I had my almost unbearably long class with the beautiful professor right before, ending just in time to get to work before they hit me with the late fee. I’m incredibly tired; I already tried leaving early but the when presented with the total: leave-early fee on top of the cut of my dances—paying 70$ to do so— and 10% to the dj, nevermind the bouncers, & thus to leave with under 200 is unbearable. So I grit my teeth together and decided to get another five dances and then leave, unless it took me until 2am to do so in which case what’s the point. (It didn’t actually take that long.)
I’m giving what will be my final set of lapdances of the night, enabling me to leave with well over my original goal. It’s a cute short guy, sweet and harmless and during the fourth dance somehow the subject of cat calling comes up. I’m too tired to be smart and anyhow this happens to be a subject on which I cannot be discreet. It fills me with rage. I’m a diehard driver because of street harassment.
“What do you mean you don’t like it?” he’s honestly bewildered. “I would love it if women catcalled me!”
I feel like Inigo Montoya. People are always telling me they would love the shit that happens to me, and I do not think it means what they think it means.
“Yeah, but it’s like this: The women yelling at you? They aren’t going to be pretty young girls. The vast majority of them are going to be old, some will be fat or ugly, 90% of them you don’t find attractive, and they are all bigger and stronger than you, yelling at you, not always telling you you’re pretty and then moving on, following you, sometimes threatening to rape or assault you, and you have no idea if they are serious or not but the fact is, they could do it. Whenever you walk down the street.”
“Might rape you? What a weird thing to say.”
I close my eyes. Some guys get it; most are heavily invested in Not. For my sanity I smile at him and say, “But this is a really great song, huh?”
After it ends he goes out for a smoke and I duck into the dressing room, pay my fees, and get the hell out.
1- I want to update more but keeping my incredibly short, frayed attention span on getting an A in this class is sucking up all my time. Not to mention the black mold in my apartment got to me again and I finally gave up and found a cuter, more well-kept, more expensive, apartment across town, closer to work, school, my nail salon, the library, and the bookstore. Also on the third floor so I’ll be able to keep my windows open all summer! And no one will be able to break in, A) because there will be no mold to have rotted the wood to the point where the lock isn’t attached to the spongy remnants of the window frame (this happened) and B) because it’s the third floor!
I did manage to work brothels into my term paper so it’s not a dead loss.
It’s so weird to be in class listening to all these people spout off about female nudes and objectification.
(my last term ever as an undergrad and at this university!)
and you know I always update more when I ought to be doing anything but. And a real update is overdue. First it was finals and I had to study, then finals was over and the last thing I wanted to do was spend a lot of time in front of a computer, then I got my grades back and I passed and am set to graduate and was too busy celebrating and working to write, then I went to Vegas. Which deserves an update all for itself so more on that another day.
But this is my last-hurrah term, my term to take two final good classes to rinse the last few abysmal months of underachieving undergrads and uninspired instructors (I think one of them may have been basically brain-damaged, if not -dead) out my brain. One class with the Peripatetic Professor of my Middle East classes last year (this one is imperialism) and the last with the Beautiful Professor. I have to redeem myself with him too, his commentary on my last paper still burns. Entertaining but sloppy. It was, but knowing he’s right only makes it worse.
By Sunday night the only people who’d posted responses to the discussion thread were his fan girls (that’s me included) and a random guy. I was still in Vegas during the first class, but that seemed absurd, and also likely to get the class canceled.
Texted my friend and fellow fangirl, as his grad student advisee she ought to know.
She concluded that the rest of us were invisible to her, as lowly undergrads. There’s three of his fangirls in the class, plus a smattering of senior auditors, two guys looking to take an easy A, and a sociology major whose look of baffled pain has us placing bets on whether she drops this week or next.
K gave me my birthday present–late, but not as late as mine to her:
“I wonder if I’m the only grad student.”
“I think we had already established that you are. Yours is a high and lonely destiny.” I tried to channel as much Uncle Andrew as I could.
K rolled her eyes. “Nice Narnia shoutout, nerd.”
But you note that she caught it! Frenz.
Promise to update with salacious stories about Vegas and all the pictures I haven’t posted yet next.
1-They’re wrong, but entertaining. One of them put his hand up and asked “What about the salt?”*
*-the course is Yiddish film and the movie was Ost und West, and the salt in question was something to do with a ritual (I can’t remember because I wasn’t taking notes, I was too busy comparing it to Twilight 2–benighted lover sees wavering phantom head of beloved in front of them, see what I mean? equally hilarious as a device in 1923 or now–and there you go, I’m entertaining but sloppy)
the question itself caused a flashback to my seminar on Early Modern England last year: My friend was giving a presentation on women and sociability and the role of gossip/slander; predictably enough the accusation of whoredom was very common. She finished up and,
“What about the bastards?” said Awful John. Awful John deserves a better descriptive, something like Halfwit, Stupid, Vacant, but my New Years resolution was to be kinder, so.
I choked back a laugh.
Emily looked a little stunned but explained that, though “whore” was a common pejorative, it didn’t necessarily mean that the woman in question was indeed a whore or having crowds of wee little ones out (or in, plenty of married whores) of wedlock. &c&c&c
“But, what about the bastards?” he asked again. “There weren’t any?”
We all had to give four presentations a term, and Awful John’s were the highlight. He strang together words chosen apparently at random, with key words that would be repeated throughout (the key words changed from presentation to presentation) but none of which cohered into a full sentence. I transcribed one of his presentations so I could do a dramatic re-enactment for the girl I was seeing, a stolid and deeply matter-of-fact water sign who thought I was prone to exaggeration for comic effect (I am, but). That didn’t last (romances based solely on bone structure never do), but luckily the notes did:
Redefined freedom. Faith. Prosperity. Revolt in the revolution, fascinating. Radical ideas. Throughout the text it emphasizes a lot of aspects of you know, things that were happening around.” (I guess that one is a full sentence.) “Thus the title. A struggle for power. First revolution…”
Here my notes broke in to comment on prof. “Dr L looking increasingly severe and prune faced. Now doing her nails. !!! omg”
“Movements substantially up until the Restoration Hill emphasizes the English radicalism that ensues as the result of movements. English radicalism. Radicals like Gerard. Emphasis. Authority of church, social superiors.”
See? School is fun. I can only hope What About The Salt is as entertaining as Simple John.
Regan broke my record for most lap dances sold in a month, by nineteen dances. What a b!
I’ve been out since the 17th and start work again this week, I can’t wait. If term hadn’t started I would have died of boredom almost immediately.
But still, what a b. I’m not sure I can beat her, she works two-three shifts more a week than I do and it’s slow now. She may hold the record until next bachelor season.
currently reading (instead of studying for exam Tuesday):
A few girls do this at my club–the trick, not rupturing people’s bladders–and it’s a subject of heated debate about who started doing it first; one girl exploding into a dramatic alcohol-fueled monologue about how stupid young bitches can’t come up with their own moves and have to bestealing her moves–this, from a 23 year old!–and I want to print the article from school and post it in the dressing room.
Also for the dressing room:
And more importantly, given all the unprotected oral happening at work:
Gonorrhea, a sexually transmitted disease that infects 700,000 Americans a year, already has become resistant to all but one class of antibiotics and could soon become untreatable, federal health officials warned. Doctors at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention issued new treatment guidelines, hoping to delay the inevitable day when standard drugs no longer work. The guidelines call for withholding a potent oral antibiotic now commonly used to treat the infection. Instead, doctors should use an injectable form to which the gonorrhea bacteria seems less likely to develop resistance, along with a second type of antibiotic pills.
Gross and mildly horrifying.
And now, in the lazy Sunday spirit, a conversation I just had with Manny:
What’s up? You look concerned.
GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHERFUCKING RAWHIDE.
YOU HEARD ME. IT’S MINE.
Au contraire, mon per…ro. I gave you that rawhide. I even softened it so you wouldn’t lose your remaining teeth gnawing on it.
BACK OFF, SNEAKY HOBBITSES. GNARARAR. MINE. MIIIINE. THE PRECIOUS. WE LOVES IT… WE LOVES THE PRECIOUS.
…YOU’RE STILL HERE.
1- getting and recovering from a boob job, which, more on that later but let me tell you–I did my first laser hair removal Wednesday and it was a thousand times more painful than the boob job. I didn’t even take my pain medication after the surgery, which is good because I’m going to want it for the remaining laser sessions.
2- still in danger of that from Mandatory Science, though. In eight hours of class time she’s used four going over the syllabus and project requirements. I don’t understand–if she spent as much time lecturing as she did repeating herself it would be an interesting class. But she’s terrible, we spent 45 minutes going over the study guide for an exam on Tuesday, and three questions away from the end she suddenly dropped it to return to the syllabus. Her slides are poorly done and despite showing diagrams of the chemical composition of different hormones, she goes through them too fast to actually copy them. This is something Beautiful Professor scolded me about and in an irrationally resentful way I want him–or someone to get after this woman.