The Lap of Luxury

It's not what it's cracked up to be.

I doubt I'm the only one who has fallen prey to the lure of the 'glamorized, easy life' - alcohol, sex, drugs and rock & roll... strippers are often smack dab in the middle of that scene, riding on the 'laps' of monetary gratitude... though it's hardly what I'd call luxurious!

I told myself it was the dream of pursuing the things I loved and using this unconventional role as the means to fund that dream as I could not procure my immediate cost-of-living through other venues. Rent was due, my credit was shit (a great big thank you to Capitol One for that outcome)  Truth is I was frustrated that my culinary career was not unfolding in the way I had hoped. So I took the desperation plunge and on a 'fuck it all' whim, landed myself in a strip joint. To my instant relief, free time was now ample. One shift would easily pull in $500-700 take home, more than enough to cover rent and necessities. That was even under the "you can look but you can't touch" rule. Hypothetically, it seemed a perfect solution on the surface. I had only to work 3 maybe 4 shifts a month to be set up quite well.

The ugly truth was I hated it all. I hated being objectified. I hated that people who knew, treated me like a slut. Often the assumptions of my character or lack of would be based on the stigma that all dancers were of course cheap and easy and fucked up and therefore all the easier to prey on and manipulate for sexual purposes.  We girls were treated like dogs...seen only as tits and ass, legs with holes, mere punchlines to the frequent testosterone-filled bachelor parties swarming through the clubs, hoping  for a bit of groping, ogling and possible extra-curricular activities as well.

"Everyone has a price, just gotta find the right price, a few rocks, fat lines or a wad of cash, any bitch would hop on this 'opportunity', duck out to the parking lot for a quickie blow job or two on a moment's request, why the fuck wouldn't they...they're at a fucking strip to make some dough up in here!"  Frequent offers which I turned down just the same.

All my initial dreams at this point were fading fast and disillusionment was setting in... losing my conscious inhibitions, surrounded by drugs and a hell of a lot of hard liquor. Snorting Cocaine my frequent drug of choice was quickly incorporated into my slippery, now self-medicating lifestyle in the hopes of numbing the shame of the ditch I had crawled into and in which couldn't seem to get back out. 

The months flew by and I knew something had to change.  Mustering up a shit load of courage to leave my hometown and get away from my festering addictions  I realized drastic changes needed to be made or the path I was on would eventually be the end of me. I chose to start over in LA, near family but was blindsided upon arrival; instead of getting a fresh start, I was forced into homeless shortly after getting down there.  Here I am, having to escape a destructive lifestyle, this time in family which ironically mirrored the very addictions I'd sought to leave behind in my own life.

The Government, I quickly discovered, had done a smashing job of creating shelters for homeless children, mothers with children and the drug and alcohol dependent addicts.  Bravo! Single females who seek to improve their lives despite dysfunctional family, emergencies or just plain having fallen prey to the crashing economy...well, those women are just clean out of luck.  

So what to do... should I have turned back toward the addict lifestyle again or maybe get knocked up and then give 'em a holler, they'd be happy to hook me and my baby up then.  

 In the meantime,  sucks to be you... hope you make it lady.  And do be careful you don't get raped, beaten, trafficked or killed out here on your own in the process.

Locals referred me to a warehouse shelter in that area where, after being frisked for possible weapons, my eyes could then grab a restless hour or two of sleep for the night on a thin mat with a military-issue wool blanket. Then we're up at 4:30 and hit the streets. Me with my luggage in tow and, provided luck were on my side, have directions in hand on exactly where I could get in line for one free meal that day to hold me over until evening rations were doled out.

National guard staff and civilian volunteers welcomed us back in at 5:00 each evening to stay another night there under the dimly lit, drafty warehouse and so I'd return every day, hopeful to reclaim a sliver of dirty concrete floor next to some worn out urine-soaked stranger who had just been booted out of their halfway house for tweaking out on Meth, Heroine, or prescription drugs again, and was then eyeing what little belongings I had managed to retain with no choice but to cling to them as though it were an extension of my last breath.  

Being vigilant 24/7 was beyond exhausting and was beginning to take a real toll on me emotionally and mentally not to mention my immune system.  It was there at the shelter where one of the volunteers advised me to lie to their intake supervisor who could get me set up within a 'Sober Living' facility. This advisement came on the back of being solicited for sex by a Sergeant in charge of that military homeless relief venue the night prior... I was desperate for anyone to help me... PLEASE, ANYONE help get me off the street!!!!  I'll go to meetings, I'll say I'm an addict... just please... please don't leave me out here vulnerable on the street anymore!!!

I continued to work hard to get beyond the very real temptation picking away at me to succumb to my surroundings and medicate my life away, because amidst this 'Sober Living' facility I soon discovered, it was anything but! The scenery may have changed but the content was still the same...same destructive, addictive, lying, conniving and manipulative environment.  Spinning my wheels with all this effort, only to land in the exact same spot... I felt like a hamster in a cage, relying on others to bring me my proverbial 'food and water' essential to survival and I felt emotionally/environmentally caged off as well, from the freedom I so desperately craved.

What I needed was to take control of my life quickly... and there was really only 1 way I knew how: that was to earn my own money... jobs were scarce particularly as I did not speak Spanish. And most jobs available I was turned down as 'overqualified'.   I threw my hands up in desperation and headed back to the club scene, still emphatic on drawing the line "You can look, but you can't touch!" I made up my mind I would not 'get in deep' this time... this decision was solely for the intention of securing the money I needed to GET OUT of California and back to Oregon where I still had family and hopefully survive this on-going nightmare before it got the better of me. 

I KNOW what I would have done hypothetically BEFORE I actually physically ended up in that dire situation. It's a funny thing.... where we draw our level at which 'the buck stops here'. When push comes to shove and survival is on the line... and I'm not talking about a one-time decision here either... It's an on-going, every minute of every difficult, scary as all hell, dangerous, day by day... by day.

Now that I've finally emerged from the Adult entertainment scene and out of homelessness altogether, I can say this with certainty;  I'd damn sure rather turn down the hand of luxury than have to sit ever again in it's perverted fucking lap.