to be housewife does, promptly quit her job in order to become controlled.  She just gave up herself, her independence and her soul to a man that is now her puppet master.  The backstory, the abridged version, I became very friendly with this man while he was dating his new bride, they broke up, we kind of hooked up but mostly I bared a lot to this man. Not my body my self, I let him in a little to see me for who I really was.  He ended up being plainly full of shit, I fell for it, I needed a friend  and he was more then willing.  While he was in the process of breaking up with his new bride, he told me many things that he could not get past with her.  The bride was just very simple, she was the straight and narrow never veering off.  She agreed with everything that he said, she condoned his cheating on multiple occasions, hell she even wanted to friend me knowing whatever spin he put on the situation.  He told me that she never questioned him or held him accountable.  He thought that he found what he wanted in a person like me, I was complicated, dark, witty and was surly not a teacher in sweaters.  I was someone that kept him on the edge, unpredictable.  Later though the groom went crawling back, well I don’t know how hard he had to crawl she was practically waiting for him to shit on her all over again.  From my knowledge there were “rules” that were set in place because the bride had implemented ultimatums. I never knew a relationship to work out well with ultimatums, have you? That would mean that someone would have to agree to change who they are in order to become something else, something that is inauthentic.  I have stated before that a leopard does not change its spots, the groom definitely did not.  He has her so locked down so that he can go off and eventually do whatever it is that he wants.  The bride will be unemployed with soon to be children, her self-esteem in the gutter and will have no other choice then to accept the ultimatums that have now turned on to her.  Your husband is a cheater but hey that is a real nice facade that you both put on.  People marry for the wrong reasons, they are scared to die alone.  I mean I get it but, I am not giving up my soul.  At the end of the day I wished her a lifetime of happiness and light lord knows she is going to need it to be able to find herself one day.  Sparrow and I looked at each other, the last of the “bunch” to be tying the knot.  The world that we live in real, the struggle, the triumph, the glory  . . . I am glad to have found him.


A Defining Moment.

•October 4, 2012 • Leave a Comment


“I’m so tired of playing, playing  with that bow and arrow, gonna give my heart away leave it to the other girls to play.  For I have been a temptress for too long.”

I have managed to stay away from it all . . . the grotesque envy that always drew me back in, the lude narcissist behavior that had encompassed me wholey.  The greed that drove me . . . I did not go back.  I have sat in this quiet space for six weeks or so give or take, staring at that luggage and not being able to go and re open it. Wounds still remain, the gain waiting almost like dangling a carrot in front of a rabbit . . . I did not take my own bait.  I have been baiting myself for months leading up to this point all assured just waiting for myself to step all too willingly into the trap yet again.  Time past on, I kept running finding new ways to feel better about myself, challenge myself.  I am for the first time really in the reality of my life. I maybe physically running but no longer can I mentally run away from it all, back to the strip club . . .darkness in the day. This is the shit that got me here in the first place.  I try to think that I am one of the stronger ones at this point in my life, the longer the girl stays in the business, inevitably the harder it is to leave, options, right, there are none. I am learning on a slow curve that there are some, I just need to make them.  Which means that I have to work and figure out what is right, not just what maybe  is easy . . . at the end of this game what it all comes down to is nothing is fucking easy, it’s damn near fatal, this fucking career I swear was going to be the death of me.  Not anymore, no . . . I didn’t go back.  I never came out and said anything, I know that everyday for the past month that Sparrow has been sitting on the edge of his seat just waiting for me to say, Tuesday I am going back.  That day never did come.  September 21 did though, that was the day we were to marry, become husband and wife, united and all.  That was a hard week, it was harder on Sparrow then it was for me, I chalk it up to it was just not our time, not this year . . . horrendous year.  I have to say though, I could not have picked a more spectacular day to get married that was really what killed me, it was picturesque.  It was not our time.  Sparrow said that this was a first marker of our life not being the way it was suppose to be . . . the ramifications of our shit year, us not married.  I told him that we are to pick a day for 2013 whatever day that he wanted.  He said May, then of course I did not like that.  Well what do you want from me?  I thought about it for a little while and was thinking that we should just wait until fall, then I know he could not bear waiting another year.  So there it was looking at me, June 21, 2013 . . . the longest day of light.  This seems perfectly fitting.  The darkness has surrounded us for too long, things will be different, fuck they already are.

At the end of the day I want to say that I did it for Sparrow, my love for him is far to deep.  What would I have gained during my triumphal return? Maybe if I was lucky fifteen grand during the time that I allowed myself.  What the hell is fifteen grand going to do for me in the long run, nothing, it’s nothing . . . we are not talking hundreds of thousands of dollars.  What the fuck is fifteen grand going to do maybe give me some more money so I can buy the gourmet olives from whole foods like I use’d to buy.  The meager monetary gains would not remotely be enough to jeopardize my relationship that has been pushed over the edge and back again. I love him and I love me, far to much to put myself farther behind most people that I know.  I sold it all, well not all . . .  for the sole reason to not be like everybody else.  Well guess what I won that one  . . . I am like nobody else and it did not have to take seven years in the strip club to be who I am.  Stand tall tiny one, without  platform shoes there is a long road that lay down in front  . . . waiting and wanting to steal a piece of that sweetness, the beauty and grace that sits calmly on my shoulders admits my chaos.  That little light that shines oh so bright . . . the little one, the stripper with the heart of gold . . . ZJ has hung up her G-string, the curtain has closed and the show is finally over. I will end it the way that I began it all, with the first song that I danced to every single shift, with a little bit of Portishead’s “Glory box”, “I’m so tired of playing, playing with that bow and arrow gonna give my heart away leave it to the others girls to play.  For I have been a temptress for too long . . . give me a reason to love you give me a reason to be a woman.” I think that is a self fulfilling prophecy.  I am okay . . . really, at least for tonight.