Archive for the 'drunk' Category

17
Oct
11

Where’s Your SelfEfuckingSteem? Send Out The Clowns!

Today I killed a clown, or did a clown kill me?  I was feeling so fucking great waking up with someone holding me again, wrapping their arms around me and kissing me and kissing me and kissing me.  Someone massaged my shoulders and made me breakfast again one morning…I was doing everything better.  I wasn’t seeing this person or talking to him every day.  I wouldn’t allow myself to spend all day in bed love bonding with orgasms to fuel the toxic formula which has been proven to be the downfall of most codependent relationships…

Where is your self efuckingsteem?” He asked me when I picked him up shitfaced from OccupyLA.  I thought it was funny when he said it at the time, I really did.

[If you treat me like shit] I will NOT love you LONG TIME.  Nope.  Definitely not.  This I know from experience, especially if someone causes me so much pain in such a short period of time.  Luckily all this stuff goes in vicious cycles, so if you missed it the first time it hit you [me] in the face, rest assured it would come around again and again and again and as you kept trying so hard to juggle all the balls, they kept being thrown at you and all of them falling faster than the music, faster than you could chase after them down the hill, onto the freeway, lost forever….

I found out today that I have codpendent tendencies, but no, I am not a hopeless codependent.  I am becoming less and less so with every romantic partner.  They are following a vicious cycle, but they are coming in and out of my life like acid rain storm clouds.  Messing up my atmosphere and then it clears up faster and faster and faster disappearing into another bright and sunny Los Angeles day.  Rinse.  Repeat.

Love and Sex addicted I am not.  My counselor is always suggesting I go to meetings of different types.  I look up the definitions and read the meeting descriptions and laugh.  the funny thing is that once I stopped using weed, the sex between us changed.  it was sooo amazing the first night and then it was decent, but he still needed to be trained.   It was the intimacy/cuddling/affection and passionate kissing is what I live for everytime.  It’s what I turn my phone off and drive across town to get even for a little bit.  Even if it means sleeping on a mattress on the floor in a messy 23 year old’s room in his mama’s house.   I had temporarily quit using marijuana for most of this affair, which was related to me catching a cold and wanting to have a different relationship to substances of my own accord.  Now that I look back on it, that’s how I should have seen that he was an addict.  Because he was in no way trying to respect my desire to try to be sober, trying to get me to break and give in to using weed every time we saw each other.  It was pretty easy to resist as I was determined.  Even when I told him it was for the future baby (not his necessarily).  This is why he didn’t drive.  This is why he had a broken collarbone and a broken heart.  I only went back to MaryJane tonite but I don’t feel guilty about it.  I knew I would break down and use when it was “absolutely neccessarily.”   I felt stronger instantly.   It was Maryjane or the clown.  And I chose wisely.

This affair was short but sweet sixteen days,  because we went through all of the same bits and pieces faster for some reason.  He flaked on me again.  Twice in a row, the second time was the last time.  He was unapologetically drunk again and I did not desire to pick him up and make things better with his alcoholic embrace.  The last time was to fix my pathology and this time would be to appease his, and I was able to refuse it much easier.  An obnoxious drunk is easier to turn down than a slick romantic abuser manipulator.  If he had called me up drunk telling me that he was sorry he didn’t mean to hurt me, he needed help or some other smoother story like my other abusers were able to come up with other than the sorry pathetic one he presented I may have gone to pick him up instead of cut him off.

I did not imagine that he was massaging his female friend’s shoulders in front of me the other day. She was low key challenging my worth, even asking me where I went to school. (I have a Master’s Degree actually, I told her).  I didn’t like the situation at all. I felt like I was amazing artist Frida Kahlo watching her asshole fat ass non deserving but talented husband Diego Rivera paw her sister in front of her (“I know I don’t believe in monogamy, but I know I don’t feel good right now”) It challenged my views on open relationships and non monogamy even though me and the clown were not yet in an official relationship he knew that I liked him and should have talked to me about her before touching her in front of me.   Jealousy and pain.  Too much too fast.  Do they do this on purpose just to see if you will still be there after they shoot daggers at you?

He actually told me that he wanted to keep fucking me and stop kissing me when I told him I had herpes.  I burst into tears and cried so hard all day that my eyes hurt at night. (you cannot automatically get herpes from kissing/fucking someone with herpes, even if they have an outbreak on their lip (tho of couse MORE risky indeed as any open sore is), but it is especially not risky if they don’t though the “always contagious”  and “even condoms won’t protect you” doctrine is still prescribed by some doctors and sex educators).  I don’t even get those big open sores that you often see on people’s lips.  And condoms don’t protect you when your making out with someone, that is the reason behind that statement.

I did not use weed to feel better that day.  I called him and asked him to make it better, to kiss away the pain he had caused..   I do not kiss my clients because I want every kiss I give someone to mean something.  I want commercial intimacy and personal intimacy to always be different and mostly but not always something special. It makes making out with someone as exciting as it was when I used to do it at an 8th grade dance at times.   I don’t have the strength to fight the whore stigma anymore these days.  I really really don’t, even though when I wear my fancy sexy whore revolutionary outfit it appears as if I do.  And I do on the outside.  A trained warrior.  Just not on the inside.   I’d been through too much lately.  Had a shit of time internet dating on several sites,  so I had literally just given it up before I met him.  He was like a godsend when I met him at a Burningman party.  I stumbled into someone I had been looking for on the internet in the “real world.”  The first day he made me cry so hard was the first time I asked him to make things better in his embrace.  “You need to make it better.” I cried, knowing that that was just a band aid solution and that I was willingly following an unhealthy relationship pattern that was too familiar to me.  I am a survivor of relationship violence, so I will always have a tendency to seek comfort in asking the violator to heal me when I can.  And of course, he did, gave me a colorful lollipop to cheer me up (in one hand, and a can of Modelo beer in the other) when I picked him up and kissed me passionately, holding my face like I love, filling me with hot flames of desire, making me feel whole again as I rocked my hips towards him.  Later that night as we were walking to the protest (it was awesome that we were both activist/artist types), he was laughing while I was telling him about my feelings from the day and I guess I punched him pretty hard in the chest to stop his laughter.  I didn’t think that I did but he acted pretty wounded.  It’s likely since I’ve returned to martial arts and he made me cry earlier that I could have hit him harder than I thought.  But this is another codependent trick, to flip the blame on the victim. (An ex abuser has started an argument based on the fact that I “accidentally grazed him in the balls on purpose”)  Now I am the abuser.  I have been the person to hit my boyfriends in the arm or chest (the way you may have seen teenage couples fight)  or make violent motions towards their face without touching them to express my anger and desire to tear into them for the pain they have given me.  This is still violence I know.  I know.  If a man did this to me it would be equally problematic.  Now I am the one who should apologize profusely.  Good trick.  Do it again.  Again! Again! Again!

But the later offenses weren’t fixable with an apology or an embrace.  I had seen it before and I had walked away before.  Except the last time it took me 2.5 months and way, way more damage than this little affair had caused.

I went to (my best friend that died at 26) David’s burial ground and held my palms out and stared into his gravestone, hoping to channel his love and support, hoping like I have many times before to get his ghost to appear and talk to me for a few minutes.  I needed a friend bad.  I needed a lover and this floppy clown came along.  It was super fun for a while and taught me so much about me.  It was because I was more sober I was able to see his addictions with a clearer lens.  But I am no classic codependent, and he was a classic case of a borracho payaso drunkard.  Big clown shoes and sad story of time and creative potential wasted, lover after lover of his gone lost and walked away in sadness and anger before me and after me too no doubt…Promising talent, dedicated to his craft and a heart with the potential to shine a room full of children or make even the smartest, sexiest female in the room take him home.  But he clearly had no self esteem only self hatred that filled his belly which was not fat with food.  not fat with love.  Addicts make it so hard to be loved but they want and need it the most.  I know this because I have fallen in love with too many of them, except that they were closet addicts able to hold up a facade much better than this clown so our affairs would end up being longer.  No mas.  Where is my self efuckingsteem?  I still have it apparently.  I would rather be codependent with Maryjane than an alcoholic.  What I was proving to myself lately though was that I wasn’t a drug addict, I could exist without cannabis medicating through traumatic times, through the triggers, through the sadness.  But tonight,  I took comfort in her vapor and through the steam cloud I was able to dry my tears and open my eyes and see again.  I am going to use weed differently.  I am still committed.  I am going to love and do relationships differently.  I already have been.  I mourn for the loss of him and placed his number on my wireless carrier block list.  The familiar block list that I put all my ex boyfriends and lovers so I do not have to cave into them calling me in the middle of the night with sweet promises, even if they talk of them after the pain has subsided months later….I will not go back.

Yes, I am a naive child spirit that still wanders lost in the body of a 35 year old woman, but apparently I am not as vulnerable and desperate as I look sometimes.  I did do better this time, So send out the clowns.

03
Sep
09

Wanna Add Me as Your Friend?

The nice thing was that a lot of Asian woman thanked me for performing afterwards, which was nice.  No one bought any books though.  My dad’s review was pretty harsh, “it was, uummm, a reading of sorts, kinda rap, kinda poetry but if at your  next  performance of this “Ms Wong”, try to leave out holding the notes. You were nervous…With a four star rating scale, I’d give you 2 stars.”  Oh well.  All I can say is,”at least I have a father that I can show my sex work art (the pieces without overt sexuality) and performances” to and I am thankful for that.  The poem is about a few real people at real moments that they may have interacted with me in our lives together, or perhaps they are things that I imagined or internalized or fantasized about…I am an artist AND I am sensitive.  (The latter is the excuse that my sisters give me whenever I attempt to express any legitimate hurt).  if you HURT me, you become part of my intellectual process to heal what you did and therefore will probably appear in my blog, my artwork, my songs…Be warned.  I will change your name but you will know it’s you when you read it.

My real sister recently lent me $500 so that I would be able to stay housed.  That was a huuuuuuuge gesture for her and it meant a lot to me.  I am planning to write her a birthday card, which is coming up soon and try to have a conversation which attempts to convey this appreciation.  And I might even throw in the word LOVE.  perhaps at the end, with a comma at the end so it doesn’t seem so direct, like “I love you.”  which might repel her.  My fake sister was the one who actually hurt me and my real sister lent me money.  My fake sister said all kinds of fucked up things to me on my Facebook and my real sister didn’t say anything.  Real sister and I  had a 20 minute conversation about my sex work transition and my relationship ending and THAT was a pinnancle moment for us.  My family does NOT know how to communicate emotionally.  We do not tell each other “I love you.” Even before my mom knew I smoked weed, she never called unless I called her first.  It was not about the marijuana, the sex work, the rapes…it was just her.  The way she knows how to love.  My sisters and mom are similar.  I grew up with all women, but it certainly wasn’t that same “femme love” feeling that you get when you are an adult in “women only spaces.” No wonder I loved it so much when I first came out as queer.  For the first time, in my first Dyke march I was ENGULFED in a SEA of WOMYN who were loving each other’s feminity, survival and love of each other without shame…

There is a lot of history that my fake sister has no idea about but chose to comment on and that was one of things that was the most offensive.  She said things that were MORE condescending and disdainful than my real sister who I grew up having issues with!  She channelled this voice of who my real sister was before she was married with children.  Real sister has improved a lot since then, and is not quite so quick to serve up biting remarks unless she is pushed to do so.  Even though she gave me money to survive, she still has a lot of clear emotional and other boundaries with me and her kids.  Her kids love and adore me, and her daughter tries, to her regret to imitate me.  But her daughter does not learn her mannerisms from me, as I am not even around them that much to make that kind of influence.  Some personality qualities are inherent and obvious when kids are kids, like me masturbating at 5.  I think smoking pot is like a cerebral masturbation.  My sisters try to shame me out of masturbating, and for a while that worked until I shamefully picked the habit back up at age 9.  i did the same with pot smoking.  Temporary abstinence and unsuccessful “relapse.”  These days, my FAVORITE pasttime is masturbating while stoned.  Marijuana increases the intensity of orgasms without a doubt.   Self pleasure IS survival.  Medicating with marijuana is about self pleasure and self healing.  I’m sure people looked at Bob Marley and said,”dude you’re a loser because you smoke too much weed.” but those people are the minority.  Considering the state of political affairs in Jamaica then, and now..it is no wonder why marijuana is the choice of those oppressed by governments.  Blunts are part of hip hop and Tupac smoked because he was heavily involved in a risky life that no one except those around him could really understand.  Unfortunately, smoking crack, sniffing gasoline straight from the pump, alcohol and tobacco are also the choice of the oppressed, so understandably it gets hard to choose your poison.   If you understand and believe that the FBI and CIA have been responsible for the “suicide”, “homicide” or “death row sentencing” of people of color AND prostitution activists (RIP Deborah Jean Palfrey, Brandy Britton) , then you can understand why someone like Tupac, a second generation Black Panther  who was most definitely followed and watched by the same forces that hold Mumia in death row and the same forces that are PRESENTLY PERSECUTING 8 former BPP men from San Francisco on bogus “confessions” that were attained with torture tactics WORSE than WATERBOARDING.  He unapologetically smoked blunts to his head.  But he was an artist and KNEW from watching his mom on crack as a kid that anything else that he chose to smoke would compromise his art.

Adult families do not usually go into counseling and attempt to heal things that happened when they were growing up together.  Those issues show up in our relationships and ourselves and sometimes we go to our own counseling.   My mother spent a year in a Born Again Christian psychosis but somehow snapped out of it after being committed to a hospital for a couple of days.  She refused to go to therapy afterwards and to this day.  She has rejoined a different church and become active with the Lord again.  I prefer making art, writing and going to low cost sliding scale therapists who allow me graciously to build a tab when times are tough.  Oh, and of course, I medicate daily with marijuana.  She sees me as killing myself with smoking, and I see her as killing me with her rejection.  It’s all a vicious cycle…

To some people, I may be “addicted” to both “drugs” and “prostitution.” But I did a paradigm shift with my own healing about PHEW, TEN years ago I started my healing from sexual assault and childhood trauma with my first rape crisis counselor.    I remember going into therapy when it was “free” as an undergraduate at Berkeley and crying my eyes out til I had a pounding headache.  I remember the issues then were having head to toe eczema that I felt that I could not control.  I could collect a handful of scalp pieces that I collected from scratching my oozing head sometimes.  Sounds really really gross, I know.  It’s was equally as horrible to me and it was my body.  I believe that my eczema flare ups were a distorted way for me to find love, as my mother paid the most attention to me when I was sick with allergies or eczema.  It was one of the ways I could get her to come to my bedside…I stepped onto the stripclub stage and my eczema almost disappeared completely.  It’s been under control without steroid medications or frequent doctor visits for over ten years.

I believe whole heartedly in the mind/body connection.  I use marijuana and other drugs to explore this because it can help to open our chakra sensitivity.  (especially ecstacy) I could perhaps do it sober, with yoga, a raw vegan diet and meditation but I prefer to smoke weeeed.  why? cuz it’s fun.  it makes being alone interesting.  I make art, write, sing and blog instead of feel lonely or bored.  I hardly EVER say the sentence,”I’m bored.” and if that is the case, then I just go to sleep.  I guess I can escape to sleep when I am really depressed before I complain about being bored.

I spent A LOT of time alone as a kid.  Playing with myself (literally!  I started masturbating at 5) , riding my bike around town alone.  And before my last relationship I was single for NINE YEARS.  (think about that in terms of living in a culture which heavily emphasizes monogamous pair bonding).  For me to cope with that reality, I was happy to have discovered mary jane.  My real medicating started after a significant relationship ended when I was about 22.  Sucking on my bong while crying like a baby like it was a mother’s nipple.  It helps you stop being frantic and relaxes you..just like the nipple did.  I bet my mom stopped breast feeding me at 6 months.  I would be very surprised if I found out that she did it for longer.

the women i date are always unattainable, like the love, the comfort from my mother is…they are always not interested, more attached to boyfriends, more fucked up with issues than me…

the men and women that are attracted to me are co-dependents.  Boys that need mommies.  Ironically I play that role to them even though I never really had a nurturing relationship with my own mom.  Women are always said that they look for their fathers through men.  perhaps that is why I always date these “Fix er uppers” that never really change, but that I have to sever ties to before they destroy me.

I smoke about an 1/8th a week, which with a medical card in medical marijuana SATURATED Los Angeles is down to $35.  $140/month if I paid cash for my medicine without hustling and trading which I don’t.  The amount can but probably will not increase over time, which is why they don’t see it as an addiction.   Smoking more marijuana only will make you fall asleep, not get more medicated.  If sleep is the goal, then it’s perfect.

When I was 21, I felt like dying because the physical and emotional pain from my skin condition was so unbearable to me.  I could not imagine a life without eczema.  When I was 23, coming to terms with all the times I survived sexual violence already, I could not imagine a life free of rape trauma.  I had anxiety attacks in overtly heterosexual environments (like “straight”  bars, or cramped elevators with only 1 man).  But I healed and now, I am not well but I am better.  I am able to recognize PTSD related anxiety, the signs of disassociation that occurs and THEN I meditate myself out of survival mode, if indeed it is not a real emergency.  But, as Erykah Badu said it best,” this world is soo traumatic.”

I am exploring this book called “Seeking Safety” which is for those with “drug addiction and PTSD” which in clincial talk is a “co-occuring disorder.”  I want to read it as soon as I get enough extra money to buy it online and see if I can adapt the information to medical marijuana patients.   I have fought against a lot of medical pathologizing and am skeptical about it since “homosexuality” was a DSM-IV listed pathology until the 70s and “gender identity disorder” is a necessary part of a transgenders transition therapy.  “Prostitution” is seen as a risk behavior not work and “Survival Sex” is only relegated to those who are homeless, not those who eat dim sum.  So I read and take in what I like and adapt it to my own healing.  Healing and retraumatization are a constant process and hopefully you get better at expediting it.  Considering all of the trauma that I have survived, i have become the master at expediting my own healing because of my own self awareness of it.  I got mugged once as a sex worker two years ago and I allowed myself to lay in bed all week.

Facebook is a crazy new internet medium that I have found some comfort and obvious discomfort in.  I can’t stop being me.  I will die being me.  What’s on my mind will offend A LOT of people.  One of my cousins is surely getting a new exposure to all kinds of things about me by being my ‘friend.”  But he, like my father, is also a father and is also pretty non judgemental and supportive of me as a person, interested in getting to know me and certainly not interested in making me feel bad because I smoked weed or do sex work.

If you read this and are interested in the real ride outside the blog, the daily updates that are far more personal than what I tweet then add me: Mariko Pasion

I had to spell it with one S to appease Facebook for some reason.  I don’t know why.  It is more intimate than myspace by far.  Even more intimate and revealing than this blog.  I need to feel some sort of safety with the people there.  If you get on my wall trying to judge me or change me you won’t be successful.  I’ll block and delete you because I do not like to be hurt, even  by my “friends”, family or community.  And if you are really impactful I’ll write a song about you…but hopefully you will be impactful in a positive way instead.

20
Aug
08

DAY THREE: Card Carrying Prostitute

Today I drove 80 miles round trip to get decent groceries at the Albertson’s at Elko. Shaunia said she was going to shop for me, but I just needed to get out and also telling her everything that i needed might be impossible. She was trying to discourage me from going in a passive-assertive sort of way. I needed to get out. Plus I wasn’t cleared to work and grocery shopping is sort of an obsession that calms me. I like to shop for food. I do it constantly. I am a Trader Joes nut but the best we can do here is veggie patties and my Morningstar Farms vegetarian junk food bacon. Now I can be totally comfortable.

I THOUGHT THE LINE UP WOULD BE DEGRADING..
but it actually is not that bad. You are sitting in your room doing your thing and then a long annoying bell rings. Well, that signals to you the potential of income. So you stop what you are doing to greet the new person and line up in the front bar. There are about 5 girls working tonight and everyone just introduces themselves, with their hands behind their backs. the guy picks one of us and the rest walk back into the house to continue whatever it was that they were doing. Ideally you are supposed to go back and mingle because chances are you can get a tour if they don’t pick someone right from the line up. Maybe the guys are intimidated by the line up process too.

HOnestly, I think when I worked at the stripclubs going around asking every single guy in the room to dance once and the same reply “maybe later.” and then sitting with a few for a while, getting closed with the same “maybe later” and then FINALLY after an hour of straight hustling getting a $40 dance is MORE DEGRADING than this. Going around from club to club and meeting managers of stripclubs only to have them look me up and down and tell me to come back tomorrow at 9am and then NOT EVEN show up at said meeting is MORE DEGRADING than this. But then, I’ve always thought that full service sex work was easier than stripping.

My first client today was for a 30 minute show that seemed to last FOREVER. He was a ruff and tuff young cowboy, who said he was a local guy from Wells. But then you never know what their story really is. He fucked me like a jack hammer and I didn’t realize how not into the whole thing I was. This guy was harder than any client I had had escorting in at least a few years. Usually they cum so easily its fucking laughable. It’s easy, quick and painless for me. I’m not used to the ones who can last…

My cervix is injured. I got a coposcopy 3 days ago, which is a scraping of the cervix to screen for cervical cancer. I was part of a clinical research study. This was a DUMB thing to do before committing to work at a brothel. I could feel throbbing where I wasn’t supposed to have nerve endings..I wondered if it would hurt every time like this.

Today I went to the sheriffs department of Wells to get my official work card. I got fingerprinted, asked about my criminal background and then paid $75 to get a work card that stated that I was a “prostitute” and has my picture and thumb print. I wanted to take a picture of it but had to turn it into management when I got to the house. They don’t even let you keep it at all. It belongs to the house that you work at. The women who work there were trying to be nice. One of them made a joke that she knew that Wilshire was in LA because of the movie “Pretty Woman.” the other female worker smirked and said,”I don’t like that movie.” and I remarked, “We [most conscious sex workers] don’t like that movie either…” and I could tell they were utterly confused by my remark.

2nd client was great. A group of fire fighters came in and I think only my guy spent any money. I gave 3 of them a tour..he was nicer. We talked a lot at the bar. I really do ease into my escort sex through the whole hour and I think that that is really important when getting busy with complete strangers. But some whores are different. I think because of my recent procedure I am really needing to do some serious harm reduction to make everything really worth it. I am strong like a female cat. (Have you ever heard a female cat screech in agony when they have routine mating rituals with the male cat’s barbed penis??  Well, it’s not nearly that bad, so I figure I can be strong like that). I meditated on my strength to Mexican prayer candles I bought from the grocery store. It helped. the next guy was a college guy and was more on my spiritual level. At least he was sober. we talked for a while. All getting to know each other is not pillow talk or massage talk, like I am accustomed to, it is bar talk. But girls don’t have to, or don’t even really get to drink very much alcohol, which is another difference from the stripclubs who could give a shit if you become a coke addict just to keep up with the amount of champagne you are supposed to be selling for them.

So I’ve only had 2 clients since I hit the floor at around 4pm. That’s 12 hours. I did 3 line ups without getting picked and the one that I did get picked for before midnight happened when I was in my casual clothes just watching and I wasn’t cleared to work yet. Go figure. I’ve been dressing like a stripper here, but that gets a little tiring. I keep switching from glasses to contacts and stripper heels to flip flops. Caring to not caring about how I present.

I’m not sure if the trucker types like me. They are a need breed of client. I am getting a TRUCKER 101 from all the guys I talk to. I act wide eyed and naive about their jobs and most of them love my naivete. We all take turns reading a script on the CB radio and I find that fun and easy since I’m really a vocalist anyway but no one really knows that here. I haven’t yet touched my guitar yet, but among music, I have brought plenty of art and grant applications to work on while I have alone time in my room. This part is good…at least you get a lot of work done. I can see it like an art and work retreat where I make $$ in between.

4:50AM-they wake me up to go do a tour for the same cowboy and his wasted friend.  I am the only one in the house who will get out of bed, says the bartender.  I know that I don’t want to be ruff pawed by drunked cowboys at the crack of dawn, but I am used to working at this hour and in this manner, so it isn’t that bad to me, especially if after the negotiation i jump right back into bed.  If i were doing outcall it would mean driving somewhere and back for a potential no show, which is way more trouble than walking down the hall to the bar.

I give them a half assed sleepy tour in my glasses and shawl.  they are acting like fools and I just want to get it over with and see if they will pay me my minimum, which i doubt.  I am not fucking anyone right now for any less than $250 for ME.  (which is $500 for 30 minutes for them).  They want to do me at the same time.  $1200/hour.  ($600 for me).  They do not accept.  FINE.  I am not going any lower..they are drunk and his friend was too much so I feel that my price is totally fair and this is what I assesed it was worth, since my first client, the cowboy on the left got away with a great deal.  I usher their drunk asses to the bar and head back to bed and am thinking there was probably a way that I might have been able to get some of that money…tomorrow is a new day.




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