I Got A Little Time (Hello, Again)

But I don't. I have no time. I get up every morning at 6 to be at work for 7, and work until 4ish. Then I go to the theatre for 6:30 and get home at about 11:30. I sleep very little. However, my big worry is that my father is left all alone at home all day long with nothing to do. He's no longer working, he's no longer on speaking terms with his brother who lives next door (my father thinks everyone's out to get him so he picks fights if things don't go his way), my mother is in the middle of her three week vacation to Mexico that he refused to go on with her for absolutely no good reason, my brother is on a business trip for a week and my brother's fiancee is no longer his fiancee. Add to that the fact that he has a serious doctor's appointment tomorrow at one and I can't be there to go with him because I have to work. I came home tonight at 11:30, my father already asleep. I've been sitting at the computer, and I've been hearing weird noises that were probably coming from the back door with light meowing. I turned on the backyard light but there was nothing there. I later heard it again and check to see if the cat had maybe locked himself in the bathroom. He didn't. I checked the backyard once again and there was poor little George, sitting on the back porch, frightened. He's not an outdoor cat. He doesn't have claws. He's fat and lazy. If Klaus were out there he would have killed him. I don't know if I love my father, but I'm definitely worried about him.

A Certain Girl (The Happy Time)

I didn't know her very well. I definitely didn't like her. She was like that girl at our school who lied all the time and lived with ArtsMonkey. I didn't think she was a good person. I didn't understand her. I didn't want to. I gossiped about her. I made fun of her. Someone once tried to defend her to me saying that if I knew why she was like that I would not talk about her that way. I just don't like people I can't trust. I found out tonight that she commited suicide this morning. I don't know how to feel about that. No one I've actually known, other than my grandparents, has passed away, thank God. I didn't see this coming but I knew she was a troubled girl and I can't say that I'm surprised. It's terrible that she succeeded in her attempt to take her own life. Someone said it was a very selfish thing to do. It is. Her passing leaves so many unanswered questions and so many grief-stricken people. Our show opens next week. I know she's going to be on everyone's minds. That's probably what she wanted. I guess I'm a terrible person for thinking ill of her even when she's gone. I'm just not sure what I should be feeling right now. I barely knew her. It's probably awful that I chose a song from the musical The Happy Time to title this blog. I didn't do it on purpose. This is not a happy time. I had a suicidal phase in grade nine, as I'm sure most people do at some point in their lives. I never made any attempts, I just contemplated it for some time. I was just seeking attention. I never would have had the guts to go through with it. I'm glad I never did. I love my life.

We Can Talk To Each Other (Starting Here, Starting Now)

Conversations with a stripper.

Chanel sits down next to me and puts her hand on my leg. I know what she wants. She has no idea what I want. She's french. Her accent is thick. Me no likey. "Mans tinks about sex every eleven seconds. I'm really smart, eh?" No. "What are you thinking about now?" she asks. I don't remember my answer but I'm sure it was vague. "You're looking at her breasts, aren't you?" "Um, yeah." I lie. She had no idea I was more interested in studying the strippers moves than her curves.

I was doing research to see if stripping was actually something I could do. The first and last time I went to a strip club I had to leave because I could not stop laughing. I kept thinking about the girls falling in those ridiculously high shoes. And the one who wrapped her legs behind her head and bounced her ass in the air became my object of ridicule for quite some time.

Chanel flat out says "You're not going to buy a dance are you?" I say no, she gets up and moves on to the next guy.

I'm there with a friend of mine. It's his birthday. He's always been a socially awkward human being. A nerd if you will. He's in my family and I've known him since I was born. We grew up across the street from each other and my mother is his Godmother. I may be his only friend. We go out to dinner every week. Since I left Ottawa the first time he's been forced to make a life for himself without me. He joined a bible study group and became a regular at the local strip clubs. Fitting. My reasons for taking him there are two fold. The first is to do something he'd like for his birthday, and essentially get a glimpse into his world when I'm not around. The second is for research.

He tells me about Georgia, a stripper he calls his friend. She comes over and sits next to him and gives him a hug. He introduces us. She's sweet. She's more friendly to him than anyone has ever been. He has his arm around her and gives her a kiss on the cheek. I have never seen him like this. She asks him if he wants to go into the VIP lounge and he says maybe later. She leaves.

Tia asks if she can sit with us. She's cute. She's kind of fun to talk to. She seems real. I like that. We reject her dance and she takes it well. Good girl.

I wonder where these chicks get their crazy outfits.

Georgia finally comes back and takes him to the back room. I sit there by myself. Vulnerable. Watching the dancers. Studying their moves. There is less dancing than I would have expected. The strippers we see in movies always defend themselves by calling themselves dancers. I expected this was because they actually did some dancing. The ones I saw just stood there and swayed around and tried to be sexy. I don't know. I wasn't really impressed. When I strip, I intend to put on a show. That's just me.

Maude comes over. I think that's how you spell it. She pronounces it Mode. She's nice enough. She talks about how it's a slow night. (It's Tuesday). I reject her.

Bianca. I like Bianca. She's super bubbly. We get along fine. She says weeknights are generally busier than weekends. The reason for this is because there are many hotels on that street and all the business men in town on conferences usually arrive on Tuesday and have nothing to do so they go to the strip joint. She asks if she can liven up my night for me. I laugh and say no.

A quiet talker, whom my friend had warned me about, comes up to me, doesn't sit down, asks straight out if I want a dance. I say no, she leaves.

I saw August dance when I first came in. She sits next to me and points out that she saw me sitting there and that I had a friend with me. "He's in the back with Georgia." "Oh that's good." We talked about the girl on stage. She likes her boots but couldn't dance on them. She has to wear super tall heals so that she can reach the ceiling so that she has something to hold to otherwise she'd fall. I think back to my fantasy of the falling strippers many years ago. August thinks the girl on stage might be new because she's never seen her there before. August has been working there for three years. Maybe she doesn't recognize the new girl because August is used to working days. She says she still makes her money because the club is right in the heart of the business center where all the government buildings are. She gets the lunch crowd. That's cool. I reject her, but I feel bad about it. Weird how I almost felt like taking her (as well as Bianca and Tia) to the the back just so I could keep talking to her.

My friend comes back and is paying Georgia. He paid sixty dollars for three songs. He and Georgia talked about me. They talked about how she's a single mother who lives with her parents. Like me, she moved back home to get back on her feet.

It was really freaky seeing my awkward friend be so confidant at this joint. He was so sure of himself and dealt with the girls as if he were some stud. He's not like that at all in the real world.

I realized that a big part of these girls' job is to make men comfortable. You can try and be flirty and fake like Chanel but that won't get the men to buy a dance from you. Maybe it works for some guys but not for me. You can be direct like the quiet talker, but that approach is cold. It's the girls like Georgia, August, Bianca and Tia that I'm sure make the most money. My friend goes to Georgia because she talks to him, she listens to him. Something no one else in his life does. Those girls act genuinely interested in their patrons. They're approachable and personable. It was interesting to see all these different tactics and the reactions they got.

I walked out of that club believing that I could do this. If it's possible to weed out the weirdos, it could even be a good time, and I very well could learn something. If anything, it's a great social study. Their role is almost more of therapist than dancer or temptress. It's something I think I might like to explore.

The Word Of Your Body (Spring Awakening)

I've been pretty disappointed with the state of my body these days. I was videotaping myself masturbating this morning (yes, I do that, I'm THAT vain!) and was not too happy with what I saw played back on the screen. I'm so loose. I mean, I'm still a skinny little rabbit, but like, I'm loose. I should have a tight skinny body. Watching myself dance in the mirrors in the rehearsal hall, I see long, gangly arms, round shoulders, a belly and no pecs. I want baby muscles on my arms and baby pecs and a flat stomach. I don't want to look perfect, I just want too look good naked. I desperately want to join a gym, but I seriously am not going to do myself any good without a trainer. Does Princesse Alathariel's gay crush still work at Goodlife? I want him to do to me what he did to himself. Girlfriend's looking good. I want to look good. Naked.

Think Big (jon & jen)

A friend of mine was telling me I should apply to work in some sexy position for Club Monaco in New York, and could get a Visa that way. I looked into it and then looked into other jobs and realized that I lack experience and a degree. Then I started to get depressed and freaked out that I need to go back to school for four years and not be able to be successful until my mid thirties. Then I realized, fuck, I'm an actor. Why do I want a real job? I'm a fucking actor.

Let It Go (The Full Monty)

Would you judge me if I take up stripping when I move to Toronto this summer? I really need the money and think I could have a lot of fun dancing on the stage. As for the private dances, I'm not un-turned on by the idea. I wonder if I'd get myself into any trouble. You're judging me, aren't you?