Archive for the 'drugs' Category

08
Jul
16

EVAPORATE like clouds over Mt.Fuji

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Rising up from za water eburi 15 minetsu!

 My family reunion has completed to my relief and I am now able to eat healthy vegetarian foods and travel Japan on my own agenda once again. My mom who seems to live to antagonize me is off on her own to visit her hometown where she has promised to get her family record showing my Japanese lineage which is required to apply for a Nikkei Heritage visa.  This is an amazing program that allows people of up to 3rd generation Japanese ancestry to stay and work in Japan with the same rights as any other Japanese citizen. An employment sponsor is not even needed to apply for this visa in contrast to other Japanese visas and if I had my own family they also would be able to move here for up to 3 years!  While the Nikkei Heritage Visa program is packaged to look like a way for people to regain knowledge of their culture and language, the true intention of the Japanese government in creating the program was to get cheaper labor from Peru and Brazil where there are many 2nd and 3rd generation Japanese children of immigrants.

The existence of this is yet another miracle that has landed in my path for me after arriving in Japan (this info discovered via meeting the right local people who have been super helpful and encouraging).  

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one of these girls is not a legal Japanese citizen….YET

I had planned to try to work illegally as a tourist as people often have to do to stay in the U.S. and other countries but it didn’t take much applying to some jobs and reading some wanted ads that i saw that I was up against a big obstacle not having the correct visa to work in Japan.  I had somewhat of a lead to work as a hostess in an empty and tiny karaoke bar in Roppongi Tokyo but I knew that that was never going to support my survival as every time the owner called me in to meet or work it would have no customers and 3 bored ladies sitting at the bar. A familiar scene from my stripclub working days.  I have evolved past having to do jobs that disintegrate my brain cells staring at a wall for an employer’s sake but I knew I was an undocumented worker and wasn’t in a position to be too picky.  Reverting back to a mind numbing sex work job was not something I wanted to do ever again, illegal citizen or not.  I had successfully done two Tantra sessions with two different clients in Tokyo already so I knew that there were other better options for me.The U.S greatly prospers off of the backs of the labor of undocumented citizens so it seems to be somewhat easier to jump through loopholes and get paid in cash to make your income in the states.  Even surviving off of an illegal sole proprietorship like selling CDs or food out of a shopping cart is an option that many undocumented folks have used to not only survive but prosper in the U.S. Illegal food vending is never done in Japan. Even buskers don’t get tipped in hats but can only sell CDs instead because no one gets tipped in Japan!  In my worst fears of moving to Japan, I imagined having to beg for change using my singing bowl like a monk.  Luckily, it’s not going to come to that for me but I really had no idea how I would survive here just that I had many skills, a couple college degrees, strong will and great hope for the best. Things have indeed manifested miraculously for me since I got here so naturally I am not worried at all about whether I will successfully attain my heritage visa.  It shall be done!

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smelled like sweat and funk in the visitation room so by day2 i came prepared

NO WEED IN JAPAN

Before leaving for Japan, friends had told me that getting weed was near impossible and that if I did eventually find it, it would be $70 per gram, over 4 times the price I pay in the U.S.  This was the source of much anxiety as I was smoking more than ever in the stressful months leading to my move to Japan. I had been a daily user of cannabis for about 20 years prior to now. I left LA and flew to Seattle where it had been recreationally legal since about 2014. I continued my habit but knew that my days of access were numbered. I had a bit of a mental breakdown and walked into a dispensary in tears and incorrigible fear of my future move only to be relieved by Mary Jane as my usual medicine when I felt this way.  I had tried to cut back to prepare my mind at this time but there was so much anxiety in coming to Japan for me that i found it so hard to be stronger than my then current dependence.  If you look back in this blog, you can see that Mary Jane has been a way for me to sooth my PTSD, depression and anxiety for years but most times admittedly its been a recreational drug not really a medicine which is often debated by pro mj advocates.  I flew to Alaska and Vancouver Canada where it was also legal. It was in Vancouver that I was held for an hour in this passage thru to Tokyo because 3 years ago in 2013, I had been caught with a small pipe driving thru the border in which the Canadian government detained me for 4 hrs, read my journal out loud to me, examined parts of my FB and this blog and searched my car and person. I was searched and held for about 3 more hours on the U.S side, my little pipe confiscated and I was again traumatized by the treatment of state authorities for doing something minor and clearly harmless to others. So I know all about the detriments of marijuana dependence and it has indeed affected my life in punitive ways. I did make it to Tokyo this time on a rescheduled flight with no charge due to their reexamination of my 2013 case in 2016 which caused me to miss my flight to Tokyo. I wasnt even planning to visit Vancouver but ironically because there were no more flights to Japan I was able to see Vancouver for the first time since I was not admitted trying to visit before. I made sure to visit a legal dispensary there and get enough edibles to knock me out on my upcoming flight.  I also snuck in a few (10?) odorless candies hidden in some real sweet smelling candies because my dependence told me despite all that I had been thru with Canadian immigration I probably wasn’t strong enough to be sober in Japan yet.  I was willing to risk it because it was such a personal amount.  Therefore, I have even identified as an addict because I have never been able to not use for longer than 2 months in 20 years and my repeated risk taking for the substance is a classic definition of an addict straight from any drug addiction pamphlet you can find.

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The US bombed the original castles and destroyed the Japanese economy by making the hemp crop used to make rope and parachute cords illegal and couching it into an anti drug campaign that Japanese believe is justified to this day

Today Japan has some of the strictest anti-cannabis laws in the world.  Punishment for possession is a maximum 5 years behind bars and illicit growers face 7-year sentences. Annually around 2000 people fall foul of these laws – their names splashed on the nightly news and their careers ruined forever. The same prohibition that dishes out these punishments also bans research into medical marijuana, forcing Japanese scientists overseas to conduct their studies.” 

It was actually the US that made cannabis illegal in Japan creating the Cannabis Control Act in 1948 in an attempt to further handicap the Japanese economy and military because it was in abundant use, widely grown to make sturdy rope and parchute cords for the military. I saw full of the workers who built the samurai castles in Japan and they were wearing probably hemp rope sandals and possibly using hemp rope to build the amazing castles in Japan destroyed by bombs of the US during WWII.

Our initial 20 minute visit was pretty bleak. V had been scared to think by the prosecutor that she was going to go to Japanese prison for a long long time.  It was an emotional visit so I felt an urgent need to put out a youtube video to try fo get some US politicians who would advocate for V, a CA medical marijuana patient and US citizen so she wouldn’t have to go to Japanese prison! There had to be something we could do to help, wasn’t serving 2 months punishment enough for the Japanese government, not to mention holding detainees is an expense to any government! Her friend Lady Y and I didn’t think the Japanese government would waste their money on someone who had personal cannabis not intent to sell but then I thought of Guantamo Bay and how our government has held prisoners there for almost a decade without a trial. So the worst is always possible as well as the best.

The next day she had spoken to a more upbeat prosecutor who talked about deporting her, letting her make phone calls, use her laptop and even smoke a cigarette in his car! This was a 360 change from the day before. We also drove to speak to her lawyer and he had said he thinks she will 99% be deported.

Since arriving in Japan, things have been anundant for me friendship and career wise. Ive landed some Tantra clients, made lots of friends, realized my dream of living and working in Japan, am doing better financially than I ever have in my life before because I got an overseas freelance writing gig, so somehow the need to medicate disappeared. Fears and anxiety evaporated like clouds over Mt. Fuji. I was even able to endure a family reunion without numbing myself because any of their opinions would also evaporate like clouds over Mt.Fuji and seem so minor to all the miracles Id already manifested here. I was no longer addicted and I had broken thru the fear and economic glass ceiling and opinions and judgments of my bio family that had held me down for so long in the U.S. Helping advocate for Victoria whom Id never met off of Facebook seemed like my karmic duty as a fellow sex worker and stoner. I knew that it could have easily been me in Japanese jail for something like that so any time and expense required to work on this was given easily for a fellow comrade.。。。Rising up from za water eburi 15 minetsu!

01
Jul
11

Whatever it is I am meant to be Doing Right Now, it can be an extreme challenge at times, but I think I feel like I am doing it.

In 2006, I graduated from UCLA with a Masters Degree.  I was in the home stretch of a period of the hardest academic and emotional work that I had done in my life.  Writing a 30 page Masters Inquiry thesis that you put together for almost an entire year, writing, revising and editing while simultaneously working as a first year teacher.  Phew.  I could not WAIT to cross the stage, get my paper and take off my cap and gown into my new freedom.  I wasn’t going to graduate and join the workin ranks of education, I was going to QUIT right after that semester and be HAPPY as HELL about it all!!  This move was to the disdain of a few, but I had proved to myself, my family (though they didn’t really notice) that I could achieve normal status and credibility in the normal world.  I had my first full time salaried job with benefits.  I was in charge of hundreds of students over the years.  I had successfully carved a path for myself, if I wanted to take it.  I had a great teaching career, a great apartment, security, paycheck…what was missing?  MY SOUL. That’s what.

I ACTUALLY SELL THEM FOR $50 + S&H http://www.facebook.com/asianprincessartifacts

It took me 3 years pursuing education and teaching and neglecting art making to realize that my soul consists not of teaching or serving the community, but it consists of MAKING AND SHOWING MY ART.  Singing, creating visual pieces, writing, speaking, performing…If all I wanted to do with my life was to be a teacher and die, I had achieved it.  It was the most difficult path in itself, as I chose to be placed in the most at risk schools in LA and SF.  I saw it as doing my time in the WAR AGAINST EDUCATION and I put in my time, I even got a short haircut.   Now it was time for me to return home away from that war and be an artist again.

I was determined now to travel the world as an artist and activist and fully experience life.  Also, I wanted to get my SEXY back which somehow along the way, I had lost in the name of achieving my normal status.  I worked hard like a good workaholic.  I woke up at 6am and went to bed at midnight.  Before I moved to LA for grad school, I was exactly what I am now: a full time artist and full time sex worker.  But, a part of me always wondered constantly WHY I never got the jobs I wanted, if I was only good at doing sex work jobs, if i was STUCK.  It seemed like the one of the things that I seem to excel in is SCHOOL.  I am an excellent student and a pretty damn good teacher, it seems.  I am great at school and I can teach YOU too to excel in school, but I am unsure whether that is really the key to success and happiness for all.  I did above the bare minimum, wayy beyond what was expected and more, which in any districts eyes was successful.  As long as you had your grades at the end of each semester, you’ve fulfilled your legal requirement.  It was the perfect job for someone who has trouble working under direct supervision of bosses.

SOLO SHOW SPONSORED BY THE MAKERS AND SMOKERS OF CRACK…

“Hellloooo?  You’re a prostitute!” a family member said recently,”Are we supposed to want to tell our friends that?” she said.  Well, I guess you can lie, or you can tell them, I’m an artist.  A singer.  A theatrical performer.  An organizer.  A writer.  A woman who makes the media include her voice by being interviewed for sex worker editorials all over the U.S: a media maker.  Maybe you can tell them I just had an interview published in a new South End Press anthology called “The Revolution Starts at Home.”  Maybe you could open your eyes and think of something good to say…

I love my LinkedIn profile actually.  I work on it a lot and update it.  I have created a name for Mariko Passion over the years and I have worked hard for every single achievement.  Hungry for more.  much much more.  I just realized that I have only had the Mariko Passion persona for LESS THAN five years.  I have to be proud of all the things I’ve done and gotten to do, as a direct result of my decision to be a WHORE/ARTIST!  There are so many people who are constantly cutting down the tall poppy.  It’s a constant battle!  But, I’ve found that my SSRIs are still doing their job and my moods are more stabilized than my income lately, and that has been a HUGE part of being able to RESIST criticism.  I asked my REAL friends to make themselves known to me and they seemed to emerge out of the darkness one by one.  I called a family meeting, asking essentially for more compassion and caring.  It turned into a barrage of bad news for me meeting, I thought but I think I can see some progress in our communication…

Somehow, in the days before I left, there was an interesting client, a crack addict who pretty much shall I say SPONSORED my trip to San Francisco so I could run my one woman show there for the week.  I did get an honorarium from the Sex Workers Art Festival but I was set to leave to Chicago to do my comedy improv training and I wasn’t quite sure where I was going to get the money for that.  If it was meant to happen, it would happen.  And it DID.  All in the nick of time and as if it were somehow fated by a higher power.  Here comes a crackhead who wants to drop a bunch of money on me so that I can now purchase my plane tickets and maybe some hotel nights on the next leg of my tour!  Thank you Crack Cocaine!  Thank you U.S government for making it!  This is why I love Michelle Tea’s book RENT GIRL so much.  I can really relate to the sex work in it.  It’s not Tracy Quan’s Manhattan or Jetsetting Call girl, though I can relate to some of those types of clients as well, it was gritty grimy indoor rent girl prostitution w/ drug addicts and the often other misfits of society.  they call me for companionship and I oblige, but only for a high price.  With this crackhead, I was counting the minutes on my phone clock tick tick away.  I was sooo bored.  I wasn’t smoking crack.  I was texting my friends trying to entertain myself during this jail sentence like silent escort session.  He was pretty non functional because he was so high, but that didn’t stop me from brining him back to reality when the time was up to collect my hourly fee.  I stayed for 3 hours and could have stayed for more but I was literally going CRAZY of boredom and wanted to run out into the streets and just inhale the clean outdoor air as I left.  I didn’t feel like I was a loser, I felt like I was a WINNER!  Just in the nick of time, as a lot of things like this in my life happen to be. I now had enough money to do my San Francisco tour stop and not have to worry about working that week while I performed in the festival and I would be able to buy my plane tickets to Chicago and NYC.  Blessings.  Someone needs to show these guys a “good” time. LOL.  I cross paths with these parasites who don’t have any money.  Just drugs and usually a bunch of lies.  When I got back to LA, I hit up this same crackhead client.  He didn’t have any cash this time, just a gold necklace with diamonds that seemed like a real piece of expensive jewelry but I wasn’t in the business of pawning jewelry.  I do barter for product but only for tips.  Unless I am sure of the value of what I am bartering.  I’ve made this mistake tooo many times in my life.  I went to the garage to get some cash out of S’s car.  He drove a really nice, clean and new SUV.  A 50K car for sure.  I had no sympathy for him.  I decided the torture of being his companion was only worth it for lots of cash and if he didn’t have any of that, I was leaving.  Maybe the necklace was worth a lot of money, I just didn’t want to do it for anything less than a pile of money.  Sorry.  I gave him his necklace back and stayed around for 30 more minutes in exchange for $140 I found in his car.  Thanks for sponsoring my tour earlier, cracker jack, call me when you have more MONEY.  He let me sketch him and take these pictures.  His poses weren’t as good this time though.   I didn’t tell him I was going to blog about it though.  I don’t have to, in my opinion.  My experiences and blog posts are MINE.  If you recognize yourself, GOOD.  If you don’t like what you read you can request to have me change it, but it might make things worse.  Our interaction creates a REACTION in me that I have to express creatively.  I cannot keep all of these juicy experiences to myself.  It is what fuels my fire.

 My life is ART, ART is my life.

When I was in Chicago and NYC I filled my days with training, performance and viewing other artist’s work.  Scheming about bringing my show to Chicago and NYC.  Networking and connecting with people.  Posting up backpage ads and trying to make enough money to keep eating and travelling.  It works perfectly sometimes.  It’s difficult at times but when it works so well, it is really really nice.  Its been FIVE YEARS since I graduated, quit teaching and decided i would pursue my art full time.  I got sidetracked for THREE YEARS while running SWOP-LA full time and doing art/performance only part time, but now that SWOP-LA is no longer in the picture, it is a blessing in disguise and I have only my art to dedicate myself to.  It is what I was supposed to be doing in the first place.  I think I just got scared and tried to do something practical, like direct a non profit.  But, according to some, I FAILED.  LOL.  Thanks for your words and hallucination of friendship and support BITCHES.  Now I can go back to making ART.

CRACK makes you act STRANGE!

he tried to give me this Gold and Diamond necklace as collateral for an overnight date. LOL. Do i look like a PAWN SHOP?

this is him looking kind of normal, but he would POSE for at least 15 seconds in these wonderfully contorted facial expressions over and over throughout his session

13
Apr
11

Fear and Loathing in Palm Springs

APRIL 1, 2011

At first it was all pink when I closed my eyes, psychedelic pink and red shapes dancing and morphing to the bass thumping of pop music…it was going to be okay I thought…I used that to take my mind off the nausea in my stomach, the inflammation and feeling of swelling in my chest as I lay in the 104 degree desert sun in a lawn chair by the pool at the free party on Friday of Dinah Shore’s annual big girl party…

This is a lesbian event. I can sit here looking damn good in a bikini all day and be assured that not a single female would approach me, even if I wasn’t sick and feeling like I was going to die…it’s just not the way mainstream queer girls operate. They rarely step to you, especially if you don’t make eye contact. A man on the other hand will step to a woman in a bikini even if she is passed out and lying in her own vomit and urine, without a doubt.

Dinah is not really a drug friendly environment. Gay girls don’t do drugs the way the gay boys do. This is a drinkers hey day full of a wide spectrum of different BLTQ girls from alll over the country celebrating their love for each other and celebrating with mostly overpriced drinks in plastic cups. I’ve had a similar experience happen at Burningman, stumbled into a strangers camp and was given plenty of water, love, compassion, an RV to rest in, support and safety. Dinah was no Burningman, even if it was just as hot there.

I sat up because I had difficulty breathing. It was hot out here but I was cold. I felt both of my hands and they were cold. I moved the fingers around and circulated the blood vigorously. Was this a real emergency or the drugs I was on? i was pretty sure I knew what cold hands felt like, and I was confident I was experiencing asthma sickness and allergies from the house of 5 dogs that we slept at the night before. My inhalers weren’t working that well anymore. I had to pace them out. Even as I puffed twice on one, the tightness in my chest didn’t go away very much. I was having an asthma attack on mushrooms by the pool at a club event. Weeeeeeeeeeee

At one point I put myself into the swimming pool and got wet. i held on to the ledge and played with the water. I COULD NOT AND DID NOT WANT TO TALK TO ANYONE THERE. They would never understand.
I was feeling sick to my stomach like I was going to throw up. Shrooms. How awful would it be to be the bitch who throws up in the pool at the party and has to be rushed out to the hospital? Was that going to be me today? I got out of the pool and went to the bathroom. The wet floor was covered in dirt and puddles that were moving and flowing, breathing better than i was at the moment. I didn’t feel comfortable taking up the stall which always had a line and yaking my gutts out. I just didn’t. The drugs had made me so full of anxiety over every move I made that I could only manage to urinate. At least I didn’t just pee on myself. When I throw up I pee on myself. It’s a muscle spasm thing. I held it together enough to not do either. Very good.

“Hey Mariko!” said one acquaintance whom I knew from an event we did together recently in LA. “Do you remember me?” she said
“no, I’m sorry..” I said eyes welling up with tears wanting her to take some action to help me help myself…
“How are you doing?” she said.
“Not good at all….” I said exposing my eyes behind my sunglasses and showing her that I was crying now. “I took too many mushrooms and I have really severe asthma. I feel like I am going to die and I don’t know if this is a real emergency enough to call 911. I mean, I think that I am ok, but I”m not sure…”
she kept smiling at me but I could tell she had no idea what to say or do.
“Look, just do me a favor and keep looking over here and see if I am alive or not will you?” I said and flopped down back to laying on my side in the recliner. I think she walked off then, I’m not sure…

I was having asthma problems all night. It was NOT just the shrooms.. The A/C in this chic’s house wasn’t on and the stillness of the air is a slow death to the asthmatic. FIVE DOGS. no air circulation. sleeping on the allergen filled couch. I was trying to sleep, trying not to disturb, waking up frequently to use my inhalers, to suck on cough drops to avoid coughing and waking people in the house…miserable. Even before I took any drugs, I was having trouble breathing. Something had happened to swell my respiratory tract from sleeping at that house and I couldn’t breathe that well even as we left to drive to the party and shop and socialize at the coffee shop and liquor store.

Its the first of the month and you haven’t paid your rent. Why are you trying to go to Dinah Shore anyway?
Well the plan was to place ads in Palm Springs and make some money to party in Palm Springs to get my mind off of some of the recent trauma and finnancial set backs being an indy escort has caused. It seemed like a good plan. It had always worked for me before. Throw up some ads and even if I only make $200 that would be enough to float me for the weekend til I got home. But things in LA had not been so great either. 10-14 days would go by with only $1-300 income which was not enough to pay my basic living expenses and run my escort business. Near two weeks with barely any customers will injure most business models.

I had visions of getting a Prednisone shot and being hooked up to a respirator and how much better I would feel…
I CAN’T AFFORD AN EMERGENCY ROOM VISIT. I AM UNINSURED AND MY RENTS NOT PAID. BUT WHAT IF YOU DIE HERE? YOU COULD FUCKING DIE HERE AT DINAH SHORE IN THIS CHAIR AND NOT ONE BITCH WOULD EVEN KNOW UNTIL IT WAS TOO LATE.
I laid down on my side in my pool chair, crying my eyes out behind my sunglasses for hours, just hoping time would pass and no one would bother me. I would be less high and more functional and I would be able to just deal with the real problems of my sickness and my real problem of paying my rent.

A cute girl is useless to me if I can’t fucking breathe and I’m about to be homeless. I closed my eyes because opening them at times was too scary. I’d try to relax and focus on a hot chic but then after 5 seconds I would feel nauseous again and want to throw up so I kept them closed…

My poverty and sickness.
SOCIAL POVERTY.
I was alone at this party because it was the free pool party and the other pool party cost $40. I was trying to save money. This party WAS just as good as the other one anyway.
NO ONE KNOWS OR CARES ABOUT WHAT YOU ARE GOING THROUGH.
Your friends are not really your friends. You have no real friends.
An emergency room visit is probably going to cost you $2000 and then you will really not be able to pay your rent. You won’t die but you’ll get evicted.

I didn’t want to get up because i was afraid that I would look and be too messy and just fall on the floor, security would call the ambulance and that would be an extra expense that I couldn’t afford. this was a true American anxiety of the uninsured. What if I was Canadian or Australian? Would I be having these life or death or bills arguments with myself.

Get it together. Get it together. You can make it. Is this a real emergency? Do you really need help? Do you? Does anyone even know how much pain you are in? How lonely you feel every day? does anyone care?

I have never in my life felt that I was having an asthma scare like this before. I’ve NEVER been hospitalized for an asthma attack, and only until recently in the last 8 months had I felt like it had gotten so out of control that I had to see a specialist and get on steroid inhalers. I started using inhalers 2x daily and another emergency one at least once or twice a day. This was all new to me. I had inhalers and asthma as a kid but I never used them. I just suffered through it instead of take my meds. It didn’t bother me that much, except when I ran. I used to use it as an excuse to get out of PE in elementary school, but I stopped doing that in junior high school because running became suddenly fun and I realized I was actually capable.

Before 8 months ago, the only medicine I inhaled everyday was marijuana. Since December I have almost completely abandoned or turned down any smoking devices (bong, blunt, pipe, joint) because of my asthma. I even stopped smoking and only eating a small cookie once a day to cut down on my cannabis intake and bong smoking hoping it would cure my asthma somehow and the wheezing and coughing would magically go away. it didn’t. Cannabis use is not the problem. Asthma is a chronic illness, a disease they call it. Great. Another “disease” i have. As always getting back on my regular dose of cannabis after discovering that cutting down would not have an effect on my asthma was a huge relief for my depression. Vaporizing and eating my cannabis and my asthma inhalers are essential to my survival. Both keep me alive and help me to breathe. So you don’t think I need weed. or you think I am a drug addict. I need to go to MA and apologize to all those that I have hurt with my marijuana use. LMFAO. What about those that have hurt me and drive me to self injurous tendencies that make me want to medicate? You want to criticize the addicted but you are not willing to take them in YOUR arms and tell them it will be okay. I’M NOT WILLING TO DO THAT TO MOST ADDICTS myself!

I do not see myself as a drug addict. I am a cannabis patient, and a drug USER. A recreational binge user sometimes, but a casual recreational user (I even call it professional user, even reflecting on this incident in retrospect). I’m addicted to Halls cough drops because of my asthma. Inhalers make your throat sore and your mouth dry, so if I don’t have them a coughing spell will exacperate a more sever attack in minutes. cough drops and steroid inhalers are not stigmatized drugs however, even if you use them and need to use them every single day.

Finally, I stumbled into the hotel room nearby of one of the girls from our crew still crying. M answered the door. We hugged quickly. I gave her the same batch of shrooms. She was also having a bad time, but not as bad as me. She explained to me that the person who owned the hotel room was anti-drug use and OCD about her space. I was crying on the phone as I paid the taxi driver. “It HAS TO BE OKAY.” I said,”I am REALLY AND TRULY SICK and on the verge of going to the emergency room. How can someone not understand that??” I cried. Even the taxi driver looked empathetic.

M answered the door, looking dazed. “How long does this last?” she asked me.
“uh, about 5 hours max.” I said. “I’m scared.” I said entering the dark, quiet and peaceful room, such a different space from where I just was. I went to the shower and turned on the hot water and closed the door. Steam relieves asthma attacks. A little.
KNOCK KNOCK on the bathroom door after only 7 minutes.
“they’re about to come back to their room,”M said,”and we gotta leave back to D’s house. the house of 5 dogs. I could not go back there. EVER. The thought alone made my chest tighten up. The dog owner would never check on you or feel any responsibility for your pain. NO ONE CARES AND NO ONE OWES YOU ANYTHING. She was never really your friend anyway. She only tolerated you because of M. I offer her no social capital, even with my 602 virtual acquaintances.

M brought my car and my stuff from D’s house of 5 dogs to the hotel that I rested in until about 11pm. She told me that I couldn’t stay in the room, and since I hadn’t made any money I couldn’t afford to get a room though I needed to rest very very badly. she gave me $35 for picking her up at the Ontario airport which would be enough to get me fueled back to Los Angeles, where my queen comfortable bed could potentially await me in 2 hours. I crushed up a couple of lines of cocaine and powered myself up to make the journey. If any of these people made me feel unloved, rejected or alone, i didn’t feel it as I drove home. If the whole day of pending emergency was emotionally and physically exhausting, I no longer felt that either. Sasha Gray’s Scion’s cold A/C cooled my swollen lungs and I drove into the darkness 2hours West back where I came from…

Cocaine is an emotional anasthetic. Rejection? What rejection? It’s also like espresso for me when I need a jumpstart to drive a long journey, to work another 2 hours, to drive back to the Valley from LA after coming back from a no show 2 hours before. I probably have Coke on my menu these days directly under the line item with my Starbuck Grande Soy Lattes (except it is part of my tips, I have NEVER bought it). I might use it 4 or 5 times a month. Less now that I am no longer an all night graveyard shift agency girl. Coke and escorting to me go together like condoms and penises…normal. necessary.

Maryjane is my real friend. She is there for me when no one else is, and that’s usually most of the time. Maryjane holds me when I cry, even makes me stop crying, it’s like she listens and understands in ways that my family, the people I date and society do not…She makes being alone all the time totally fine. even entertaining and creative. I LOVE HER. Awww. And She LOVES YOU TOO. Irie is Love. It is a natural anti-depressant, anti-anxiety med. it helps me through PTSD moments, it helps me now mentally deal with the pain of my asthma…

“What does it feel like to sit with the pain?” my therapist asks.

Before it used to just feel like a pain in my chest that would be relieved by inhaling Maryjanes kisses at the local dispensary, but recently in the last year, since my asthma has become more severe the dog that was sitting on my chest has morphed into an elephant literally making it impossible physically to breathe.

i bought a vaporizer and have been using it for 4 months now. Smoking out of my bong is something I do sparingly and only now because the glass part of my vape BROKE and few places sell spare vaporizer parts, and as I said before I am broke and in survival mode. I go to my local dispensary to use their vaporizers and socialize like a coffee shop in Amsterdam. Superficial conversations usually. It forces me to get out of the house and talk to real people not online. I have 602 acquaintances on Facebook. They probably have not even missed my status updates…maybe it’s all the better for them.

You trigger everyone you talk to anyway. No one wants to hang out with a hot mess.

19
Aug
10

But that’s alright because I LOVE the way you LIE

Rihanna has become one of my heroes of late. Eminem has always represented all the guys I’ve ever dated, so it’s fucking brilliant that they decided to do this video together. He’s a great artist. Amazing lyricist. A known abuser and now recovered drug addict. Always the image of a great and loving father. A crazy alter ego that has violent and misogynistic thoughts on every album. On this song Eminem forces Rihanna to sing the role of her victimhood in a way that soon may become more of a verb more than her own name. The archetype of a triumphant and Glamorous Survivor. “Tougher than a lion.. no pain is forever, Yep you know this.” The one we all want to be once the bruises (if there are physical bruises) heal. “She Rihannaed through that situation..” I just heard one of my ex boyfriends’ names being used as a verb by way of another boyfriend I am attempting to ex out…”I Jimmyed that relationship so I could stay at her house another week.” he said. (which means he freeloaded rent and board off of a girl he was dating in exchange for mediocre relationship moments). Ah, the oh so familiar financial abuser that too many “independent women” seem to pair up with. I think Ne-Yo wrote that song for those guys, rather than as a fucking compliment to any women. It was dedicated to all the free loading men that Beyonce and Destiny’s Child in Pay My Bills talk about..

I’m not sure why the boyfriends that I started to get after 22 became tumultuous. (GREEK CHORUS: Because you became a sex worker, LOL! LOL!)  I’m not sure why after being single for 9 years did I fall in love with someone who was so similar in both beautiful and fucked up ways as this other first love of mine who was a closet heroin user who i spent 10 months with in the Mission District of San Francisco trying to heal, love and mentor when I was 23. Different illnesses and issues, different people, same manic cycle, similar beautful lies… I hear myself in Rihanna’s voice as she talks so lovingly about Chris Brown and his future. She wants him to just “grow up and learn from this experience.” She still loves him. Love doesn’t go away right away. she says and I know this so well. An abuser is often the adult victim of child abuse or assault and the other partner often feels sorry for that little boy inside the man that lashes out at her while she tries to mother him. Repeating the cycle of the abuse between the childs parents and the tension between the abused mother and son.

I wasn’t beat up and left in a car before I was supposed to attend the Grammy’s but I’ve been deeply entrenched in other forms of relationship violence almost all of the relationships that I’ve had for the last 10 years. I would throw ‘benign’ objects (like a bag of fast food, a large soda; separate occasions) at one of my ex boyfriends to get his attention and wipe the stupid blank look off his face when I told him to get a job and pay some rent, for instance.  I’ve had another someone I was in love with threaten by text message to do a drive by on my house and set my kar on fire…I told him if he was going to do that he should be the one to pull the trigger [so I could look in his eyes while I died for “love.”] but I knew it wasn’t a serious threat, it was a twisted thought from a very lost person.

I never thought he would do it, but the fact that I have, like Rihanna heard what it sounds like when this person that you think that you are in love with tells you that they are going to kill you [if you stop loving them].

*   *  *   *  *  *   *   *   *  *

I was the one who demanded that Jimmy and I go to counseling together but soon realized that because I was the one instigated physical violence, I was therefore the ‘abuser’ and they wouldn’t see us together as a couple while ‘physical abuse’ was occurring in the relationship. So I quickly learned to control my physical reactions and started to use my voice and just scream my frustrations at him, which did not come out as words but aimed to be a vocal assault of some sort to get him to stop his behavior and see that I was becoming enraged. One time I remember gesturing punches towards his face that were controlled enough to not touch his face but show that I wanted to physically assault him because I was so angry. Things got better over time. We learned how to work better with each other. But I was unhappy for 8 months having this roomate that I didn’t want and couldn’t seem to get rid of before I finally called the cops on him. One day, he decided to get something and he wouldn’t stop calling and knocking on the front door when he arrived uninvited. I was trying to create a new space boundary since he had finally left my house. He had finally packed up his stuff to move out after pleading with him for months to leave. but he was back on a day that we weren’t scheduled to hang out and I didn’t feel like letting him in or answering his phone calls. I have 3 phones and a front door and he was blowing up all of them. In a panic I called 911 and they arrived after almost 40 minutes and 2 calls. I didn’t really feel that he would hurt me, but I had just been pushed to the point of police intervention by this guy after months of warning him that I would do exactly what I ended up doing.  I asked his parents for help with the situation and they shook their heads and told me to call the cops and that I allowed this to continue and they couldn’t help him because he was an adult.

I firmly believed that if someone is knocking on your front door and they won’t go away that you have a right to call the police to ask them to go away. “Are you still in a relationship with this guy?” officer 1 asked.
“yes.” I said, “but he is not supposed to be here right now. I want him to leave and he won’t.”  I had told him that we would stay together in a relationship but he would agree to move out, and I believed that we really were going to be able to do this.
“We don’t police people’s relationships ma’am.” officer 2 said. “someone has to go to jail nowadays, people’s lives are changed because of these calls.” It was a hard call because it wasn’t exactly a DV related 911 call, but it was. I don’t remember how I finished my conversation with them to close the door, but I remember seeing him in the back of the car in cuffs while they searched his car and crying at the sight of what I had just done. I was on the phone with my therapist while looking out the window. That was the last time I saw him. He didn’t return to my house, nor did he return a suitcase and laptop that I had basically let him use during the duration of our relationship just to add insult to injury. He was pissed I called the cops on him so he decided to keep $600 worth of my stuff.

It all occured when i was brand new to Facebook last year. The open ended “What’s on your mind?” was too much of an open space for me to not pour out what was happening from my desktop to reality. I Facebooked it while it was happening without caring about other people’s triggers or discomfort. “If you call the cops on your man, does that mean the relationship is over?” and someone’s response was,” no because when he gets out its gonna be the best sex you ever had and then some!” it made me laugh. you somehow have to find light with these things, and there’s no one better than the victims themselves to make a joke out of a serious matter. I’m just going to call the abusers the victims too because even punching the drywall beside someone’s face is a sign of your victimhood. It is abusive. It is a sign that you are unable to control your anger. You are a victim of your rage and your demons. Your lust when you end up having that make up sex. Your weaknesses when you go back to them. But I have learned so much with every fight that I have endured, and I can truly say that I can fight stronger and better and not allow myself to retaliate and stoop to the level that would lead us into that raging bullfight that is in the video which ends up in unprotected drunk sex spawning a devil unplanned retarded baby. At some point you learn not to take it there, and for some people, they NEVER LEARN. “If he EVER lays a hand on me,” the high school girl feminist proclaims,”I’M LEAVING.” But may she learn that it is never that clean and easy and more often than not, they DON’T hit you with their hands to cause the most abuse.

Eminem’s recent video truly reveals the complexity of relationship violence from what seems like a young addicts perspective. It is a paradigm I am too familiar with having fallen in love with people with addictions OR who might as well be drug addicts because they act that way anyway without drugs. Yes, we still live in a sexist patriarchal world but the reality of domestic violence has changed since the Battered wife image of the 80’s and 90s that Barbara Walters is still polishing the framework for. Eminem’s video and lyrics reveal that complexity. He has a phone number on his hand that she sees. She gets so raging mad that she SPITS in his face while he holds her down. I realize mostly that in these situation that there is ALWAYS a back and forth. He says something. She says something worse. He does something to spite her. She does something manipulative and vindictive to spite him. Sleeps with a co-worker or best friend. Texting a working girl in front of your girlfriend because you know that they will call back or text to get you into the fight that you secretly ask for.  This is how Rihanna and Chris started brawling.  Over another woman’s text message.   Psychological WARFARE. Another woman’s voice, even if she is no real threat but a created threat by a manipulative and demented lover.  This is how the 21 year olds girlfriend found out about me and I about her.  I called his phone and she answered.  this is how she got my phone number to harass me.  Dirty, grimy immature antics made only from the insane minds of people so enraptured in the madness of their own NON LOVE that they can’t stop to think about what they are actually doing.  Some of them, who were born and raised in abuse need to be told better.

“You DON’T say those things to someone that you JUST SAID that you LOVE.”

“SPEAK TO ME LIKE SOMEONE YOU LOVE.” (I just saw a book with this title on this topic at the bookstore)

and this really IS  a new concept to them.  One that they can learn if you can teach them fast enough (and they are willing to learn).

I don’t let lovers or friends make a joke out of me as a regular habit.  Hard love and cruel jokes= humiliation to me.  I grew up as the youngest child and black sheep and am still treated like a 2nd class citizen in some ways by some of my family so I will not tolerate a relationship where I feel like someone’s little sister.  A little humor is healthy, but constant and subtle degradation through mockery, passive agressive comments, passive aggressive jealousy,  is NOT healthy for your lovers, partners or children, it adds up and spills over like a symbollic cup of violence disguised as a slow poison like the syrup of sweet Coca Cola.

I love the scene in the Eminem video where the two are sitting in the aftermath of their own destruction bonding on the light energy of their broken and dysfunctional love. I’ve felt that glowing energy between myself and the most beautiful and worst liars that I have ever loved. I believed that our love was the only true thing about the mess we were in. “Love is blind.” Rihanna says.”FUCK LOVE. Look at your situation from the 3rd person and see it for what it really is.” Great advice. Now applying it to your own life is the harder part. Only someone whose experienced a violent love like hers could even understand that love energy can exist and glow even in the ugliest and most brutal relationships sometimes. Everyone else is probably so judgmental. The abusers that I have known (physical, verbal, finnancial, chemical) have all had a magical romantic gift, charming and endearing a promise of a perfect love that lasts for a few days, a few sweet emails, until BOOM. explosion. and it always repeats.  The 21 year old that I had blogged about before that was cheating on his girlfriend to have an affair with me was an abuser.  I could sense it.  I was part of his abuse, I was the other woman, and at first I was laughing about it.  She was psycho and irritating and perhaps I have gained such a hard skin about insults via text message because I ignored so many of hers.  This 21 year olds cock WAS magical and magnetic though.  I do remember the magnetic power I had to turn away from with all my might.  This is coming from someone who is totally not dick centered, not entirely attracted to genitalia but I knew a good thing when I felt it.  It was quite possibly the best dick I’ve could remember having, but I BROKE LOOSE FROM IT without much damage!

EVERYONE has a QUICK solution to it and an opinion. No one understands but those that are in it that it is a longer process than we would often like it to be, but “just getting up and leaving” is sometimes just not a reality for most of us. Rihanna said she went back 8 or 9 times.  The abused and hurt child desperately needs to have the abuser apologize and caress their wounds and tell them that they did not mean to do the things that they did.

What are your boundaries and how long will YOU let someone go before you pull out the stops on your relationship?

Has anyone ever stolen money from you? Spit in your face? Punched a wall beside your head? Crashed or smashed your car? Used a traumatic part of your past as a verbal assault during a fight? threaten to call your probation officer with lies about you? “joked” about cutting off your dick if you cheat?

Snoop Dogg has a song about the manipulation that goes on with the new DV laws called, “First one gets to the phone, the other one’s going to jail..” The urban reality of relationship violence, hip hop, people of color and probation officers is sung about in a humorous way..A LOT of the Black and Brown community is on probation or in jail or prison so this form of institutionalized racism helps to use domestic violence to further tear families and relationships apart.  Or does it help to protect the victims by giving them ammunition to shoot back at their abusers?

Eminem’s video reveals well the cycle of violence told through the push and pull and the back and forth of the whole thing. I know for some reason that I am a red hot magnet for men and women with major trauma issues because I have my own and that often leads to the kind of relationships where people have to work out through acting out until they understand how to communicate in all the ways that they lacked as a child. I am better now because I’ve burned in those bedrooms. I think I know how to walk away. I just wonder why no matter how far I walk I seem to keep encountering these classic romantic turned abusive characters that are out of these pop stars music videos. Is it because I am so fucked up and labeled a wreck myself that I just can’t stay away from them, or could it be that relationship violence is more common that those of us that are so judgmental would like to admit. Are YOU guilty?

04
Jan
10

Happy New Year! 21 year old ExCons and Snowboarding Bliss xoxo

if you’ve been reading, you know it’s been a fucking hard year…

thanks for reading…it really helps me cope to write and know that you are reading…

I got all dressed up and went to a dancing party downtown with adult raver DJs.  A very hetero mainstreamy event, but I did NOT want to go very far from my house nor deal with traffic or too many abnoxious crowds.  I was fixing to go snowboarding at Bear Valley with my 21 year old BFE (boyfriend experience) for a couple of days so I was actually turning down guys for one nite stands so I could roll out of bed on time to kidnap this boy I met (as his escort) so I could turn him into MY escort for a few more days.  (we’d already seen each other once after our initial date and confirmed that there was some magic worth spending time to explore…)

I invited my actor neighbor for a drink before I left for the party in this outfit and he did NOT understand why I didn’t just want to suck his dick right then and there!  Too funny.  “I’m sorry,” I thought,”I’m a WHORE, not a slut!”  ha.  If I don’t want to fuck you, it’s really hard to fuck me without paying me first.  Sorry.  That’s just the way it is.  And I especially can’t get down and fuck in the first 15 minutes of talking unless there’s money involved.  Jesus, what do you think this is?

For some reason of all these guy that wanted me and have wanted me lately, I chose the least likely candidate to spend my time with.  One that just got out of prison, 21 years too young for me, white trashy, tooth missing, drug addict history and likely future, nothing to brag about except that he gave me amazing love and care and attention everytime I held him close.  And when we kissed our lips and tongues fit together without worrying about whether or not he had a tooth missing or not.  I didn’t even care about it.  All I knew was that his skin was super soft and that I had missed kissing and making out with someone..He had a couple really key things more than my ex-boyfriend though, a G.E.D and a good construction job and most of our escapades didn’t come out of my pocket, even if he was 12 years younger than me.  Well, if my ex boyfriend didn’t set my standards down to the ankles, this one surely takes his place at the soles of my feet supposedly, except it was me at the soles of HIS feet in my memories.

I know that it is wrong and it is going nowhere…but I chase after it like a drug.

Our worlds were so far apart from each yet they could conventiently be drawn together for a few moments, a few days…and I have been experimenting with this A LOT in my last few partners.  Because they’ve all been taboo and “wrong” for me in every way…but I’ve exchanged amazing non judgmental, apolitical love energy with them and it’s been amazing.  rejuvinating.  but how could you get that from someone that is supposed to be a society throw-away?  or a couple of Asiaphile white guys with a long string of ALL Asian ex girlfriends? what the fuck have I been thinking?  But I fucked these white devils and they made me cum really really hard!  Hah.  But also, and most importantly they made me feel *genuine love energy* which is that thing that I seek, that I chase that I try to hold in my essence and breath it in continuously for as long as possible.  If we don’t have discussions about race, privilege, age, gender, homophobia or transgender politics then I can just make you a fantasy and all of the wrong will be right in my mind. I can tell you after bedding these ‘terrible’ guys that I proved that love really can be blind.  It is true what liberals and Michael Jackson have sung about for YEARS!  You can bond and exchange love energy if both are open to it regardless of age, gender, race, politico, class…for at least a little while til you get bored of having sex all day and nite and have to go out into the world.

My 21 year old ex con has this magnetic cock that can make a safe sex slut want to take it deep inside her without a condom or an STD test and impregnate her with a baby that would make his 3rd child…before 22..in case you didn’t understand WHY people who shouldn’t have kids end up having kids…(it’s something in the fucking semen).  I didn’t do it without a condom, but he tried to push the issue into me and was so almost convincing I almost came imagining the consequences.

It was a running joke between us..”My lifelong ambition in life is to get a hotel room with you tonight and make sure to get you to parole officer on time tomorrow.  You can even use my hand to do your piss test in..”  This after he had made me finally have 3 orgasms in a 2 our morning session that was long overdue after he had fallen asleep on me at 8pm in our $125 hotel room suite..I was kicking myself for not bringing my laptop because I thought we were going to be too busy fucking for me to blog.  But I wished I had brought my computer or something to read cuz now I was actually ‘bored’ and i try to make sure that never happens to me…I forced myself to sleep at 12am.  i watched TV about Cougars.  About Madonna being 53 and her lover being 23.  Ha.  I wasn’t so bad.  I am only 33.  but I feel like I could be any age from 22-33.  The show said that it was a good thing that older women were with such younger men and that they weren’t demeaning themselves because when a young guy chooses an older woman over his peers, it is a great confidence booster for the older woman (who is supposed to wish that she was his age).  I have loved 20-21 year olds since I was 25.  sexual energy combined with naive romanticism and adoration.  that’s what i look for in a young buck.

Don’t ask me why.  I reflect and blog, I am not really seeking answers.

I think I kidnapped him from a girlfriend.  Since I’ve been talking to him, some wifey character out of the Raising Arizona movie has been blowing up my PHONES with crazy tweaker messages about him being her man, i’m a whore,  etc etc.  I turn my phone off when I am with him, too bad for her.  Too bad for her too that I make a living out of being with other people’s men and that it doesn’t make me feel guilty obviously to do this…especially when I have the better half of the deal.  I’ll drop him off when I am done with him, don’t worry.  (and I literally dropped him off to her and she had NOTHING to say to me). I am not trying to be his girlfriend.  You take him to see his parole officer.  I just want a BFE (a boyfriend experience) not a real boyfriend!

Just for the record, the last taboo “white devil” was a law firm lawyer and an ex-mormon, just to lend some contrast to the guys I’ve been sharing pillows with.  they’re probably polar [bear] opposites but equally deemed “bad” for me.  (P.S I know my “reverse racist” humor, may not be funny to some but it’s pretty amusing to me. LOL.   For this piece, “white devil” refers to any white guy that you would tell who he is to your p.o.c friends and be embarassed of some of the facts that you are explaining..) i.e “Well, he has this nazi memorabilia plate, but its his step father’s..”

Another girl had 3 DUIs and multiple other alcohol related arrests.  I met her online… All I can say is that what we truly need is very simple.  What people think they are after when they hire an escort, is sometimes called a GFE or a BFE, but what they want is an “experience” of a relationship without the drama and the work of a relationship.  Sex workers, especially single ones, need that too and clients can be converted into “reverse-escorts” pretty easily if you are not ashamed of this idea to begin with.  I had a 2 year relationship with a stripper customer when I was 22.  This guy reminded me of him I think mostly, which may be what I was chasing..but in general,  I don’t usually get “this” from my clients as I am not open to it.  It is a rarity actually because I am so mechanical with some of my work to defend myself.  I LOVE BEING SINGLE.  My last relationship just ended in July and I am now finally getting myself back…The ex did not call or leave sentimental messages this Christmas.

It was the day after doing ecstasy and there’s nothing a girl wants to do than lay around, smoke weed, cuddle, be adored and get fucked!  LOL.  That’s how he became my BFE…

I hear in general,  in fact, that client/provider real relationships are actually pretty common.   Former clients became  a few of my friend’s boyfriends or girlfriends…It’s not what I was after here, but i know it’s possible.  In fact, I HOPED that this would be able to just be a casual fling without turning into something obsessive and over my head but knew that that is not something that I could control..

I need love too, even if it isn’t real L*O*V*E.  And this boy was willing to pour it onto to me, in just the right amount and way that I needed.  and i opened my mouth and took it in.  It was not pure sexual and I’m not sure why I was drawn to it.  It’s just something that he had to give.  But not from anyone!  It doesn’t work with anyone.  My neighbor is a handsome Black actor with his own aparment and a good job too, but pure sex is not what I am after.  I guess  It helps if you have addictions or are codependent identified! Ack.  but i wish it didn’t.  I recently had a lover who was one of the original Broadway cast members from the musical RENT in New York.  That was a winner, right?  He was a self proclaimed Asia phile (the 2nd one in a row) and when he asked me,”Do you like sex?” all I could say, even though I ended up sleeping with him and liked it, was,”That’s a really weighted question.”  because I don’t just like sex.

I figured it out.  It’s not shallow and empty NSA sex.  Although he was a “good catch” I knew he would be on his way any minute and that any bond created could be special but was transient.   I do that for a living.  I crave something more, something different, love that isn’t for sale but that leans towards the impossible abyss of real love, whatever that is.   The more wrong and impossible the connection, the better for the gravitational pull of it, it seems.  It is that pull that makes me LOVE sex.  Which i do.  with someone that I am EMOTIONALLY ATTRACTED TO.  That someone who makes me pull over and start to go down on them on the side of the road just because I want to be that amazing girl in their life, that pull that makes me want to risk my future, my life, my health..that pull which makes you an exhibitionists just cuz you don’t care who the fuck sees… for if I never get my logic glasses back on..THAT pull, combined with hot sex, I love.  All other sex is either just work or a utilitarian activity.  (just because you NEED to cum, which believe me, I have THAT kind of get laid sex hunt streak too, don’t get me wrong, but..)

His one hour turned into five hours and I drove all the way back to this middle of nowhere LA suburb for more the next week.  and it wasn’t just for the sex.  The sex alone could not have that power.  It is some crazy combination of phermones, affection, genetics..I don’t fucking know.  But he wasn’t too good looking, was missing a front tooth and had no real esteeming qualities, except that he was extremely loving and willing to give and receive pretty fully without the fear that men usually have.  He was pretty good loving for someone who had a crazy irritating wifey and many other glaring issues that I chose to ignore.  We made each other feel special and loved in ways that NO ONE in our regular lives was willing or able to do at this time.  This is why we were drawn to each other I think.

[HIS TEXT MESSAGE:] WE HAVE SOMETHING SPECIAL.

[ME: No, It’s not something WE have…it’s something that YOU have.”

I told him he could be a male escort because he was so sensually seductive at times.  You just have this power, I would say, to make a girl strip off her clothes and start riding your cock within 15 minutes of meeting you, if you wanted.”

Can you imagine that ex-cons would be great at using manipulation, seduction, emotional attraction to get things out of women as a survival mechanism?  It’s almost the perfect pairing for a sex worker actually, now that I think about it.  Wandering, searching, traumatized souls connecting…needing to believe in something…

I draped my naked body over his lap, exposing my pussy from behind in a very deliberate way as he sits on the edge of the bed waking up, drinking hotel coffee, smoking a cigarette in a non smoking room.  He puts down his coffee to finally give me what I want and need.  He fingerbangs deep in my g spot with my face down at his feet, ass up, fucking my pussy and spanking my ass as I cum in less than 60 seconds.  My pussy reaches the orgasmic frenzy that it has patiently waited all night for all while he is still smoking his cigarette…A pile of good weed gets knocked on the ground because I am wildly whipping my hair in thrusting ecstasy..”i’ll get it later..”i said.  “is this what you want?” he says to me, becoming my ultimate dominant, confident White trash molesting uncle asshole fantasy.  He thrusts his fingers to finish me off and I gush liquid all over his hand,” Good girl, is that what you wanted..?”  even my weed is inconsequential to this…”Yes.  It is.” i utter breathlessly from his feet.  Why i get off on being so demeaned is beyond me..he talks to me and makes me beg very specifically for it, which is a rare and powerful skillset for someone his age…(we even made a joke that he could have been talking to his girlfriend on the phone while fucking me and I would have liked it more..)

I’m writing in past tense, because I want to wrap this chapter up and hope that it will just neatly end.  I got what I wanted (past tense!!), it was filled with red flags and bad news if it were to continue but as I am doing edits on this entry I still want him to come over and fuck me and make me beg for his dick.  sex and snowboarding in the sun…So glad I went back to agency work and I can afford to even do anything for the last week.  I could have had a lot more sex and someone better looking and who wasn’t coming down off drugs but hey, we can’t all have what we ask for..

My facebook ID: mariko pasion

i’m far more open and spontaneous on there…it’s real and it’s not.  join me?

04
Oct
09

The Vulture vs. The SuperWhore

Like a Hollywood movie, this episode seems to have a sequel which takes place the very next day!

I went through my now sold iphone’s phonebook to look for names of old regulars that I could do a desperate begging to and see if that would work to get more business, even though that has never worked in the past.  Although, it does work with the one regular law firm benefactor that is keeping me afloat barely but regularly..we’ve become good friends and I am completely honest about everything except the sex!  He’s easy.  He is not a vulture, he is like a savior for me right now.  But, his 2 appointments are not enough to pay for too much in the month so the trolling through the old phonebook still has to happen.  There was one old regular drug user fuckhead that I dropped because he was becoming more trouble than he was worth.  He would always text me incessantly while he was coked out about 100 stupid questions that I would try to answer because putting up with him was a good injection of cash, and he was always so high he was impotent so we would explore different ways to sexually please him.  Mostly by sticking most of my gloved hand into his ass which because he was high as a kite most of the time was like 102 degrees in there!  This is something I never hear people who fist people talk about..it’s like a frigging  oven inside the human body, it becomes too hot for the hand and you actually need to pull out so that you can cool it.  Or at least I do.  But I had fun.  I like anal domination.

As a favor to him, I decided to screw his friend for a mere $150.  A fraction of what I would get from my regular Ass Slave, Kenny.  Big mistake.  His friend was immediately too buck wild for me to control and it just became too much of an ordeal as soon as it started.  he was the one who tried to stick in my ass instead of my pussy, on accident, like 3 times.   I get the feeling most escorts like their sex easy.  It’s the porn stars today that need to be super fuck machines.  Escorting is barely about being a fuck machine.  Sex is like 35% of it actually.  I like my escort sex as a receiver to be EASY  and QUICK. (when you see a lot of people it’s usually about preserving your body.  A wear and tear issue).  Unless I like the guy and am having lots of fun.  Or there’s a girl involved, then there’s no clock!  Mostly,  I am a big fan of the 35 minute hour.  I know I am not in this work because I like sex.  I am in this work because I am regaining power from times I was assaulted, one night standed, sexually harassed or otherwise disempowered.   And I believe all sex workers have this in them too, because 1 out 3 of us have been sexually assaulted by 21 but most of us more.   I am here because I like to be in control sexually, and to experiment while the ball is in my court, when my experimental time is compensated.  I LIKE TO LIVE, IF ONLY TEMPORARILY IN A WORLD WHERE FEMALE SEXUAL POWER IS NOT ONLY POSSIBLE, BUT COMPENSATED.  WHERE WOMEN FUCK LIKE [MEN]..out the door without a second thought of the name of the person..  I am also here because I like making money off this work (even if I’m not lately..).  Because I want to feel the power I knew that I had and make him pay for it.  I like to fuck but only when I like you or when I am sexually deprived (like now!), but I wasn’t really having very real sex with clients during the 2 years that I was the busiest AND had a live in boyfriend.  Client sex was always quick and easy.  Boom.  Shower.  thank you.  Door.   Personal sex is totally different.  I’m actually submissive and more passive.  I’m tired of working.  I like to lay back.  I like to GET fucked.  And if you can’t FUCK THE SHIT OUT OF ME when I need you to, then I am totally and completely bored with you, because I’ve no patience for another pathetic penis in my week.  (I sleep with more men than women, not by choice but we’ll use that organ..)

Lately, however, since being single and getting kicked off of internet dating sites that I was getting laid on for selling webcam services to ugly dudes I’ve had to make my client sex my sex life.  I make them work me and they are the luckiest clients I’ve ever had because i am really insatiable for once because….It’s all I get for days.

But this fool was a girls worst nightmare.  Coked out AND potent!  Oh no!  They have a saying that the less money you get, the harder you have to get fucked, and often it is true.  After borderline violating me he would call my phone offering money and trying to see me again, but I never wanted to see him after that for any money.  I jumped out of bed when I could make a good exit, locked the door and jumped into the shower.  I could hear him grumbling and complaning.  Drug users are either unable to ever cum or unable to get erect.  Of COURSE you prefer the latter, because for some reason they pay better and are easier.  All you have to do is digest their mindless questions and repetetive chatter.  This vulture accepted that I was leaving and it wasn’t uncomfortable or dangerous which is why he was confused.  He was talking about “If you got a boyfriend or if you’re under 18..hey I ain’t mad at you.”  That was another line that this vulture just drew.  This guy was over 30 fucking 17 year olds.  I have ALWAYS detested that.  When I was 15 my 25 year old boss tried to sleep with me and date me when I was just trying to be his friendly co-worker, I thought.  He didn’t get me, but he tried really hard to court me at 15 like I was such a hot item.

The vulture would call and try to dangle promises of money for me, i would still not give in.  Because my caller ID had been cancelled, screening calls was harder.  Every time I would be confronted with him, circling over my head, the offer, the juggling of power..I imagined how he would prey on those underage girls who may have run away for the night because they get into a fight with their parents and he swoops down gives them drugs and alcohol and fucks the shit out of them.  Roman Polanski in a Latino tweaker.

My finnancial desperation makes me vulnerable to all kinds of pimps and vultures…Good thing I still know how to defend myself even when I am at rock bottom.  I would rather be flat broke and home alone on a Saturday night than in a fucked up situation.  And pimps hate me when I am unhappy with them and the work.  I am not profitable, so they fire me.  I got kicked out of Bella’s brothel after one week.  I get fired from office jobs for not engaging in Starbucks banter AND I get fired from massage parlors and stripclubs.  I am not a conformist, even as a sex worker.  I am certainly not a harem pony gawking over one guy with three others.  This has hurt my money I’m sure, but the ONLY way I have profted is when I was totally in control, if not disproportianately so, with their consent of course.  And years of this has healed me.  I walk down the streets of LA without a bra (cuz I hate them and my boobs are small) and without fear of men.  If they look at me, I look at them back and then they usually look away or say hi.  I might wear a look that says ” Yes, you know what I’m about..I know you have a dick and to me it doesn’t mean shit,so, what?”  even in glasses and sweatpants.  Working girls make eye contact back usually.  Matching the gaze.  “Go Ahead.  Ask me what my name is.”  The superwhore eye contact is an amazing language.  Try it when you drive by the boulevard at night.  If you were wondering if she is a working girl, you will be able to tell if she makes eye contact with you as you drive by.  Works everywhere you go.  It fascinates the shit out of me…

So I call Analboy kenny and he pretends he doesn’t know me.  “Wrong number,”he says when I call.  Later that night I’m getting a series of crank calls, but I don’t answer my landline anymore because that is the main number that most of the creditors call on.

My tutoring client is a Korean graduate student ane she cancelled on me, so once again I had no money coming in, gas light still on.  A weed client calls!  (I’m not a big pot dealer (so don’t come after me!), someone fronted me some of his stuff and it kind of acts like my social security check..It is not even the type of marijuana that medicates me (need indicas only), so I just sell it off.  This weed client is a tweaker.  He thinks that I don’t know but I have been around 3 years of drug users and late nite escorting so I am well versed in the signs and behaviors.  He is a nice tweaker, if there is such a thing,  a student.  He buys my mediocre weed and it helps me have that $20 in my pocket every week but I usually try to hang out for the obligatory 20 minutes talking politics, philosophy, whatever.  He’s too broke to buy sex so this will have to do for him.  and me.

kenny calls back and pretends to be friendly.  He says that he’s moved 40 minutes north of LA and that he had a bunch of coke and his friend was there..He is talking the way a DUDE talks when he is in front of his BUDDIES.  “I’ll just give you a buck fifty to hang out with my friend.” he says,”You did it before right?” he laughs.  “You don’t have to do much, just hang out and party..”he says.  This is usually what we would do anyway.  kenny was easy, but Vulture was not.  You would think, as an escort that I have to put up with this kind of crap all the time, but really the specific type of banter that goes on before men date or gang rape or the language that is common in rape culture scenarios is NOT something that I call normal or really tolerate for long in my sex work.  Many many of the men and groups of men that I fucked with were reasonable, humble and not vultures, even in groups.  There was a lot of crap to put up with, no doubt but fear and anxiety were not common or normal.  This is why I did it for so long.  To find this out.  To dance with rape culture, unconscious exposure therapy to try to make sense of the world that I feel was given to me.

All of what the guys that talk like this is just a FANTASY to them as well.  I once tried to have sex with 2 guys at once, the way they do in the porn movies because after seeing a double penetration so many times, you are actually conditioned to think that you want to try it!  And while I say i’m not in this work for the sex, the benefits of being a sex worker who is enticed with way more than usual combinations of sexual situations than the average suburban bachelorette party girl has its advantages.  So I did a DP for about 2 minutes before guy#2 gets flaccid and taps out.  “Uh, you guys go ahead, I’m gonna go chill in the other room..” he says and since my ULTIMATE goal is to make money over pleasure or experimentation I let him go.  There goes my porno gang bang fantasy.

The reality for MOST MEN is that they cannot do what porn stars do.  This is the reality for many women too.  I will be the first to admit to you, unless you are an escort client that I cannot legally talk explicit details of sex with, that I do not give PORN STAR EXPERIENCES (listed as PSE on review boards, even nastier than GFE).  I don’t go ass to mouth, I don’t do anal for dayz, I don’t do uprotected, I won’t eat your ass without a dental dam and I don’t like to blow bubbles with your semen..Sorry.  After watching all the porn that I do, I don’t really have a desire to be a porn star.  It seems more demanding than I am willing to be.  But for them it seems so easy and natural, so that’s why they do it and I don’t! when I wanted to go into porn, when I was 23, in Jenna Jameson’s day, it was easier physically, glamorous even.

Being a superwhore is more a state of mind versus how freaky the sex you are having or how much money you are making…but don’t get me wrong, the MONEY IS ESSENTIAL. This is why I am having so many problems with vultures and pimps.  If I was already making money they would have no power.  Annie Pannie was a sex worker I also recently mentored, 62 years young, powered by crystal meth and a superwhore always, even though she only made $10-20 per date.  She was insane but a true inspiration in small doses.

A 50 year old rocker woman just TRIED to pimp or madam me.  She showed me the garage to the apartment complex.  “You can park in the maintanence spots, they’re always empty.” she said.  “There’s my red corvette.” she said pointing out a 2005 or later model red corvette.  “It’s like my 5th one..”  I was viewing her 2 bedroom incall.  It was dirty like the last space I shared with the borderline disorder masseuse that I hated.  I am not the cleanest person at all but these bitches are always filthier than me.  Dirty toilet.  Never dusted.  One cheap unfluffy towel.   “I make sooo much money on Fridays.  I love it.  If my friends want me to go out, I tell them, ‘it better be worth $2000!’ and I listen to her tell me how her main advertising sources are Craigslist and Cityvibe.  I have worked Craigslist through an agnecy for almost 3 years and I know what people are paying and the type of clientele that she sees.  You cannot make $2000 being straight up and not doing the hustle that we were doing.  Collectively, my old agency was everywhere at once.  We were doing incall and outcall in every suburb of LA county with drivers to drive us.  That’s the only way you COULD do it and never with just one body in one place.  No one person makes that much, just being incall for $200 a pop without tipping.  That’s 10 guys in 12 hours!  Not even brothels try to promise that, although they would wish it upon you.  You could make half that at best running around all night, and in this economy it’s even doubtful they’re making 1/3.  No one is making $2000 on one Friday nite off of Craigslist and Cityvibe.  but I let her talk her talk.  I would have to see it to believe it and she was the one asking me to work for her, so if she had the clientele she said she did I would give it a try.  The next day we were supposed to meet at around 5 pm turned to 7:30 turned to 10pm.  When she finally picks up the phone she says,”Oh hey sweetie..Do you have a credit card with $5 on it so we can place an ad?”  WTF?? “No.” I said,”Sorry.”  I hear a voice in the background like a woman is at her place, probably another prospect. “Well, do you have a friend who does?”she says,”It’s only $5.”  I am so glad I am home cooking a meal instead of over there at that ratbag’s apartment.  “I’ll call you back.” I say hanging up Ms.Red Corvette that probably wasn’t even hers.  Jesus.  If you are trying to pimp me, you have to have MORE than me, not LESS.  Why would I give someone a part of my income if they didn’t have their shit together TIGHT.  My old agency had the pimp game tight with CUNT BOOKER BITCHES who would even make money being the voice of “me” demanding $100 cancellation fees from dudes that called a different picture off of Craigslist.  And sometimes these guys would hand me $100!  (Of which cunt booker would take half) and that was the kind of typical agency hustle that would happen.  If it weren’t her, then you would have some goon driver to back you up.  I never did it that way, I preferred to endure all the verbal and possible physical confrontations myself.  Exposure therapy.  or something else I haven’t processed yet.

I tell Kenny I am going to deliver something first and I’ll call back to get the address.  It took about 30 minutes for the anxiety attack to come on…I imagined attempting to have to tell Vulture no and how irritating and potentially dangerous that could be.  I imagined just getting fucked up and putting myself in a risky sexual situation because my life was so depressing and perhaps I might go home with some money…Drugs would be nice..Money would be nice.. but vulture, he would never be nice.  And vulture + kenny would not be nice.  They would be irritating and annoying, and I would be high on drugs, far away from my house.

I facebooked my process.  Insatiable pull to do something risky.  self destructive.  I wanted to go there and make money and come out ahead.  I did not want to let those fools get to me.  But I was having a PTSD attack and starting to feel sick to my stomach.  I was smoking bong hits to calm my nerves.  I finally got the nerve to get up and get to my delivery.  I resolved that I was not going to see kenny and vulture.  While almost to my delivery spot, a car came out of nowhere and I almost hit it 10 minutes away from my destination.  This is how I know it is what I call a PTSD attack..it becomes unsafe for me to drive because I start to dissassociate, to leave my body.  I usually come back pretty quick, but its better if I’m not driving.  It’s scary.  Your body is trying to protect itself but it doesn’t do a good job of it when it’s in this mode.

I get to tweakerkids house..”Hey,” he says and I’m glad to see him.

He hops in my car and he pays me.

“You got any other drugs?” I ask.

“Yeah, [thought you’d never ask] You wanna come in?” he says.

He’s chillin with a Latino 20 something, smokin a little meth and watching music videos, nothing too crazy…

I need to decompress my thoughts with someone, anyone.  Facebook helped a bit but I could tell I needed more…The idea of the proposition of going to see Vulture and kenny actually sent me into a post traumatic anxiety attack and I didn’t even go over there!  It was the prospect of having to face someone that had violated you again.  I’ve done it before and i don’t like it, although in my case it was at a funeral and it worked out well but still clearly my body did not like it judging from how much I was freaking out.

I wanted to do drugs to escape these feelings.  I knew that he would have something.  Not my drug of choice but something.  I was seeking safety.  this concept is straight out of a clinical book I am reading to heal myself.  We call it “medicating” even though it is drinking, smoking weed or something else because it is how we have coped.

I hit the glass pipe and watched the white meth smoke make a long cloud…bigger than the exhale of marijuana smoke.  I did that about 7 or 8 times and told them about my definition of anal violation and why I was even tripping.  2 other guys listening to my story and not hurting me.  My weed client and I were used to having intellectual conversations about various things and that’s why he liked me but I’m sure his best friend was shocked by me.  “I’m an escort, right,”I say,”and I’m having this dilemma…” i know it’s not a normal intro to someone but I’m far from normal most of the time. I stayed for another hour, the drugs were weak.  I wasn’t getting that high.  I suppose I was supposed to stay all nite and all morning.  “We can go out and get some more.” he said but i didn’t want to. “I didn’t know you do this..”he said smiling..

“I don’t.” I said.  “Tonight is just crazy. I need something, that’s all.”

I drove away from there, straight to the gas station to make my needle go from E to F with glee, and realized I wasn’t tweaked at all.  In hour later I was in bed.  I thought I set my cell phone alarm but apparently I didn’t press the DONE button.  I woke up late and with an $80 ticket on my car.  the 2nd one in a week.  My therapist tried to blame it on me smoking meth, but smoking meth with them was my harm reduction.  It was the best thing I did for myself in comparison to going to try to fuck with the original proposition of seeing if indeed they wanted me to come over there to just “hang out.”  I texted him before I went to bed “I CAN’T FUCK WITH YOUR FRIEND.”  I didn’t even know if it was a real proposition either, because Kenny didn’t even call again after I went to sleep.  and usually he would call back a million times but he didn’t.  It made me think in the morning that it was all a hoax.  They were going to lead me 40 minutes into a fake address for nothing.

Everyone is so freaked out by crystal meth.  Having hung out with queen of long term use, Candy, the one I was an unofficial social worker for, I should be freaked out by it too.  Having overdosed in the desert and landed in the emergency tent with a rehydration needle in my neck, you would think I’d be freaked out by it too..  But it doesn’t call me to do it.   I do it so very rarely just to triumph over that time I did it in the desert ten years ago.  In total I’ve done it less times than you are probably thinking right now.  The side effects are so major and long term compared to the high though.  For the next two days my throat was soo insatiably dry.  But I didn’t even get high, which what was annoying.  I went to sleep!  My anxiety was gone, and perhaps that was the high.  Like Ridlin for the ADHD kid.  I talked and these boys listened and maybe that was the high I needed.  I had no fear and no regret and that was the best thing that I could have done with the way I was feeling.  In some people’ (like my exboyfriend)’s minds I hit the evil crystal pipe and I was on my way to hell.  To me, I sought safety in it and in these other strange dudes who I was more sure were not trying to hurt me.  And I sat there smoking and educating them for a minute and then I went home calm.  I sit here blogging it trying to explain, but hopefully someone out there reads this and has been through something similar.  It’s called Seeking Safety.  It’s a book I’m reading about PTSD and drug use, but I’m adapting it to marijuana use which I don’t actually see as drug use… I smoke weed everyday and I don’t see it as a drug.  Other drugs I might sell or do with clients when they come around, but I don’t usually seek them.  They fall in my lap.  This particular night, however, I sought them to block my path to self destruction.  It was a substitution reckless for another reckless act, but since i didn’t really get high, it was not that destructive.  I fantasize about being on the border of creating a new sickness, an addiction which countless drug addicts have done to make sense of all in life that is so troubling and so traumatic but not physically visible.  So they create diseases and absesses so the world can see them suffering, or at least if not the world, they themselves can see it.  I am not there.  or even close.  yet.

i  may likely indulge  in recreational/casual and impulsive drug use (like this) well into my late 50s or beyond as long as it is around me.  Meth is just another drug, not more powerful than the others but one I stay away from because of the harsh side effects to my singing muscle (so drastically even after one use)  and my real dreams.  i remember Candy used to call me and he voice wasn’t understandable, the meth smoke had mangled her vocal chords for the week and maybe longer, the words fading in and out with so much strain.  Listening to Whitney Houston’s voice after cocaine is such a shocker.  She was the greatest love of all!  A gold medal Olympic level vocal athlete..and on this tune “i didn’t know my strenghth” she sounds like older Patti LaBelle.  or Taylor Dayne.  Worse.

Sex work does not always have to be risky, deceptful or include drugs.  But for me to usually profit, it had to include one, the other or both.  Right now, I am not advertising, work is slow so risks are cut down,  I’m not on Craigslist cuz they blocked me, I’m not on the corner… or crusing bars in downtown hotels even.  I cut out bad regulars like Kenny (again) but mostly I quit my traumatic and risky agency job.  Independent escorting doesn’t pay the bills for me, unfortunately I only really made most of my money being the “bait and switch” closer who stayed up and drove 3 nights a week til 6am.

I should be rewarded for reducing risk, but instead I am paying the price of retiring from a lifestyle that I struggled to hold on to as long as I could..making money was constantly traumatic like this…that’s why I quit.  this is why I am broke.  If I could work for a real madam or pimp who booked Elliot Spitzer types of clients then I’d be happier.  But there are also risks there.  now you’re in Federal outlaw territory where speaking out will land you tied to a roof with a noose around your neck and suicide note in your handwriting that you didn’t write.  (DC Madam, Brandy Britton)  But I like pure risk free non dangerous clients that compensate well too.  And I feel like I deserve them but don’t know how to get them.  And of course everyone knows what I am doing wrong but me and how I could or should be making more money like them.   Instead I’ve been a hustler on the agency circuit, craigslist hustler, internet whore…Any big money I ever made always included one of us fucked up on drugs or alcohol.  And it usually wasn’t me.  And I don’t feel bad for it at all because if it wasn’t me collecting their money during their blackouts, it would some other bitch.

#2 HOE COMMANDMENT

If you are in it to win it, you MUST remain MORE sober than them.  If you stay slightly in more control than them, you will usually profit triple.  Do drugs to socialize and gain trust but not to get fucked up. If you sell it, don’t carry it on you, cut it down and tax it triple.  (Buying from me is like buying a beer at a football game.  You willingly and repeatedly consent to any inflation.)

Everyone has PTSD.  The world is so traumatic.  We seek to replay these traumatic sequences and do something about them, to regain control.  And I like a superwhore trying to save myself and the world, could have it no other way which is why I never felt like sex work is always a choice.  I was like one of the superheroes who found out about their super power when animal hairs started growing on their back..and my fate also has been very similar…stripping started to set me free, and real sex for money set me more free.  Smoking meth and going to sleep is not the usual prescription for harm reduction, but I have to say, I am very glad that I resisted all I did and came out ahead without even fighting.

02
Oct
09

Pimps and Vultures

Settling into my office chair, medicating and trying to make sense of the anxiety and apathy I feel this afternoon.  I cashed a check from one of my few regular rent paying benefactors and turned in a partial payment to my property manager.  I’ve been paying the late fee and paying 60% of my rent on time for the last 4 months.  Sometimes it takes me up to 2 weeks to make $300.  Somedays I go for 7-8 days without income.  Last month, I paid the rent with the money the guy who crashed into my car gave me and a $175 focus group.  And it wasn’t in full or on time.  Yesterday I think I threw in my minds towel.  I hate not being able to afford to eat a small pizza and drink wine at a restaurant that I am trying to clammour onto the stage list to sing a song with the combo that has been hired for that night’s jazz open mic.  I go to venue after venue trying to get on stage this way, and it is never guaranteed.

I got caught trying to ditch the pizza and wine bill last night.  I played it off like I was going outside to take a phone call but the waitress caught on and ran after me.  “Are you going to settle your tab?” she said.  “Oh, my bad.” I said reaching into my pocket for the last $20 bill I would have for who knows how long.  I felt inclined to steal from the owner who was heavily flirting with me and had comped me a house cock-tail while I waited for my turn.  It was what I needed and more.  I would love to just be holed up in some room somewhere with some dude doing lines and getting wasted instead of try to figure out whether I would ditch my restaurant tab so I could fill my gas tank and get home from the Valley.

The restaurant owner was also a vocalist.  It was like he knew what I was about, pulled his chair up next to me and asked me what I did…I always accept propositions, especially from potential tricks.  And if they sing and own restaurants but are still sleazy then I automatically try to work them.  Heterosexual and in your 40s, flirting with me is like stoking my hustlers fire and begging me to ask you for money.  I used to be sooo good at ditching the bill when I was younger.  Not that I’ve done it a lot.  Especially not in the ten years that I’ve been doing sex work, it seems like money has never been so scarce.  I was embarassed a bit that I got caught, but the residual feelings just turned into anxiety which woke me up at 6am…How bad are things in your life when you have to steal food? But I’m stealing access to the social network which makes me feel and be normal instead of the gold digging thief that I just proved myself to be.  But I was hungry, there was a 2 drink minimum and I needed the wine to calm my nerves before going up there.  And driving home with your fuel lite on means that you need gas like you need food.  But you could do nothing and stay home.  and not sing.  and not drink and not try.  that’s what fake sister would say.  Or real sister perhaps.  The I love you card idea did NOT go over well.  It was a disaster.  My sister who lent me money is only really capable of that.  She does not want to dialogue with me in any sort of emotional way, became attached to her significant other at age 17 and has been able to be more involved in that family and now her own instead of ours for almost 20 years.  I asked her to say one positve thing about me.  She said,”Nena (her daughter) says you make nice presents and she lets us play games on her phone..” I was talking about how she always made me feel like a pathetic loser earlier.  I said,”I know that the kids love me, but can YOU?”  and if it wasn’t one or two word answers as her response, she said,”Stop texting me.  I’m watching D (her son’s) game.”  No reciprocation.  No support.  Yes, she gave me $500.  But that’s the kind of loving supportive environment I was raised in.  That’s the relationship I have with money and love and survival and why I have become the urban geisha.  All of the most famous ass kicking trailblazers in entertainment have the need to find LOVE from an audience or a greater entity than their family.  Michael Jackson said “I just wanted to be loved.” in his tapes.  Jenna Jameson.  Madonna.  All of them had dysfunctional emotionally blind parents who never acknowleged their gifts so they had to go above and beyond them to prove to themselves and the world that they were worth loving…

When I was losing my virginity with my first boyfriend, my mom let him stay at my house almost every night.  So did his mom I guess, come to think of it.  My sister’s boyfriend’s were also always at home with us and my mom was at work always late at night trying to raise the family.  For that I give her the credit she is due, but her lack of interest in what her daughters were doing with their romantic and sexual lives during a crucial period in their development has also had a huge impact on who I am.  My mom is bad with setting boundaries, she never told our boyfriends to go home.  It’s no wonder I have a codependent boyfriend addiction today.  Some people think that because a mother or father did “their job” by birthing and raising you that they deserve unconditional love forever.  But I’m a big one on reciprocal love.  I love those that love back.  This is why I have Scarlot Harlot, my whore mother.  She talks about emotions and has mentored me out of the darkness, lent me money and far more than my real mother would ever dream of.

When I got my Master’s Degree from Graduate School, only my dad was present.  No one really cared or gave me credit for getting another degree or being a teacher.  It did not matter to them whether I was a teacher or a prostitute, so it’s not like I did it to rebel.  I got into the sex industry as stipper because my mother kicked me and my sister out of her house because we got tattoos.  My tattoo was of a magic wand and barbed wire to commemorate the pain of her rejecting me after I told her I had been sexually assaulted.    The family preferred me to be a teacher, I guess, but they didn’t really care either way.  Losing my apartment here and moving home to my sisters house to live with my mom would be the equivalent of emotional death to me.  I’d rather explore other options, like stab myself with an HIV+ heroin needle.   When I am out of pot and in the throes of depression, I have those thoughts.  My therapist says that they aren’t real plans but after having a pimp come to my house and try to hustle my soul, I think that no one really knows how thin the line is between sanity and insanity, between living and dying.  I work in the AIDS grocery handout program as part of my punishment for my prostitution conviction and I get to see all the people in LA dying and living with AIDS.  They stand in line weekly to get their “neccessities of life.”  Meat, milk, cheese, toilet paper, shampoo even.  It is more generous than the food stamp program that non AIDS residents get for sure.  I concur with them how great it is to have these necessities.  Being broke too I am so grateful when I can finally get money to get MY neccessities of life after going without for days.

I am in PURE  survival mode and getting away with it without getting caught was pretty much the name of the game as an agency escort, of which I spent my last 3 years in LA doing.  I’ve pulled twenty dollar bills out of the pockets of assholes that claim they don’t have money to tip me, and even though I was the wrong girl, I felt DETERMINED to get mine.  (think of the M.I.A song “take your money”).  I had gotten dressed and showed up goddamit.  These guys OWED ME something for my time.  And if I could get it, I would try.  Some of them begged me to hit them.  I put my foot in the door of his condo and he put his fingers on my middriff and pushed me back.  “Yes, I am putting my hands on you…what are you going to do about it?” I fancy he says…

FUCK THIS DRUG ADDICT UP.  He’d make a good punching bag.  Do it.

I am officially sick of always being broke.  This has to be the longest streak I’ve gone without caving in and going back to the agency PIMP or going back to the not solving anything with my pathetic codependent boyfriend (living off the avails without working=pimp) or even worse with a real Black PIMP from the LBC.   And every other day I am getting hit hard by the parking ticket police and/or by overdraft fees.  Taxing me.  STATE PIMPS.  Banking pimps.  City of LA pimps.  There is NO way to do community service in LA to work off your parking tickets.  If you can’t pay the $80 ticket, it doubles in 21 days and then caps off at $120.   I pay them so much more than I make and they are so good at keeping simultaneously poor and dependent on what they have.  (A bank account and the right to park and drive in the city).

I have a parking ticket DISORDER however.  I have no idea what is wrong with me.  I wish I could cure it.  I wish I could get a parking space by my house, that MIGHT solve the problem.  I was just sitting at my desk finally daring to look at how much I’ve accumulated in just ten months of driving and parking with anxiety, depression, frantic panic attacks (usually caused by getting tickets)..I currently owe the city $1100.  It is insane.  I could have gotten my wisdom teeth which are impacted and aching on my jaw everyday extracted.  If you are too poor to pay th original fee, you will be taxed TRIPLE. And eventually when you get 5 tripled tickets that you can’t pay then they drive around with a metal boot for your car, so you are forced to pay the tickets to get the boot off. Your choice?  Not drive or leave LA.  If the bank decides to fuck up your account by holding onto one charge just long enough so that your account overdraws in their favor, they will gladly hit you up with 5 overdraft fees in a row.  Too broke to pay your bills?  PIMPS LOVE THIS.  THEY ARE VULTURES.  Preying on the weary and the hungry.  Brainwashers and Liars.

Golddigging for sugar daddies on the internet will attract real pimps.  You can find them in the adult gigs section of Craigslist looking for their bottom (#1)  bitch..”Be in charge of the other girls.”  Pimps come in all colors and are usually MALE, when i refer to them.  Having a healthy distrust of Black male “clients” in the sex industry is generally a good idea especially if they are talking about spending money on you.  Real Black clients with money don’t front like that because of the pimp reputation that is already laid down.  Silent rules like DON’T do dates in your own hood, or going into bad neighborhoods. There is no anti-racism in your protective plan.  Just stereotypes and plain reality of your chances of survival.  I once took a bachelor party gig in the hood.  I wasn’t the dancer, I was the “security” LOL.  The dumb bitch I booked to dance did such a shitty job for all 12 of these Black guys, she nearly got us killed, but instead they stole back the money they paid us and none of us got paid.  But no one does Bachelor parties in the hood for a reason…the stereotypes are usually true.  This dancer was Black and she was too scared or lame to dance for them…that’s when you know you’re in trouble.  MOST Black sex workers don’t like Black dates.  If it isn’t because they know that there are a lot of Black pimps and they are already loyal to one, it’s because Black men have the rep of not tipping and being really really demanding for $1.

Legally, anyone who profits off of the avails of prostitution could be charged with pimping.  In that case, I was technically a pimp.  Therefore, every business a prostitute frequents could be her pimp.  Female management, madams are pimps if they EXPLOIT, LIE, BRAINWASH, IMPLANT FEAR, PHYSICALLY OR SEXUALLY ABUSE/ASSAULT, MANIPULATE WITH DRUGS OR OTHER DEPENDENCY, and INDULE IN HEARTLESS CAPITALISM UNDER THE FACADE OF SOMETHING MORE BENIGN (“democracy” or “eradicating terrorism” “protection” or “home”) or even NOBLE.

Stripclub Managers, their goon security, their entourage of VIP bitches, their illegal stage fees are all part of the biggest LEGAL non Black pimp game in the U.S.  Holding girls in the dressing room while management beats up a customer is PIMPIN.  Telling a stripper to come up to his office so she can work off her stage fee is PIMPIN.  Stage fees period are pimp shit.  Making a stage fee so high that a stripper HAS to fuck in order to pay it.  Lying Sack of shit mafia lawyers.  And it happens in every club across the U.S..PIMPIN SOOOOO EZ..

Not all sex industry managers have to pimp.  But some always do because they can.   Like those posters you see of home loans in Bank of America and Wells Fargo Banks.  “We’re Here for You.” they say. “We’re more than just your bank..”they say.  Yeah.  I say.  You’re my fucking PIMP.  You are a brainwasher and liar and you are TAKING MORE MONEY than I’m making in overdraft fees.  You are hindering my survival yet I am dependent on you.  And if you are the bank backed by the Federal Reserve and the Presidents word then pimpin IS EZ and it is done on the backs of those that can afford it the least.  And then there are the pimpable.  the vulnerable.  the addicted.  protective armour and boundaries were beaten or raped out of them, made weaker by addictions…the hopeless codependents looking for someone to lead their way even if it means taking all they make in exchange for housing and paying a little attention to them, enticing the carrot of love in front of them…

Pimpin can also be a deadbeat boyfriend who makes a girl work in prosititution before his lazy incompetent rock star with a habit or aspiring mafioso plan can make some money to pay the rent or bills.  A manager who directly profits off of booking his girlfriend.  My exboyfriend may not have really like that I was a sex worker, but he lived off the avails, and at times was employed as my driver, my errand boy who would make a little money every time I made money, so he could not complain about anything.

Now the aforementioned Black pimp both IS and is not an urban myth.  As I’ve mentioned not all pimps wear hats and gold teeth (but some DO! FOR REAL!).  Some are even female.  Bella of Bella’s brothel and her daughter were exploitative pimps.  They loved to make the street workers NEED the brothel.  The same thing is happening with the current legalization movement in Nevada.  The brothel owners create a hysterical public outcry against “illegal prostitutes” so the the only viable option would be working in the “safer” and “cleaner” brothels.  All brothel owners ARE pimps.  Most of them men, one woman.  Dennis Hoff is a pimp.  Bella’s daughter showed me pictures of a bruised beat up worker who had gotten beat up by her trick once she dared tried to go “independent.”   Hue Heffner and his girls next door?  This fool is pimpin so EZ that he and his girls are socially acceptable to most middle American bachelorette party girls watching in envy as Kendra gets married to some football player..

So recently I talked to a Black pimp from the LBC who lured me in as a trick with money that he wanted to spend on me.  As soon as I call back the number the person who picks up hangs up.  This happens twice.  I give up. Then he calls back the next day and leaves a message, talking about his phone was messed up.  After the second time I decided to tell his sorry ass off on his voicemail because I was already at the end of my rope with internet time wasters as it is.  He tried to pimp me on the phone by trying to make me feel sorry for him, saying his wife died in a car accident and he hadn’t had sex with anyone for a year since she died!  He was trying to get into my soul,”What’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to you?” he said and even as I spill my guts to you on this blog, I didn’t tell him shit.  “Why are you so mean?” he said steady trying to move forward on me.  I was entertaining his dialogue as an enlightened hoe I guess, trying to lure HIM while he was trying to lure me into his spell, hoping that there would some money at the end of the rainbow.  At that time my internet connection was shut off so I couldn’t look up his name or phone number and see if anything came up.  The next morning he says he wants to come over and because I am desperate and need money, I agree.  Then at the last minute he changes his donation to drugs.  He has morphine and vicodin and now he is a medical student at UCLA he says.  Oh, then when you come over can I see your student ID?  Of course he had none of this.  When he comes over in his Black Mercedes Benz with the tinted windows and the child seat in the back he shows me the bottle.  I kind of knew they were vicodin but he told me they were oxycotins which have a street value of $80 a pill.  I didn’t have the internet so i couldn’t look up the code on the pill..He was here already and I needed money or product, because I currently had nothing.

I broke the #1 hoe commandment:

DON’T GET PAID IN JUST DRUGS.  Either get some cash or nothing.  Know the street value of what you are trading. (Are you having unprotected anal for a $25 bag of speed?)  Get the cash equivalent.  Tricks that try to play you like this are just trying to use you and make you their dependent or sell you drugs or both. Dealers can break you off because it’s cost is nothing to them, plus they get pussy from phenes for free…but that’s NOT you, right?

I’ve run across major drug dealers and trade sex for drugs AND some cash usually.  It’s a barter system.  I sell it to the next crack head I see for triple.  But I’m careful.  Last thing I need is a drug possession and sales charge.  I tax it triple and never carry it on me, that’s the only way.  Women who hustle drugs are usually hustling sex too.  The two games are intertwined for women.  Why? Because pussy IS power.  and weakness.  Once, I got about an OUNCE of OG Kush from a pot dealer who was also a former owner of a revolutionary bookstore.  I sure wished he would have been a regular customer, but most of the dealers that I’ve happened upon don’t return my calls or pick up once I call again.  I believe they were either trying to sell me just drugs hoping I was a phene or don’t want anyone to know where or who they are.  Having seen first hand the shitty deals that try to go down when people are not doing SEX WORK but are TRADING SEX FOR DRUGS ONLY is never the cash equivalent.  Once you are in a place where you JUST trading, then you’ve probably got a habit and are probably hanging out with TRICKS who have NO respect for you, your safety or your boundaries.  And that’s how prostitutes get so ragged and fucked up by drugs.

This pimp was no different.  Everything he said was a lie, and he was a racist Black fool with an Asian fetish.  But I humored him because I wanted money from him.  Not ongoing sugar daddy money for I knew by now that he was a pimp, as he asked me to come live with him during our first phone conversation.   LOL, When I actually think about it I don’t think the Black equivalent to sugar daddy really exists.  There are ONLY Black pimps who are usually the manipulators not the manipulatees, which a sugar daddy usually is.  Unless you count Russell Simmons!  When he walked towards my house he kept looking behind him and he looked out the window several times while he sat on my couch.  I fucked him for a bottle of vicodin.  $60?  not sure, because I didn’t have internet but whatever it was it was more than I had before he came over.  I snorted a line and it gave me a buzz, but he hurried me to the bedroom saying he had to leave which didn’t give my body enough time to digest it.

Was this pimp a king in the bedroom like the word implies?  No.  He had a tiny little dick and he was done in 10 minutes like the rest of the good tricks.  He saw a kiddie piano that I had had since my San Francisco days, acquired from a lover I had then.  “I’ll give you $50 for this.” he said.”My son will love this.” and as I knew that he was lying, I really really hoped that perhaps he wasn’t as desperate for SOME cash as I was.  “I’ll give it to you next time I see you.” he said. and for the same reason it was that I let him get as far as he did, he was out the door with it.  I let it go as I figured that if I lost my apartment I would be having ridiculous giveaway yard sales of stuff I’ve acquired from old lovers but never used.  And he had a 1 year old who was crying on the phone while he was talking to me and trying to get me under his spell, trying to make this pimp seem more benign, because he was a Black man who took care of his kids.  I figured that the boy would enjoy it more than me and I was just letting it gather dust.  He would say over and over,”You don’t have to be so mean.  I’m NOT trying to hustle you.” he said looking me straight in the eyes.  and I didn’t believe him, and resented him for trying to play me but in a little way I let him. But I was being mean in order to protect myself.  Femme domme bitch screening a sub.  I was taking on something that I knew was risky but I would try to see if I could get something out of doing it.  I like to talk to real pimps sometimes just so I can confirm their insane thinking so I can write about it in songs.   “Why are you so mean?” he’d say not knowing that it was men like him who made me meaner and meaner every damn day.  All the Black girls in jail bragging about their pimps.  The girl who would “fuck so hard for her daddy once she got out”….for the same reason I worked at a brothel and allowed myself to be pimped for a week, I enticed a pimp to my house even though I knew he was full of shit and traded sex for drugs and a baby piano.  Good work Ms. Passion.  It’s all for art!  at least..

I can be horribly weak with those that don’t respect boundaries and can manipulate a no into a yes like it’s an art.  This is how my exboyfriend stayed in my house for as long as he did.  This is how a submissive got me to buy a PC laptop to do a website that he never did.  Once I got internet access and realized that every single word and sentence that this man said was a big lie I knew that I lost my piano and I had just been had for a $60 bottle of pills.  I thought I had scored some good dope, but all I had was crappy painkillers that sell on the street for $5 each.   But that’s the game.   Sometimes you lose.  And sometimes you play with people that you know are playing you for one round, just to try to strengthen your game, but it ends up hurting you more usually cuz the game ain’t designed for winning.  But he didn’t hurt me.  I’m not a drug addict or as hopeless pimpable as some of the girls he preys on.  I don’t need love from just anyone, especially not someone that I can’t control easily…not that I have to be dominant always, which as you see I’m not, but this pimp was so manipulative..I put his phone number in my phone under SLICKBACK and watched how many times since that day he’s tried to ring my phone.  I’m done with him though.  I fear pathological liars actually and what I did with him went against my 10 hoe commandments and I didn’t even really come up for it.  The pills were weak, nothing to brag about.  And this loser who said he was a former NFL football player now had a belly, was unattractive and a horrible lay.  The little boy was probably bottom bitch’s kid that he “borrowed” for our phone conversation.  Even if I was homeless and living in my car, I wouldn’t live with him.  I won’t even let him through the phone call that I pick up.  I lost the piano.  I don’t even want to hear a false promise to lure myself back  into any sort of contact.  Pathological liar and heartless = scary.  Keep my piano.  I’ll get something for these pills.

Another vulture tried to get me to come over his house in exchange for some kush weed.  Swoop me up and give me drugs and drop me off the next day with $100 and a sore pussy?  Puuuleease.  I’m not that much of a pot or coke head.  I don’t even think pot can tempt you quite like crack or other drugs can like that which is why people don’t call it a drug.  I’d rather steal my dinners than give in to pimps and vultures…but that doesn’t mean that they don’t peck at my body while I lay here trying not to die..




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