Friday, November 30, 2007

Thanksgiving was strange. The Professor ended up in the hospital with a blot clot. I've visited a few times, but probably not enough. Then again, I don't think I've ever written about the Professor on this blog. I will do so in the future.

The rest of the weekend I spent with my mom, mostly getting drunk in public. Actually, to tell you the truth, that's pretty much all I've done for the past few weeks. I've been going through a pretty major transition, in terms of my relationship, my life and my mental health. Tuesday I spent bar hopping on campus, which I've never done before. I ended up making out with some gorgeous girl in a bathroom for half an hour. Jon eventually carried me home after I apparently cussed out the guy at McDonalds because they weren't taking debit cards. For some reason, I get insane cravings for McDonalds cheeseburgers when I'm drunk. I don't even eat beef.

Tonight I took Makenna, my 13 year old art student, to get hot chocolate and go ice skating at Tapawingo park. It was really lovely. For the first time in a while, I felt really, really content.

My creative drive seems to be coming, maybe, out of it's slump. Today I was painting over with gesso (gesso is primer) an old canvas that had the remnants of a half-started, crappy attempt at forced creativity. I was having a hard time covering the sharpee and charcoal (it was a mixed media), but started to like the way the image sort of seeped through, ghost-like. Then I started sponging the gesso lightly over another painting that I wasn't too satisfied with. What was a fairly amatuerish painting was suddenly visually complex and very interesting. I got excited. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was going to create a good piece.

I'm trying to sublease my apartment. With the uncertainty of the building my studio's in, I should probably find a place where I can have my studio IN my house/apartment/wherever I end up. What I'd really like is a really large studio apartment or one bedroom where I can sort of have an office/studio/livingspace without them interferring with each other. And of course, I need hardwood floors. This may be a challenge to find. I may need to move to Indy. I don't really know. Blah.

Sunday, November 18, 2007

I read through one of my old journals today. It was from a few years ago, when I was living on Alabama Street, driving my Pontiac, working at the coffee shop and broker than shit. Here are some excerpts:

...I'm sick of not having money. I should just suck it up and let my parents help me. I work full time and I still don't even know how I'm going to afford a winter coat...

...Speaking of Sean, I had a big fight with him about how much money I DON'T make. I tell him I only want to work part time so I can get another part time job that pays more, then he's like "blah blah blah I bought this coffee shop for you" and I say "well I've been here for two years and I only make fifty cents more than the morons you hired two months ago" and he says "well they can't live on what you were hired in it--I had to pay them more" and I say "they all live off their parents and work here for beer money. I can't live on what I make now" and he says "fuck you for threatening to quit" and I say, "I wasn't threatening and you should understand wanting to make more money since that's all you care about" and then he comes into the store and it's all kissy kissy...

...So I signed the lease today for the efficiency. I like it, I think. It's close to downtown, it's new and clean, and it's only $300.

I am so broke. But I don't feel bad about buying a car. I had to. My piece of shit died in traffic today on the way to meet with my insurance adjustor to insure the Civic.

My landlord said he would give me my deposit back before the first, but now he's decided to hold it for the full 30 days. I'm so fucked.

I'm starting a housecleaning business. I have confidence that it will work...

The good news is, I no longer drive an unreliable piece of shit car or overdraft my bank account or worry about affording the basic necessities or live in an apartment that gets broken into or where I can hear my neighbor's beating their wives (like Alabama Street). But I remember that point in time and how depressed I was and how overwhelmed I felt by life and money and other people. And I wonder why I still feel that way. It's like I've been in this anxious survival mode for so long that I can't get out of it and I can't trust myself to be happy. So what about all of the things I was going to do when I wasn't broke and working constantly... I can't even remember what they were now.

Friday, November 16, 2007

I haven't had cable or internet in over a year. Here I am, on a Friday night, sitting on my ass, watching Erin Brockavich on TV and surfing the internet. How sad. I've only had cable for about 2 days and I already want to cancel it. About the only thing that's nice about it is that I see movie previews. I've maybe seen two movies in the last two years... mostly because I don't ever know what's out. Otherwise, it's all trash. Dumb girls in bikinis and obnoxious sitcoms. I just saw an advertisement for some reality show called "Intervention" where they exploit the pitiful misery of people with meth, prescription drugs and alcohol. The world makes me so depressed. I work in a fucking strip club and five minutes of television is more dark and depressing to me than anything I've seen there.

Interesting note... I've had some problems with my art studio. It's in the Reifer's Building, which is now taken over by the bank, as the former owner went into bankruptcy. It's been managed by a guy who I've been unable to get ahold of... and I don't even want to complain about anything, just rent more space. I don't have a lease anymore and neither does anyone else in the building. Basically the management is non-existent. But anyway... I noticed that they'd actually added my name to the directory downstairs. There's a sign that says "Gwyne Bahler, 3rd floor." They even spelled it right. It struck me as odd... they won't return my emails, but they'd take the time to do that.

Anyway, I never did post any pictures of my apartment. This is my happy little cave where I'm now sitting contently drinking wine and chatting on the internet. This is the best Friday night I've had in a long time.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

I got my first tattoo today. It's the polar equation of an logarithmic spiral. I use to wear a nautilus shell necklace because to me it symbolized an intentional design, a mathematical consistancy in our universe - from a snail to a galaxy. Therefore, the spiral, to me, is a spiritual symbol. Sadly my neckless broke. I'm always inclined to collect nautilus shells, partly because of their beauty and partly because of their significance. But I figured an equation would make a better tattoo than a spiral.

I also just found out that hawks hunt their prey in a logarithmic spiral pattern. Huh.

Monday, November 12, 2007

The types of strip club patrons:

Cocky, broke college guys
These are the types who come in with their friends for the “scenery” but don’t have any respect for industry ettiquette or the dancers. They talk about themselves incessantly—mostly lies about how much money they make or how great their academic careers are. They expect you to pay lots of attention to them but usually refuse to tip and get indignant about being “hustled”. They seem bothered when you don’t want to sit with them all night for free and listen to them spew self-important bull shit. They go to strip clubs to feel like “men” and carrouse with their buddies. Usually painfully mediocre and unintelligent, they have to masturbate their egos by innanely trying to prove to themselves how much smarter and better they are than “some stripper”. They try to make us feel like ambitionless sluts with no self-worth who they are privilaging with their attention in order to make themselves feel better. They will try impotently to be clever get inside our heads and figure out what motivates us to do what we do—assuming they can expose our psyche in some devastating way. They also sit there with a hard-on all night underneath their Abercrombie jeans but claim they aren’t buying private dances because “it’s just a tease”—when really the reason is they only have fifteen dollars in their bank account. These guys will end up marrying TRULY ambitionless whores who will blow all of their money and become frigid in a matter of 20 years, then they will come crawling back to strip clubs throwing money at any woman who will so much as cast a glance at their pitifal little erection.

The delusional saps
This can be a guy from any socio-economic background. These guys actually think there’s a chance you’re going to go out with them. They give you their number. They think that they’re going to be the one to “save you”. Occasionally these guys are sweet and well meaning. They can also be great customers… respectful, interested in hearing YOU say something, generous and probably genuinely interested in dating you, yet not pushy about it. They can also be obnoxious as hell. They will follow you around all night, refuse to buy dances because they “respect you too much” or don’t want you to “think of them as a customer”, badger you relentlessly about going out with them, and generally get in the way when you’re trying to interact with other customers. They waste lots of time. When you explain that you’re working and need to keep moving, they go off about how they have more money than any guy in the room, on and on and get offended when you politely excuse yourself. These guys are the reason door guys walk us to our cars. One of these guys unfortunately works at the store where I buy my art supplies, and makes a point to seek me out everytime I shop there. I’m not worried about him kidnapping and raping me, but he’s definitely annoying.

Middle aged men with jobs
These are my absolute favorite customers. These guys understand and respect the relationship between dancer/customer… they offer to buy us overpriced drinks just to be gentlemen, buy lots of dances, tip very well and are a relief from the average patron. They are relatively interesting, educated and polite. They don’t brag or talk down to you. I strive to seek these guys out when I’m working. They usually sit alone, and for some reason, are neglected by the other dancers, who seem to gravitate towards large groups of guys. Groups of guys at strip clubs don’t have any money. The older guys who come in by themselves generally come in with a wallet full of cash that they intend to spend, not to compare cocks with their buddies. But more than being a great source income, they are usually a pleasure to sit and talk to. I try to make as many of these guys regulars as I can—sometimes I even buy them drinks. If it weren’t for this type, dancers wouldn’t make money, and it wouldn’t be a fun job.

The awkward guys
These guys come in a variety of types, but they’re lonely and unsuccessful with women for one reason or another. They will come in regularly and blow their entire paychecks to get a female to pay attention to them. These guys make me sad. They need someone to be nice to them. Sometimes they will buy dances just to sit and talk to you. They are also great customers—usually very nice and very generous. These guys aren’t as interested in the sexual aspect as they are the attention. They think that a stripper is as close to a girlfriend as they’re going to get.

The perverts
These guys range from amusing to disgusting. The disgustings guys I avoid… these men have no respect for women in general. They make crude comments and try to push boundaries. They’re usually looking for “more” than a dance. I have kicked these men with my 6 inch stilettos, but I can peg them fast enough to avoid now. The others are ok… they’re usually old men. They ask to buy your underwear and such and are generally harmless.