Strippers are notorious for being no-shows, late, unkempt and even lazy. Former strippers sometimes have a tendency to maintain some of those ill-gotten habits every once in a while. While I have random moments of perfection, I confess. I’ve been a bit sidetracked.
Life happens and what was happening in my life at that moment is no different from what is going on now: I am sincerely excited for what awaits me on the horizon. No, I’m not moving but I am eager for new experiences, meeting new people, doing new things…doing new people. Haha, I’m kidding. I’m only doing one new person. Yes, like any lesbian can tell you, getting a new girlfriend gives you amnesia when it comes to keeping up with your responsibilities.
I apologize. I have missed you and I am eager to share what awaited me on the horizon back then. Atlanta. Hotlanta. Mylanta. I was working my buttinsky off (much like I am now, but with clothes on). After my brush with the reality of my weight issue in Jen’s office, I was forced to face the facts: “Lose weight before the owners come in and see you and force me to fire you.” I could lie and tell you that I told her to kiss my not-quite-fat-yet ass, but what good would that do, except to keep my blog ego intact? Okay, I’m laughing too. That deflated as soon as I divulged my run-in with running shorts guy. Am I right? I kept my head up, nodded, left and cried alone in my car. Just like any self-respecting stripper would do. But then I also did what any self-respecting woman is supposed to do: I got to working out. But not for Jen and 2001 Odyssey, for myself and my future in Atlanta.
I worked out every single day. And then I worked almost every single night. The funny thing about working in the clubs is that when you set a goal that has absolutely nothing to do with the club, but more to do with getting out of the club, money just starts rolling in. All of a sudden, I was lining them up and collecting the dough. I was glowing. The more I mentioned the move, the more money I seemed to make.
I called my friend in Atlanta – Lamar – who made plans to come to Tampa and help me pack and move. I gave my apartment complex notice and paid them appropriate fees to break my lease. I even signed a new lease on a place in Atlanta, sight unseen. I know – when I make a decision, I just go for it. But it was in Buckhead, which apparently, was where all the action happened. There was no turning back. D-day was in exactly six weeks. D-day: otherwise known as ‘Damn, why am I doing this again – day’. Of course, if I had anticipated the drama involved in getting me out of Tampa and into Atlanta, I may have ‘slowed my roll’ just a wee bit and saved myself a few headaches and another girl a potential ass-whooping.