Relationship haikus

Gah, I am so sad and pissed off today and I can’t seem to shake it. That is something I noticed during pregnancy and it hasn’t subsided yet; when I get upset it takes FOREVER to get rid of the oppressive feelings of sadness/anger/etc. I am talking about days of moroseness that can happen without much provocation. What gives? Blah.

I don’t like it when Bean has to experience my mopey face so I am trying to make myself laugh. Sooooo, not to diss whomever created the very elegant concept of haiku (should I know who that is? I’m too blech to even use the google) but dammit it’s handy. You see, I have this habit of obsessing over things, hanging on to things, like I-should-have-said-this-and-you-should-have-done-that kinds of things that will make a person go crazy if she indulges in them, which I do…so I’ve come up with a solution: relationship haikus. Handy little ways to express oneself , rip some closure out of thin air, then get the fuck outta dodge.

Here’s my start:

M. (5-7-5 form)

Not bad at first, but
If this is love I prefer gangrene
Two years through beer goggles

aaaaaaaaaand dismount! I highly recommend this approach, and lots of other things, too, in lieu of anything resembling formal therapy. Unless of course you need formal therapy. In that case, have at it. Not that you need my permission. I’m just saying I support you.

What’s a girl like you…

So our-father-who-aren’t-in-heaven screwed me over big time concerning some money I needed to um, live, and I was existing in a dire fashion.

Of course I pretended to be the hostess, what would you have done? They caught my eye in the mirror as I was checking my lip gloss again (I was once paid to kiss-print a matchbook and dance fully-dressed while the guy watched my lips mouth the words to the song. kinda hot if it weren’t such a complete wtf kind of situation).

Show us the best seat in the house, please. Of course. Rather than correct them about my role, I took the twenty and his hand as I led them to the banquette closest to the stage.  Have wonderful time.  Join us, can’t you join us for a little while? I did until close, even though the dj kept calling me to the stage. Isn’t that you?, repeatedly. No, no, they mean someone else.

I can’t believe I even used to fit in those tiny little sequined things that I had bedazzled for myself (yeah, I’m crafty, it’s true). They were a long way from showing up the first night, dancing in underwear and almost getting sent home for (unknowingly) breaking the law. Why a bikini thong is legal and a panty thong is not was never explained. That is why I used to commute all the way there; they had rules, and lots of them, and bouncers, big ones to escort you to your car, and their mantra was no touching, no touching, evah. Still, they don’t give a seminar on the do’s and don’ts of the job. Praise Lydia, the veteran who helped me that first night, then ignored me forever after. She grabbed my hand, took me to the dressing room and washed a pair of hers with soap and hot water in the little sink so I could work that night. She showed me everything, even took me over to a table so we could entertain two men, of course one of whom looked exactly like my father. They say everybody has a twin, somewhere, and his was right there at that first table. A whole new world of ick.

I figured it all out, but it was the longest two months of my life. Between the pasties and that fake tan crap, not to mention a newly required obsession with my bikini line, working until 2AM, then morning classes, afternoons interning, and a car that kept breaking down, I reached a whole new plane of exhaustion. Who knew that all that leaning down for money was the physical equivalent of doing squats for 7 hours? I could barely walk, and not for the reason one usually equates with getting down to your naughties and shimmying around. One thing that amazed me is that I never felt naked, even when I essentially was. Psychologial defense mechanism? Perhaps. Nudist at heart? More likely. I can’t say I don’t know how I got there. I knew exactly how. I needed a lot of money very fast. I’m a pragmatist.

Back to the table.

So what’s your real name? And when do you get done working? Go out with us.
Hell no.
Promise me you will call my friend, promise me.
I promised. I looked at the napkin with his name and number for days. I kept it for a long time after that.
I called. Thankfully, the machine picked up. Tell your friend I keep my promises. Click.
Not a minute passed. Not a minute. Ring.
Damn his caller id.

Of course I pretended to be the hostess, what would you have done?