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NFS On Account of Being Priceless

Yesterday had way too many moments of suck...

  • I have an abscessed gum near my right molar.
  • I felt like I was walking on eggshells with one of the bartenders.  My knowing that she was probably in the right, and that she was too irked to accept an apology, made things all the more tense.
  • It was rush, rush, rush, all day long and I was sick.
  • I realized that the fake blood I bought permanently stains clothing, after I bought it.
  • I met my earnings goal, but I had to scream at way to many drunken idiots.  My favorite exchange was this one:
JERK: I'll pay you $250 for one hour at my room, and I'll give you the greatest pleasure you've ever experienced.
VAS: Grody!  You couldn't pay me enough to touch you, and I don't need your money.
JERK: I'm offering you money.
VAS: I get paid to do dance and be a teaser, not prance and be a pleaser.
JERK: But... I'll give you $700 for just one hour!
VAS: Nah...  I'm not for sale.  I have to be earned.  And, my husband already earned me.
JERK'S FRIEND: [Pointing at Jerk.] Bwhahahahahaha!!!
JERK: It's $700.
VAS: Trust me, I don't need your money.
JERK: But...
VAS: How about this, I won't dance for you at all, for free!  You'll save a bundle.  Bye bye.
  • (I'm using comic illustrations loosely based on actual experiences to express extra disdain on this one.) I was horribly depressed because people kept asking me, "Do you have children?" That's not usually a good question to ask me, but this week is a particularly bad one to ask it. LB's mother recent back-dated and drugged-out online outbursts renewed my worries about LB.  Two consecutive days of consoling someone having severe PTSD attacks over her two abortions, while she bawled about her fear of being permanently sterile, didn't help matters.  To make the situation worse, in trying to help my friend, I had to deal with my own PTSD triggers in an effort to prevent a massive crying fit.  I later made the mistake of looking to be consoled by an otherwise intelligent anti-abortion friend.  This person actually had the nerve to tell to me, "poor people shouldn't breed anyway," when brought up my previous miscarriages/abortions.  (I was using "safe and effective methods of birth control", every single time, and the spreading of the legs thing was a matter of survival at that point in my life.  If people are going to want abortion to be treated as a criminal act, they have to accept the fact that poverty-stricken individuals will reproduce. Semen cares not about socioeconomic factors, so it's not a matter of one or the other.)  For this reason, when a second person started to pry too much into why I didn't have children, I completely lost my shit.  I ran to the dressing room and cried my eyes out.  The curious felt bad to the point of tears and apologized to me, so at least there was a ray of light.

I am so glad Tuesday and Wednesday were relatively calm.  Also, I had lots of bright spot yesterday, like buying new props for my show, and having a member of my cute Gay Boy Fan Club (who happens to be a dance instructor) be thrilled to the gills over my boy mention.  Oh, and Lucinda, don't be surprised if you get a makeup artistry request from Minot.  ;)