Wow, I was drunk when I wrote all that last night. Now I'm sober and depressed. I feel very alone in this big city right now. Which is ironic, because when I was younger, all I wanted to do was move to NYC.
I was living in New Orleans when I found out I had been accepted to a school in the city. Of course, my immediate reaction was to run around the house yelling and call my mom to tell her the good news. And everyone told me how lucky I was to be moving to the Big Apple and going to such an awesome school. The thing is, I was happy living in New Orleans. I waitressed at a strip club on Bourbon and loved my job. I loved the city, loved my friends, and I even had a guy I was somewhat seeing. But everyone told me how lucky I was to be leaving my paltry waitressing job for a master's program. I didn't tell them that I was happy waitressing and that I didn't really want to leave. And I guess in the long run, I did the right thing. I mean, I can't be a waitress forever, right? But now, I really miss New Orleans, I miss my friends, and I miss my job. I feel very much alone here, and as much as I like to tell myself how self-sufficient and independent I am, really, I think everyone craves human companionship.
To top matters off, I don't know what I am going to do about money. My parents are helping me out, but the amount they are giving me doesn't even cover my rent. Like I said, I've been stripping for the past couple days, but it's hard to make enough to cover base rent AND have a good amount left over. I know I need to be more aggressive with the customers, hustle them more, but it's hard for me to do that. I know what I need to say to them to get them to spend more money, but something in me inherently prevents me from doing so. Probably my parents teaching me to keep my head down, work hard, and be humble. And I still have some of the shy, bookish highschool loser in me that is too sweet to try and take these guys for everything that they're worth. I think part of the problem is that I see them as actual people, not just dollar signs. And when I do that, it's hard for me to be aggressive and coerce them into doing something they don't want me to do. I don't know. Maybe I care about what they think too much, I don't want them to see me as just another money-hungry stripper. I'm too nice.
But if I am going to make a living doing this, then I have to say to that person inside of me, that shy sweet girl, to shut the fuck up and let me do my job. Let Francesca take over. Because otherwise the real me can't pay the rent.
In my depression and self-pitying mode, I ordered a shitload of Chinese food, also not good for my job. Can't have a beer belly hanging out over my g-string. Bleegh. Next time I work is Friday. Hopefully it will be better.