Back To Becoming 'Stevie', My Dancer Self

I had a really great, older, landlady, named Louella Gardner, who had, wisely, suggested that I store my personal belongings and furnishings (at no cost, to me!) in the large storage room of the apartment building that I lived in when I left Omaha to become a nanny in Miami. She told me, before I left, that this new venture might not go as I expected, and that I was always more than welcome to come back there, if it didn't go well. As I returned to Omaha, only 6 weeks or so after I had left for the nanny job in Florida, I was very grateful for her foresight, which came from her many years of life experience, that I did not yet have, in my late twenties. I had been renting a very small, one room, efficiency apartment from her, in the building, which was not a size that was in high demand as a popular place for most people to want to live. (I had initially moved there when I was still a Certified Nursing Assistant working at the hospital a few blocks away, when I had not been making much above minimium wage, in that job, so, this tiny place had fit that budget, then.) My old apartment was still vacant, when I returned, so I moved right back into it, bringing my belongings up from the first floor storage room, and settling back in. I felt very uneasy about how I was going to be able to pay my rent going forward, though, since I'd returned home out of work. I definitely didn't want to cause Mrs. Gardner to feel her faith in me was ungrounded. She believed in me, more than I believed in myself, at this point! I knew that I didn't want to ever give her any reason to regret her absolutely unconditional faith in me.

I had not made very much money in the nanny job, either, so by the time I paid her the rent to move back in, I had almost no money left. I was right back, to that same dilemma, I had been in, when I had let my friend Debbie finally convince me to take a job as a Go Go dancer, prior to my trying the nanny career field. >Sigh!< I didn't feel that I had any, really good, options, at the moment, and I needed some way to survive. To do that, I had to make some money, right away; enough, to be able to pay my bills on time. They would be due again soon. Faster than regular jobs would even pay me once I could find, and get hired for, such a job, after applying and interviewing, which took time that I didn't have for this right now. So that wasn't a solution for me. I couldn't afford the luxury of my pride in this present situation. I had to try to get hired as a dancer, again! I did not see any other way. I had tried, working as a waitress, which pays some immediate income in tips, and sometimes a weekly paycheck, as well, but it just wasn't something that I could do. I had the lower back issue, from my injury due to lifting the patients when I was a Nurse's Aide. While it was not a constant problem, for me, now that I was out of that career field, it did act up when I tried to do heavy lifting such as carrying big trays of food to tables in restaurants. I also wasn't good at keeping up with all of the scattered demands, of waiting tables. Juggling everything, that I had to, often at a hectic pace, such as trying to take an order, while another customer was waiting, impatiently, for their bill, and remembering who needed ketchup, who changed their mind about dessert, and refilling water and tea glasses in a timely manner, confused me, left me feeling very agitated, and lowered my self-esteem, due to my feeling so inept, in that line of work. Needless to say, since I could not seem to keep up, with all the demands on me doing that job, I also didn't make good tips, and the base pay was below the minimum wage. So, I got up my nerve, and went back to the Razzle Dazzle to try to smooth things over with Dick, the manager there, who had fired me just a couple of months or so before. I was surprised when I was told that he no longer worked there, and relieved, when they offered me my job back, as a dancer. Starting right away. A quick hire! With good money!

The other girls, that worked there, were, generally, a great group, and I liked them. They were nice to me, with some of the moodier, more sullen, ones as least acting acceptingly tolerant of me. I watched them, closely, as they did their dances on stage, learning alot from them, about how to move my own body in these sexy, suggestive, ways that brought in the better tips from the club customers. I had alot to learn, about this type of dancing, so I was very grateful to my teachers-in-thong-bikinis. It took me awhile, to become completely comfortable with doing this exhibitionism. Because I am usually quite friendly to people, and even talkative, they naturally assume that I'm a very outgoing person and not shy at all. They may have also believed that I felt comfortable in my own skin (most of which was now showing, due to the skimpy costumes that I had to wear as a dancer) doing this type of thing. However, I am, at my core---  or, in my heart of hearts, as my Catholic friends like to say---  actually a deeply spiritual person, a loner, and even an introvert, as well as being rather shy---  or perhaps just uncomfortable---  around other people. Largely because I grew up in an emotionally non-supportive family which taught me to feel unsafe exposing myself, in any way, to other people, because of the harm that had been inflicted on me, from them, and could be further inflicted, on me, by others, in some way. So, it took me quite a while to really fully, and truly, become 'Stevie', my dancer alter ego, and to be competent, comfortable, and confident, being 'her'--- that side of me, that I had to create and cultivate, into a fully functioning persona, for being my, actual, self. It did happen, though!

For me to finally get to that point I had to wrestle with all kinds of stereotypes; some that I had, and some that others had, in order for me to break through the bondage and the barriers, that were holding me back, from that. I had to try to reconcile my deep, Christian, faith, with what I was doing now, to make a living, and make decisions about boundaries I would set, to protect myself from some of the temptations, and pressures on me, that came along with this job. For starters, I chose not to drink alcohol at all, in this job. It was nice to know that I was not forced to do it, since I was working in a bar, after all. The club owners didn't care, if I drank cranberry or some other juice, a soft drink, or even coffee, because the customers were required to buy me costly drinks regardless of what I was having, if they wanted me to be allowed by the club to sit with them. [However, these clubs, in this area of the country, didn't have a cover charge; they only required that the customer order themselves a drink, and buy one for any dancer(s) they asked to join them.] There were disgruntled customers, who came into these clubs more focused on trying to get laid than enjoying the live stage entertainment, who would ask what I was drinking, and then complain when they realized it was nothing that could get me drunk to possibly make me vulnerable, to their sexual advances toward me. Whenever that happened, we parted ways, because I stuck to my guns about that for most (though not all) of my career as a dancer. I had discovered, when I met and fell in love with my second husband, Jim, who patiently and persistently got me past the psychological barrier from my being raped (making him my own personal sex therapist, setting me free sexually for the first time in my life), that I actually have an intense, almost insatiable, sexuality under the right conditions which causes me to, basically, be a nymphomaniac! Because of my having learned this about myself, I was not about to do anything that could encourage that to be unleashed on anything less than my loving someone (as deeply as I had loved Jim) and I had seen that drinking alcohol had been  a tremendous trigger for that happening with me, when Jim used it to get me past the trauma.

As I was becoming 'Stevie', my dancer alter ego, the problem with (and for) me trying to make this transition, into something, and someone, which was now stereotypically branded as being a 'whore' or a 'hooker' was that, at this point in my life, I still believed, deeply, and desperately, in love; in believing that it simply had to really happen, for me, in my life! I had thought with all of my being that Jim was that person, for me. But he was gone now. Married to someone else. Raising our son---  his, and mine---  with her. Still, I stubbornly clung to my faith that someday, somehow, with someone, I would finally have MY 'Happily Ever After'! I still accepted Disney's lie as the truth. I would soon find out, though (and even so, still have to be taught this again in more hard, and hurtful, ways), that love was not something being sought from me, by the men that I would meet in these nightclubs, or, actually, men that I met anywhere else, either. It was not what they were really after, with me. Although whatever it was, that they were after, varied, depending on the individual man, it was always something other than love for which they tried to get into my life. Or, my body. That fact was, eventually, going to pound itself, so deeply, into my heart, that it would lead to the death of my dream--- to truly love and be loved--- and even, almost, to the death OF ME! But, I get ahead of myself, here; about that. Right now, I was still trusting. I was still naive. I was still a decent human being. Because of all that I, still, believed, that if someone knew me, they would love me. In my character, values, and personality I was, still, much more 'Deborah', than I was 'Stevie', on the spectrum between these two seemingly opposite parts of me. I was such a good person! The trouble was, I needed love, in my life, to anchor me, there, now. I'd been deprived of it for far too long in my life, and I was becoming a badly damaged soul, because of that. I'd tried, as hard as I could, to hang on to my belief that love was real, and that its healing power would find me, touch me, and transform me, through that intimate unity, with some other soul; even though, when I thought I had found it, or, it had found me, it turned out to only be teasing me. It was cruel, that men were willing, to break my heart and shatter my soul into pieces to use me, and use me up, the ways that they had, and would, do. There is a Bob Marley quote which resonates with the deepest pain in me that has been caused by men: The biggest coward of a man is to awaken the love of a woman without the intention of loving her. I was already devastated by my son's father, Jim, having done that. The last thing I needed was for that to ever happen to me again; but it would. I blamed myself by then, though, for allowing it, because I had kept my heart open, to love. I learned, not to do that anymore, before it was all said and done, which is what led to my doing prostitution, near the very end of my dancer career. For now, though, I was, still, both a dancer and an innocent.

All the while, I was learning more, about how, to be a dancer, I was also performing, on stage, and vice versa, as I continued becoming 'Stevie', my dancer self. I am a very cerebral person, who typically leads much more with my brain than my body, so this did not come naturally, for me. I was encouraged, by the fact that I saw myself (slowly) improve, including learning more about how to converse with the customers. I had initially been pretty clueless about what they liked to talk about, and to hear, from me, in those verbal exchanges; so, I was mostly missing the mark in conversations with them. These men were mainly strangers to me and I didn't yet know how to jump right into some intimate-sounding conversation, with them, which was well peppered with innuendo, and served up with a sexier, sultry, tone, to my voice. I learned that, though. I still didn't have any 'regulars', yet; customers that came there strictly to see me, like some of the other dancers did. The guys I sat with in the beginning, which were willing to buy me drinks (which most of the Go Go bars in this area required us to sell, each shift, as drinks tallied toward our quota; at the minimum), seemed to me, to be doing it more out of a tolerant politeness than, really, wanting my company, for themselves specifically. My thick eyeglasses and fairly flat chest might have been part of what was off-putting to them back then, but I also kept myself well covered up, wearing a short, and silky, but very baggy, kimono robe over my costume, when I wasn't up on the stage. It took me awhile to shed my layers, both of clothing and self-consciousness. The sheer pantyhose had been legally required under my costumes, when I was first a dancer, in Iowa. I liked, their silky sleekness on my legs, their extra warmth, since I had little clothing on my body, otherwise, and, their protection, from grabby guys, who, especially while tipping me, would, sometimes, try to take that opportunity to try to 'cop a feel'. So, I was the only dancer, I ever saw, in any Go Go bar where pantyhose weren't required, to continue, wearing those, pinned in, underneath my costumes; and I did that my entire career!

As my dancer persona, and stage skills, evolved, my tips improved. I was able to afford to buy more, and nicer, costumes. No more hand-me-downs, from other dancers, 'Plain Jane'-looking ones, or ill-fitting ones that unintentionally revealed parts of my body that they shouldn't be. My body, which was always a slender size 6, began to become toned, more like I had looked after Air Force Basic Training, which was sleeker and sexier. It was simply a byproduct of dancing 6 nights a week being alot of exercise. While I am not well-endowed, in the chest area (but wore padded push-up bras, to compensate for that, some, on stage), I have shapely legs and a nice butt. As my cute, full, rounded, 'bubble butt'* tightened, from the dance moves, it sat up higher, and perkier, and looked luscious enough that men wanted to grab it (only there were bouncers in the bar, preventing that; for the most part). Another benefit I noticed from dancing was that it greatly improved my back, to the point that I had virtually no pain left, from that persistent back injury I had gotten due to doing patient lifting, when I was a Nursing Assistant. That was a nice, and unexpected, bonus, to this new career I was pursuing now. Because my stomach muscles tightened, especially, from doing a move called a 'body roll'**, my back issue greatly improved! Even wearing stiletto heels, to dance in, which are considered notoriously bad, for women with bad backs, was not a problem, because my back felt so much better and stronger, now. Also, I was starting to feel a little more comfortable, in this environment, and like I was fitting in, more, even though, my being starved for love, and wanting to make meaningful connections with the employees, and the customers, in the nightclub, put me at odds, both emotionally, and socially, with the mindset of the people around me. The other dancers were all much more enthusiastic about how good their tips were, for the night, and while they seemed cynical, to me, that way, I seemed foolish, to them, by believing, that there, might, be love, in this world; that was worth it.

Occasionally one of the girls would be asked to go to some guy's home to do a Bachelor Party or to go dance for them there for some other, less specific, reason. Sometimes, judging by the conversations I overheard, it was also going to include something other than just dancing, this girl was willing to do, with this guy, or a group of guys. According to them, it was well worth the risk to their personal safety, because the money was really good. Some, went all alone, but at least one, that I knew, insisted that she bring her own bodyguard with her, or, No Deal. I was a rape survivor, already, so that was not something I could see myself doing. I also have always, at my core, been someone who believes that sexuality is something special, even sacred, and therefore, that mine is ideally to be shared only with someone that I love, that loves me. As we were all in the dressing room, one night, getting ready, to start the show at the club, Tammy, a bold, brash, black, dancer, I worked with there, asked me, as the 'new girl', in a friendly way, if  I wanted to go along with her, to learn the ropes, for doing a Bachelor Party, after work. All the other dancers glanced up, at me, from applying their eyeliner, teasing their hair out, or putting on their costumes, to hear my answer, because they were always curious, about 'newbies', to see who they really were, then adjust their own comfort level, with the girl, accordingly. [If you were too tame, in their opinion, they could get a little paranoid, around you, as they started to wonder if you could even be an undercover cop, for example. There was a good deal of drug use, among some--- but not all--- of the dancers, and a few, that were prostitutes, on the side.  I didn't smoke, didn't drink (back then), and didn't do drugs; so, not doing sex, for money--- or even sleeping around--- raised suspicion about me from others in the bar, throughout most of my career, causing some of the girls to distrust me, to some extent.] Seeing every girl, in that dressing room, stop, to hear what my response was, to Tammy, about her invitation to me, to join her, at the Bachelor gig, I felt really corny, as I replied, "No thanks. I don't want to do that stuff. I'm waiting for love! I want that guy to know, when he finds me, that, I may be a dancer, but it's only my job; not my lifestyle." Some of the girls looked shocked by that answer, some looked a little wistful, for their own innocence lost, somewhere along the way. Tammy, and at least one other girl, laughed out loud at that, though, as Tammy said, "GIRL! You better learn how to SHAKE THAT 'MONEY MAKER', while YOU STILL HAVE IT, because, that thing ain't always gonna be somethin' men will PAY to SEE, an' there ain't NO SUCH FUCKING THING as 'LOVE'! You betta get REAL, girl!" I didn't believe that; then. Although, sadly, I would, later.

To be sure, every single one of us, having had men that we had loved, in our personal lives, in our past, had lived to seriously regret allowing them in, to our lives, and, our bodies, due to the absolute heartbreak they had caused us, as an unfair exchange, for that risk, we took, on their behalf. Being a caregiver, as a Nurse's Aide, and, a nanny, had emphasized my nurturing side, and had thankfully been well reciprocated by those that I had cared for---  the patients, and the children---  developing real, and caring, bonds, with one another. Even the nursing staff, at the hospital, had enveloped me with their caring and concern, for all involved, which included their nurture and support of me. In a sense, we dancers competed with one another; for tips; for the customers to buy us the club-required-quota, of drinks, each night; and, for status. I was at the very bottom of that ladder to dancer success, in the beginning, of course, but I was on my way. I realized that, while I was learning, from the other dancers, and was grateful, to them, for that, and even became closer, in a sense, to some of the girls I worked with, more than others, that the cohesiveness I had so cherished, with the entire medical staff I had previously been a part of, was just not something that the bar atmosphere was going to foster, for me. It was more of a sense of my belonging to the scene, itself, than with one another, relationally, and was much more superficial in almost every way. For the drinkers, or drug users, in the bar, getting a buzz on together was the closest they came to bonding. They were feeling good together, but really apart. In contrast, the nursing staff at the hospital where I had worked, had been joined closely together, in a noble, common cause. Our hearts had been open and our minds had been clear.

Over time, though, when, and as, love didn't happen, for me, I began to let go of believing in it, little, by little, yet steadily, until I began to drift, farther, and farther, away, from any hope, losing my moral compass, in the process. Studies have been done, documenting the effect of lack of love, even on animals. This deep, unmet, need can cause a failure to thrive, in way(s), among other negative effects caused by the deprivation. There is clearly a reason that God's greatest commandments are to love Him and to love others, which indicate how necessary it is! Yet the world has far too little, of it; and, the consequences, of that, whether in one individual's life, or, in all lives, is incalculable. There is an article on what I'm describing here about myself which I recommend that you read:  https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/tech-support/201711/6-things-daughters-unloving-parents-need-unlearn.  It was written by Peg Streep***.  These are excerpts from her article: "Many women it seems, hang on to what our culture preaches in the hopes that they catch the brass ring, although research shows that children who grow up with a secure style of attachment-- whose emotional needs were met, in childhood, who felt loved, and supported  and grew to have confidence in their thoughts  and  feelings--  are  more likely to dodge the someday - my - prince - will - sweep - me - off - my - feet vision [that] our culture encourages and find a relationship that is both durable and nurturing. . . . Infants . . . deprived of face-to-face interaction and touch fail to thrive and can, in fact, die.  That gives you a pretty clear sense of how important . . . love and caring —   are to our species. . . .   We learn about love by the love we are shown  and by love’s absence or presence  in our family of origin. . . .  the  coping  mechanisms  the unloved daughter develops . . . operate  largely  unconsciously.  That  is . . . part  of  the  problem  because,  unseen,  they influence  and  shape  the unloved daughter’s behaviors. . . . The unloved daughter  lacks  a sense of belonging  in her  family of origin,  and  if  she  doesn’t  belong  there, where will she ever belong? . . . That daughter has already internalized that love hurts . . . . What  we  learned  about  love  in  childhood  can  be unlearned  . . . .  Recognizing that we were  starved  for  affection  is an important first step." I agree with my counselors over the years who having heard my life story say that it is amazing that I survived all that I have been through, even as well as I have!  I give God all the glory for that, because of His Grace and Mercy, toward me, and His becoming my 'Love Anchor' in life. He had always wanted, to be that to me, and tried, to do that for me, but because we humans are given Free Will, by Him, I had to allow, even invite, Him to, before He could. Although I've survived everything I have gone through, I am also damaged, as a result, of all of it. Scars on my body, my soul, and my spirit, easily identify me, as one, of the walking wounded. As much as I would like for that to not be the case, for me, and I continue working on myself, in various ways, to try to improve on the condition, I am in, it is simply the reality of the consequences of my accumulated life experiences; of the effect of sin in my life. The sins of others and my own.

One night, as I was sitting at a table, in the bar, waiting for my turn to go on stage to dance, a waitress there, at the Razzle Dazzle, told me that there was a brand new Go Go bar opening, over in Omaha, and they needed dancers. The Razzle was directly across the Missouri River from there, in Council Bluffs, Iowa, but since I lived in Omaha what she was saying to me got my interest. I like things in my life to be as simple as possible, as often as possible! Probably because I am so weary, from all the things, and all the times, that have not been that way, for me. I was not sure why she told me that, or what other dancers she may have also told there. Part of me wondered whether it was a nice way to get rid of me, although, I had been rehired on the spot. Mickey owned this bar, though, and I had no doubt, that he well remembered my telling him, not to ever touch me, again, after he had grabbed my butt cheek, when I had first started working there, and I had not known he was my boss when I told him off for doing that. Still, he had never been hostile toward me, even when that happened, and he did not appear to be holding a grudge, against me, for it. I was never sure of the waitress's motive for telling me, but it didn't look like it would be anything I would be able to pursue anyway, after I asked her who was managing this new nightclub, and, she told me that Dick McGinnis was. He had been the manager here at the Razzle Dazzle, who had hired me the first time I worked there. Since Dick had also fired me, from the Razzle, I felt sure that he would have no interest at all  in having me working for him again, so I let it go at that, after explaining to the waitress that it was the reason, that I would not be looking into the possibility of my working at this new club.

About a week later, she brought it up to me again, though, saying that she had talked to Dick, about it, and that, he remembered me, and was, offering me the job, if I wanted to work there. When she told me the location of the other Go Go bar in Omaha it was walking distance from where I lived! That was a tremendous selling point for me. I didn't like being on the streets for very long, or very far, after my shifts ended at the Razzle at 2 AM, 6 nights a week, because I was getting off work when all the bars in the area were closing, and that unfortunately meant alot of drunks were driving on those streets at that time. It felt too risky, to me, to be out there among them as I was trying to get home from work. The bars in Omaha, Nebraska closed an hour earlier, too; at 1 AM (when I was a dancer), which meant that I wouldn't have to work as late, and could get home, eat, unwind some, and still get to bed before dawn. Since Dick had apparently already hired me, so, if I wanted the job, it was mine, I went to work for him, at the Backdoor Lounge. It was a fairly small bar, in the back room of the Smoke Pit, a very popular BBQ Restaurant. That was another plus, for me, too! I was always really hungry after burning lots of calories, dancing all night, and the restaurant stayed open later than the bar, giving me time to either eat there, or get Take-Out, before I headed home. Often, club customers would even offer to buy me the meal over in the restaurant, at the end of the night. All in all, it was a much better situation for me. Easy hires. Better money. Music. Dancing. Meals being paid for.  I could get used to this! Everything has good and bad, to it, in this world, it seems; but for me, for the first time in a long time, life was starting to feel more sweet, and less bitter. I liked that!

The Smoke Pit BBQ Restaurant and The Backdoor Lounge, in Omaha, Nebraska 

                                                                                                                                                           
Just as I had done at the Razzle, I also closely watched the other dancers up on stage here at the Backdoor Lounge, as I continued to learn more about how to dance, in this way, in a thong bikini, this up-close to club customers, without being uncomfortably self-conscious while doing so. I was impressed, even amazed, at times, by how sensuously and enticingly some of these girls could move on that stage. I still couldn't make eye contact with these men when I was up there. In fact, although I had gotten my first contact lenses, while I was in Miami, working as a nanny, I preferred, to wear my eyeglasses, and take them off, when I went up to dance. Being quite nearsighted, with astigmatism, my vision was reduced to the point that I could really only see those men sitting at the tables that were right next to the stage. The rest were only a blur! As I slowly but steadily improved in my Go Go dance moves, during my turns up on stage, my tips from the customers began to increase. Sometimes, though, dancing on stage fairly blindly went against me. Other dancers would occasionally tell me that a customer had been holding up folded money, as a tip, for me, of some denomination, but that they had withdrawn it after I appeared to them to be ignoring that, or refusing it, when I had simply not seen them! >sigh!< Even though I, occasionally, lost tip money, this way, I was, still, making the best money that I had ever made, in any job, or career field, in my life. By far! This was the 80s. The music was perfect, for dancing to! Things generally seemed more lighthearted, and fun. It kind of felt like  it was a never-ending party, in a way; until, it wasn't, anymore. I MISS that decade in so many ways and for so many reasons. Those had felt like the best years of my life! After barely being able to make ends meet financially for years, before I started dancing, this was alot more fun!

This environment was definitely an escape from reality, for the most part, for everyone, there, in some way or other. If the sexy music or the drinks, or both, didn't carry you somewhere far away, from your everyday existence, in your thoughts and emotions, then the 'Live On Stage' entertainment, surrounded by blinking light bulbs, while, the rest of the room was under cover of darkness, beckoned bar goers, through sheer titillation. The undercurrent of sexual energy and frustration in that room was electric! A thick cloud of cigarette smoke that hung heavily in the air (for many years, in those nightclubs, before the law was finally changed, prohibiting it) caused it to look like some hazy netherworld for lost souls, adding to a sense of unreality that was either delightfully or frightfully drawing us all in, keen to explore ourselves and the others in some way. We, all, craved, being in these bars. Each in our own way; for our own reasons. We were seduced, by something, about it, that drew us, there, and then, held us, in its grasp, long after it began to make us miserable, instead, and we, finally, had to recognize and admit that it was not good for us. I hadn't comprehended any of this, that I'm describing to you now, about it, when I was new to it, though. I only knew that, it compelled me, to be a part of it, and  it motivated me, to learn so much, about so many things, that were so foreign, to me, and my life. The nightly circus, that it was, also distracted me--- quite well, actually--- from that, deep, heartache, that had come to continually plague my consciousness, without relief--- except for here. Maybe it is the most blasphemous way, to say this, but, it was a Godsend, for me! I am not sure that I would have survived without it, in my life, to change me, and to strengthen me; teach me 'street smarts', that I came to value so much more than the 'book smarts' that I had before that which had seemed to serve little of any practical purpose as I tried to navigate my way through all that life had dealt me. If I had to choose a song as background music, to also convey the atmosphere and the environment, that I am describing here, as far as what it was like to be in, and a part of, these Go Go bars it would be 'Hotel California'. Here is the link for the Eagles, performing, this, hit song, live: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=niIX0QcYRzE.

Hotel California

Eagles

On a dark desert highway
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinkin' to myself
'This could be heaven or this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor
I thought I heard them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (any time of year)
You can find it here
Her mind is Tiffany-twisted
She got the Mercedes Benz, uh
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys
That she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard
Sweet summer sweat
Some dance to remember
Some dance to forget
So I called up the Captain
"Please bring me my wine"
He said, "We haven't had that spirit here since 1969"
And still those voices are calling from far away
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
They livin' it up at the Hotel California
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis
Mirrors on the ceiling
The pink champagne on ice
And she said, "We are all just prisoners here of our own device"
And in the master's chambers
They gathered for the feast
They stab it with their steely knives
But they just can't kill the beast
Last thing I remember
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
"Relax", said the night man
"We are programmed to receive
You can check out any time you like
But you can never leave"

Songwriters: Glenn Lewis Frey / Don Felder / Donald Hugh Henley

So much was an illusion in these dark clubs with the flashing lights and loud, pulsating, music, with dancers wearing thick masks, of makeup, and using, fake, stage names, not only for their own protection, and privacy, but to seem like even more of a fantasy figure, in the minds of the male customers, who had left their real world, everyday lives, behind, and escaped them here, to encounter that. Dancer aliases were very often sexually suggestive. A large-boobed girl that I worked with went by the--- fairly obvious--- dancer name of 'Peaches' after getting the breast implants, to live up to that. Her real name was Peggy; and her real body had been less chesty. [I explained how I came to have my dancer name, of 'Stevie', in a previous post. The short of it was that I took it from the name of a very prominent doctor, that I knew, from the hospital that I had worked in, after he ended our relationship. But, I made it my own! Here, is the link, for that post:   https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html.]  Almost every Go Go bar, I ever worked in, seemed to have dancers going by 'Angel' and 'Diamond'. There was also usually a 'Chastity' who was anything but that. Even when I got to know someone in the bar that I worked in, whether it was a co-worker, or a customer, it didn't really seem like it was truly them I was interacting with. It was often more of a superficial posturing, that they put forth, or even just some type of, outrageous, over-the-top attitude, that made them seem much more plastic, than real, to me; and, when that fell shorter still of their apparent aim, to reinvent themselves, even left them looking downright cartoonish! There were times this turned into some hilarious sideshow, and People Watching in there was one of my favorite pastimes, in between, doing my dances, up on stage (though, sometimes, I even caught myself doing that from up there!). From Bachelor Parties, coming in, to bouncers jumping on jerks to kick them out of the bar for getting too far out of line, it was clear that all of the live entertainment, on any given night, in the Go Go bars, was not, just from their dancers!

Virtually everyone, in these places, had an angle; some agenda, they wanted to succeed with to make it "a good night!" Even, at times, regardless of the cost, or consequence, in their lives once this 'party' was over. "LAST CALL, FOR ALCOHOL!" the waitress told the customers, as they tried to make their final tip for the night. At closing time, as the buzzed crowd nursed that last drink, the, harsh, glaring, overhead lights abruptly switch on, making the magic disappear in a split-second 'POOF!', as this very same room, that had felt like such a Fantasy Land, just moments before, suddenly appears dilapidated and dingy. Stale, gray, cigarette smoke hangs in the air, like a haze. Insecurities had battled against ambitions, within each soul, all evening, as people played their head, and heart, games, with one another; hedging their bets, by each showing the other, only, what they wanted them to see, and to think, that they were. Now, this moment of reckoning had arrived for them to, finally, find out which of the two opposing forces had won, based on what the goal was, that one had in mind. Of course, it was sad, to me, but no surprise, that married men, that came in, often, told the dancers that they were single, and even those that actually admitted, they were married (and, some, even happily married; or so they claimed), still, wanted to get the dancer, of their dreams, to have sex with them. Dancers who happened to be confirmed Man-Haters had, acted, available and even interested, during the evening, as long as the money kept coming, to them, out of the guy's wallet, and into their bikini bottom, as tips. But, NOW? . . . they tell this sucker that, stupidly, thought he could play, use, or take advantage of, them--- after they already had that happen, to them, earlier in their lives, by some jerk, that they had actually loved and trusted NOT to do that, to them: "Oh my! The sitter told me, when I called home, just now, that they can't stay longer, tonight, so I have to hurry home." (They have no kids.)  After adding, they're 'OH SO SORRY, they can't be with the guy; not TONIGHT, anyway, . . . .' (to try, to keep him on their hook, for future tips, until he finally figures it out) they vanish into the night after giving him their (fake; non-working) phone number, that he asked for. This is what I saw, working at these bars; and, I eventually learned.

To be honest, and transparent, here, I have to admit that I, also, eventually did things like this after a few too many men tried to pull their crap with me. It is one of my, hardest, confessions, to make, in my life! Worse, it was not always done--- by any, of us, doing it--- strictly, tit for tat, only on whom had perpetrated it on us, and may have, therefore, 'deserved' it, being done, to them. At some point, people that hadn't done it, to anyone, and didn't have it coming, to them, had it done, to them, anyway; for whatever reason, or motivation, the perpetrator had, to do it. There is that expression 'Hurt people hurt people'. There are not alot of things I am actually ashamed of, in my life, but my choice, to, disgracefully, hustle, some, undeserving, people, in my dancer career is definitely on the list of things that I would like to think that I would change or undo, if only, I could go back, in time. I once gave a guy, named Robin, that I actually even really liked, a fake phone number--- to the animal spay-neuter clinic (LOL)--- because he had come into this club as an assistant manager and had started to try to sleep with every dancer there, one after another, causing jealousy, arguments, and distrust between the dancers, who thought he was worth it. Hating myself, for still liking him, as a person, despite, something this despicable, to me, I gave him the wrong phone number, to try to make a point about his penis. It all sounds pathetic, I know; but I do think that there's some justice in gamers getting gamed.

In the dressing rooms, at the end of the night, some of the girls, whose feet hurt, or who didn't make enough tips, to be happy, that night, were now being bitchy, as they shed their sexiness and sequins, and put on their snarkiness and sweatpants. Others, too tired, to talk, to anyone, anymore, at all, still showed their own signs, of wear and tear, from the flakes of mascara that had fallen onto their faces, to the teased-out hairdos that had somehow deflated in spite of all the hairspray coating them. I listened to the comments, back and forth, between the girls, as I quickly pulled on my jeans over my costume, to go home; sometimes adding my own, into the mix, but mostly, just trying to get out of there, get something to eat, and put my feet up awhile. The comments between the dancers, often sounded something like this: "Oh! Honey! I LIKED your new costume you wore tonight! That REALLY HID those STRETCHMARKS, across your stomach."; "Oh my God! My FUCKING FEET HURT!  . . . Geez; they STINK, too! I'm going to throw these shoes out!"; "Wait! What SIZE, are they!?"; "Babygirl! Trust me! YOU don't WANT these SMELLY OLD SHOES!"; "Ladies, I, had a GOOD night, tonight!  I made money, off that one guy, I sat with! I think he's going to be my new 'regular'! He said, he'd be back."; "You can get us CLOSED DOWN, doin' the kind of lap dance that you were giving that guy tonight, and we'll ALL be OUT of MONEY! I saw, what you were rubbin', on him, and the undercover cops, that we get in here, coulda seen that too. You're messing with MY money, if you get us SHUT DOWN!"; "Can you . . . pass me that trashcan? I think, I'm going to throw up."; "You shouldn't be doing those shots. That's some strong shit!"; "Man! She PUKED, in it; and, it STINKS!  I'M GONE!"; "I don't know why you have to drink that much. I quit drinking, last year, and I get up, on that stage, stone-sober. Every night! Why don't you quit drinking, so much, like that? It will make you OLD BEFORE YOUR TIME! Do you wanna LOOK OLD? . . . I can smell that vomit in here. Why didn't you go to the restroom, to do that?"; "She's naked. I can't find her clothes! She's SO fucked up!"; "Well, I'm outta here! See you bitches, tomorrow.  I'm headed to TACO BELL DRIVE THRU!"; "Did YOU tell that one guy I WAS MARRIED, so he'd sit with YOU and NOT ME? FUCK YOU, Bitch! Don't even lie, about it!" The show we put on every night was--- almost all--- a masquerade . . . both intriguing, and empty, all at the same time; and when the masks came off, after the lights came up, it was really just a group of regular girls, whose feet hurt, and hearts were broken, that were trying, their best--- DAMN IT!--- in spite of everything, crappy, about being a woman in THIS world--- to, just SURVIVE, it; and, keep on, keeping on.

The Eagles are my all-time favorite band and I especially love their expressive, emotive, lyrics.
There is another one, of their songs, that sums up what a night at the Go Go bar was like. The following, is the, audio, link, for them performing this song, 'Heartache Tonight', and, the lyrics:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=feduLprAAig

Heartache Tonight
Eagles

Somebody's gonna hurt someone before the night is through.
Somebody's gonna come undone; there's nothin' we can do
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Lord, I know.
Some people like to stay out late
Some folks can't hold out that long
But nobody wants to go home now; there's too much goin' on
This night is gonna last forever. Last all, last all summer long
Some time before the sun comes up the radio is gonna play that song
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Lord, I know.
There's gonna be a heartache tonight
The moon's shinin' bright, so turn out the light, and we'll get it right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache to night, I know
Somebody's gonna hurt someone (somebody) before the night is through
Somebody's gonna come undone; there's nothin' we can do (everybody)
Everybody wants to touch somebody, if it takes all night
Everybody wants to take a little chance, make it come out right
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
Let's go.
We can beat around the bushes; we can get down to the bone
We can leave it in the parkin' lot, but either way
There's gonna be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know
There'll be a heartache tonight, a heartache tonight I know

Songwriters: Glenn Frey / Don Henley / Bob Seger / John David Souther


* [Urban Dictionay] "Bubble Butt - Contrary to popular belief Bubble Butts are ~not~ big asses. Bubble Butts are round like a globe, usually complement a slender/slim body, they are very tight and firm . . . . 'she is skinny but - damn - she has a bubble-li-cious bubble butt ass.'"

** body roll: (a video, showing this move) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0jd1nuA61mc                         (a GIF, showing this move) https://images.app.goo.gl/cJv5aj8Ri5r5PozPA
                   (a GIF, of Rihanna body roll) https://images.app.goo.gl/Ms9dU3af9ohhKRaq6

*** Peg Streep is the author of the book Daughter Detox: Recovering from an Unloving Mother      and Reclaiming Your Life, and has written or co-authored 12 books. Online: pegstreep.com.

The First Time I Ever Worked As A Nanny

The first time that I ever worked as a nanny was a real eye-opener for me, as I began to learn some things about these people who choose for whatever financial and/or emotional reasons to bring a complete stranger into their home to live with them 24/7 in this personal setting and put that person largely in charge of their children, and very often, their home. Some people in this line of work find very satisfying situations but there are many stories of nannies that were very unhappy with these jobs for a variety of reasons. I worked for 5 different families before I was finally so tired of both bad and bizarre parental behaviors that I couldn't subject myself to that career field anymore. It seemed to me that it was the parents, who needed the nanny, for themselves, rather than this really being about having one for the children! While some of the children that I worked with as a nanny were very spoiled, entitled-behaving brats, others were really great kids. The real problem, with the job, always came down to the parents; enough so that I was really unhappy in these situations because there was no escaping it. I lived where I worked and worked where I lived. I could (try to) run by distancing myself, either by staying in my room or leaving the house whenever I had time off to get away for a bit, but I couldn't hide. Based on behaviors that I both witnessed and was subjected to, in these homes, and my own family, as well as with other families, I have been exposed to, throughout my life, there seems to be no such thing as a 'normal', 'healthy' family. Just dysfunctional ones, to some degree, or other. Sin, is the sickness in the souls of all of humanity, with selfishness at the very center of that malady which skews, warps, undermines, and ruins, our relationships with one another. I think that being a, live-in, nanny caused me to realize that dysfunctional families are probably much more common than well-adjusted ones although those happier ones are so much more pleasant to deal with or to be involved in. Due to what I experienced with this, I would have to say that selfishness causes the most damage in this world although many people would likely not ever even think of that as being a sin. From indifference, to wars, whenever and wherever there is selfishness, in any, of those involved, there is bound to be strife. For this reason, God gave us His two greatest commandments: to love Him and to love our neighbor as ourselves*. That instruction is the antidote to what is wrong, in so many human relationships, of which the family unit is the most central of them all. Our life's purpose is found in our giving not in taking.

I had not worked as a Go Go dancer at the Razzle Dazzle for very long, after my employment at the hospital, so I still had some reasonably fresh references, written for me from the nurses that I had worked with there, which highly recommended me as being a wonderful caregiver. I had begun applying to be a live-in nanny, after I was fired, from the Razzle Dazzle, which was something that had never happened to me, before, and had really shaken me up. I decided to revert back to my caregiver skill set, which was well-documented, and highly prized, since my proficiency as a nightclub dancer remained rough and unrefined and the bar environment was fairly incomprehensible to me. I had given up thinking about the strange-seeming way that the circumstances had conspired to lead me back to living in Omaha, after my discharge from the Air Force base, in this area, when I had no intention of ever living here, again, after that. I was feeling like I really needed to find another direction, for my life, where, what I had to offer, as a human being, and as an employee, would really be appreciated, and valued, again, like it had been, by both my co-workers and the patients that I cared for, when I worked in nursing at the hospital as a CNA. But, because I felt so burned out emotionally, from the intensity of all that I had to deal with, and try to adjust to, especially those last several years, of my life, I wanted a real change of scenery, as well. There were suddenly several domestic employment agencies running ads in the newspaper. Live-in nanny employment was becoming a booming business, around this time, and these agencies were primarily trying to find girls from the Midwest, to do these jobs. Part of the reason for that was that there was a strong stereotype that Midwestern women were more conservative, in their values and behaviors. Families felt that the girls from the coasts, where they were also largely located themselves, would not be as willing to do the work, required in these jobs, due to their, generally, being perceived as more aspirational and sophisticated. These parents had idealizations of the nanny they were looking for, which were equally divided between two distinct possibilities. They either wanted a wholesome, grounded, hardworking, farm-raised Midwestern girl or they would literally--- and with a seriously straight face!--- demand nothing less than the fictional and magical "Mary Poppins". Even both in one! On the flip side of the employer-employee equation they gave little if any introspective thought to how their own character, values, and personality would have a direct effect on the outcome.

Although I was now in my late twenties and most of the nannies being hired were in their early twenties, that was looked upon favorably, as my having life experience, plus, my proven ability to handle responsibility for the direct care of others. I had also been a homemaker when I was married, so I had those domestic skills, as well. It was a bit trickier trying to put forth that I had childcare experience, from newborn to toddler, when that direct care was for my own son, Jay, before I transferred his custody, to his father and stepmother. This was very valid and relevant childcare experience but the circumstance could certainly be construed in such a way as to be potentially off-putting to people. Especially, as far as the emotional reaction to that, by families seeking childcare for their own children. While I initially felt some anxiety and apprehension as I applied and interviewed for nanny jobs, it turned out not to be an obstacle to overcome, at all. My forthright explanation, that I was divorced from his father, had originally had full custody, of my son, but had ideally wanted for him to be raised in a two-parent home, was something that even the divorced parents that I would work for as a nanny grasped as the ultimate desirability. Aside from caring for my own son I had only had some previous babysitting jobs when I was a teenager, back in high school. I had never planned on having any children of my own because I was deeply concerned about my family's dysfunction tainting my own child's life just as it had mine, by either their presence in my child's life, or my somehow passing some of that along to my own child, from not knowing how to do any better, since that was the familial role modeling that I had been exposed to, and raised in, myself. While I didn't shun or dislike children by any means, my intention, to not have any myself, made them rather peripheral people in my world. I was an excellent caregiver for the adults I had taken care of, when I was a Nursing Assistant. My son, Jay, had been a very healthy, and happy, child, while he was with me, and in my care. So, I was certainly quite capable of giving conscientious, and concerned, care as a nanny, too.

I was hired, through a nanny agency in Coconut Grove, Florida, to work for a family that had 3 boys, ages 5 and under, with another baby boy on the way, very soon. So, it certainly seemed that they needed a nanny. There's a large Jewish population in Miami and this family was also Jewish. The husband, David, owned a small women's clothing shop and Susan was a stay-at-home mother--- apparently fulfilling her duties as wife to him by being a baby-making machine to give him heirs. (I say that based on something she said to me about that, while I worked for them.) They lived in the Kendall area of Miami in what appeared to be a fairly standard middle-class home. There was nothing fancy or upscale, about the appearance of the place. It looked like suburbia, in many places, in the U.S., only having palm trees in the yard made it appear a bit more exotic, to me. I was hired after an over-the-phone interviewing process with, both, the agency and the family, so I was going into this situation sight unseen. Wanting to see some of the country along the way, I opted to travel by bus from Omaha to Miami instead of flying. The family paid the fare for my transportation there, so that was also cheaper for them. Although it was very interesting, traveling through alot of places on the way there, it was also very tiring. I believe I was on buses for at least a couple of days, not really being able to rest, or sleep well, at all, so when I arrived in Miami I felt extremely physically exhausted and emotionally drained. It was not the ideal way to start a new job, but it also was only going to go downhill, from there. I was about to find out what a superficial snob Susan was. Susan was also a classic narcissist. Those are the kinds of traits and behaviors that turn me off completely!  As an empath**, even when I do not want to care about others, anymore, I still do. When I learned from the other Go Go dancers at the Razzle Dazzle to say, "I don't give a fuck", the most I could mean by saying that was that "I WISH that I couldn't give a fuck". While I am capable of distancing myself from people who are destructive, toward me or others, I hate their poor choices, and bad behaviors, while still praying for their souls. I will not subject myself to such people, longer than I have to!

Susan was there with her mother to look me over when I arrived. I am sure I looked a little the worse for wear after my long trip. Then Susan wanted to see how I interacted with the children so she sent me outside onto the wooden deck in the backyard with these boys, right away, for an hour or so, as she sat in the air-conditioned den, watching us together. The littlest boy kept taking one shoe off, then holding it up, for me to put back on him, which I did, then taking it off again and having me put it back on him, about a dozen times in a row, which I wearily obliged him, as I tried to begin bonding with these kids while I felt dead on my feet, from my days long journey. There is an ongoing debate about whether boys are harder to raise than girls***, but I could already see, by the energy level of these little boys, Daniel, Andrew, and Eric, that I had my work cut out for me, trying to keep up with them. I had to hit the ground running in this job, from that very first moment that I had arrived in this house, without a chance to rest, catch my breath, or even sit and eat anything. Susan just stayed indoors, with her mother, watching the children and I outside, in that muggy tropical heat and humidity. Feeling like I was sinking fast, from fatigue, and my other, unmet, human needs, I asked if I could possibly take a nap due to traveling for days to get there, when I could not even lay down on the buses. I was too tired to even feel hungry, by then. Her mother advocated for me to get some rest, and I was shown to my room. It was huge, but only because it had actually once been their two-car garage, which they had, apparently, first turned into a party room, complete with the furnishings of a several-seat-bar, set up in the corner, and now made into the nanny room. There was a small bed set up for me, in the corner, but no other actual furniture to make it look like a proper bedroom for someone. At least I could set up my makeup mirror on the bar, and sit down on one of the bar stools, I told myself, as I tried, to make the best of it. The rest of that room just looked junky. It had things lying around, that they had stored away in there, out of view of the main part of the house. It was a dark and gloomy-feeling space; a depressing environment, for me, to live in. I wondered uneasily whether they didn't make it more homey as my bedroom so they could still use it to throw parties. I lay down for that nap, and woke up the next morning! Susan's mother had encouraged her to just let me sleep, when I did not wake up, later, that first evening, from my nap. I describe all of that, to say, that, from the beginning, Susan's instincts were for me to give my all and need nothing in return as far as having my basic human needs met. Had it not been for her mother being there, on the day I arrived, and knowing Susan, as I came to, while working for her, I would not have gotten a nap, or had any of my own needs either recognized or addressed. Susan was the center of the universe, to Susan. No one else seemed to matter.

The relationship between a family and their nanny employee is a very symbiotic one. It has to ultimately work for everyone, to work for anyone, and, when it doesn't work, it is the kids, who suffer the most. If they continually have to adjust to new nannies, one after another, and, after bonding with them these people then leave their lives, it can cause the children to develop an attachment disorder****. My being the nanny, for this family, was doomed to fail from the start, because Susan seemed oblivious to her impact on people, or else she was just really good at being indifferent to others around her. I was continually distressed, by seeing how she treated not only me but her own innocent, impressionable, little children, as well. She seemed to be a completely narcissistic person who behaved as if the world revolved around her. Such people as that turn me off, to begin with, so, living with one, and answering to one, as the nanny, was very disheartening, to me. Her husband, David, worked almost all the time, so he wasn't there the majority of the time, to see how things, really, were, when he was absent. He was the sole breadwinner, for this young and continually growing family. The little that I saw of him, in those 6 weeks or so that I lived there, in their home, he had seemed to be a nice enough guy. After I returned to Omaha, when this job didn't work out, for me, I was describing Susan to someone, and they said, to me, "You were obviously working for a J.A.P.!"  Never having heard this term, before, I was confused by that, and clarified to this person that this woman, who had made my life so intolerable in Miami, was definitely not Japanese! They explained, that "J.A.P." stood for "Jewish American Princess" which was, stereotypically, considered to be a Jewish female who was spoiled, selfish, and stuck up. That was Susan!  Although, sometimes, she did seem to be generous and supportive. According to her, though, there had to be some payoff for her in that.

Susan appraised my appearance, openly, to my face, in an unapologetically forthright manner, when I came to work for her. She sent me with her charge card, to her own hairstylist, to get a haircut that cost 10 times what the same style cost me at a walk-in hair salon, back in Omaha. The only difference was that this haircut had been done at a salon that had a fancy name and normally catered to (the ego of) people who were full of themselves, and who told themselves they must be getting 'the best', because they were paying outrageously inflated prices for it. It was a simple, basic, style, though! Next, she took me to an eye doctor because she didn't like that I wore eyeglasses, and wanted me to get contacts instead. I was initially very resistant to having those foreign objects placed into my eyes. I felt fine about myself just wearing glasses. Susan said that she would not even be seen in a grocery store with me, though, until I looked more fashionable, because I was her nanny, now, and primarily reflected on her. I assure you, that I was not unkempt, dirty, homely, or disfigured, as a human being, though she insisted on having this makeover done. I was neat, clean, and conservatively dressed. Susan simply saw everyone, and everything, around her, in her world (and it was ALL, ALWAYS, HER WORLD), as being a direct reflection on her. (That, is another narcissistic trait, by the way.) The growing popularity, and sudden proliferation, of having a nanny was seen, by these aspirational young families, as being another status symbol they could show off to others they wished to impress. She, and her friends, women whose values and lifestyle were similar, to hers, all had nannies, and she wanted hers to be attractive! She once allowed me to attend a dinner party, that they had, at their home, although not exactly as a guest. Susan simply wanted me to be seen, and known, as the family's domestic help. When I came out of my room, while I was getting ready, for that evening, to ask her something, before any of the guests got there, I had just taken the curlers out of my hair, but I had not yet brushed it out. As soon as she saw me, she raised her voice, at me, saying, with a panicked look, on her face, "NO! NO! NO! You are not coming out of your room LOOKING like THAT!" It surprised me, that she clearly didn't comprehend, that it was not styled yet; only curled. Her mother intervened, however, who was the voice of reason, with Susan and, as that, was someone for whom I was always grateful, saying to Susan, "You can SEE that she simply hasn't brushed it out, yet! She will do that before your guests arrive!"

While Susan was highly concerned, with the appearance, of my external body, she was not at all concerned about the health and wellbeing of my internal body. Her neglecting to even offer me something to eat the day I arrived in Miami to work for her, was not just a rather inhumane oversight, on her part, after I had just spent 2 or 3 days straight riding on buses, to come from Omaha to work for her. From the start, she made it seem as if I were eating too much of "her" food, and, again, since it was ALL "her" food, that didn't really leave anything for me to eat, in this house! I was active and energetic, which I needed to be in order to keep up with all those hyperactive little boys of hers; and having a high metabolism, I did need to eat enough simply to maintain my weight. But, at 5'9" and 128 pounds I wasn't obese, or 'eating her out of house and home', by any means. In fact, I was actually losing weight there, that I didn't need to lose, because Susan, continually, berated me, if I ate anything at all! I could not imagine how I was supposed to stay healthy, and be strong and energetic enough to care for all her kids, and do all the housework, for her, as well, when I was not even allowed by her to fuel my body with a minimum of basic nutrition. She was, constantly, accusing me of taking things from the pantry and eating them, myself. I was reduced to eating mere morsels, that I could find, which didn't seem to be anything that she would want, or miss, herself, just to try to survive it. I was never clear, on what she actually thought that I was supposed to eat, there! I was never offered any food, at all, by her, directly. Honestly, it was as if this woman thought that I was nothing, but a machine, that ran on autopilot, rather than an actual human being like herself, that needed to have real food, to eat, on a daily basis! Many days, despite how busy the demands of this job kept me, I simply chose to go hungry, when I could not find anything in the house that I could eat that she wouldn't later complain that she had wanted for herself, rather than have to listen to her scolding me again as she searched the kitchen for any foods that she felt were missing. While I understood that she was pregnant, and therefore was 'eating for two', she didn't seem able to acknowledge the reality of the fact that I ALSO NEEDED TO EAT. Even if only for one!

Apparently, from what she had told me, David had her on a household budget which included the expenses of her having a nanny, in the house. She was determined to cut corners, where she could, though, which I experienced as usually being at my expense. The room and board are figured in to what a live-in nanny gets paid so the money itself is often not alot, especially for the number of hours worked, and all the responsibilities, of the job. I believe I was making $100.00 a week, then, but it might have even been $75.00, and I had one day off, each week. While Susan did not directly complain to me about what she was paying me, since the nanny agencies let these families know what the acceptable, minimum, 'going rate' is, and expect at least that much money to be paid, to those nannies, they place in the homes, she did ask me, several of the weeks I was there, if she could have some of the money she had paid me back because she complained that her budget for the household expenses was too tight. I refused, to do that. Every one of the families that I worked for as a nanny, including this one, paid cash 'under the table', so to speak, as it is, thereby forcing me as the nanny to claim the income as self-employment and pay the taxes on it, myself, as well. It was a very tacky request, to begin with, by her, but I knew without a doubt that I had more than earned what she was paying me, and I also knew her, well enough, based on her actions, which revealed her character, that if I ever even 'loaned' it back, to her, I would most certainly never see that money again. I believe that is why she was on me so much, about any groceries that I ate while I was there, although she was also supposed to provide at least adequate food, for me (which she didn't), as a very important, and much-needed, part, of the room and board aspect, of my nanny compensation. She was clearly trying to pinch pennies, where she thought she could, which was basically by 'taking food out of my mouth'. Or, rather, preventing me, from getting food, she had to pay for!

The 3 children, which were already born, for me to care for, were pre-school ages, 5, 4, and 2. They were just typical, boisterous, boys; always into something, rarely ever still or quiet, often competing with one another to have my full attention. The only time they weren't like this, was on Saturday mornings, when they sat in front of the TV, watching cartoons. The 2 bigger boys were dropped off at the Jewish synagogue that their family belonged to, by their father, on his way to work, weekday mornings, for some children's activities, though, thankfully, which gave me some time to be able to focus on getting all the chores done around the house. I was very conscientious, and thorough, with the house cleaning, so when Susan told me to give special attention to cleaning the livingroom, a couple of days before her dinner party, I dusted the top of the bookshelves, in there, also, which had apparently not been done for a very long time, if ever. However, rather than appreciating that I had done a complete cleaning of the room, she complained to me, that I had raised too much dust, and that she was concerned the air would still smell dusty, when the day of her party came. I did not think that was possible, since I had deep-cleaned that room 48 hours before the event. She was not a person to be pleased, with my efforts, or show any appreciation for anything. If Susan had something to say about either my appearance or how I did my job it was always a criticism. I knew that I gave it my best but there was never any pleasing a chronic complainer, like her. She spent those hours, the boys were out of the house, sitting on the sofa in the den talking to her friends on the phone, if she didn't go out to a salon appointment or some such thing. One day, she returned home from a hair appointment after getting a perm in her hair. The curl didn't last, and had fallen out in the Miami heat and humidity by the time she got home. There weren't any cell phones back then. Just landline telephones. So as soon as she came in the house she called to complain to her hairdresser about the perm not setting in her hair, although she acknowledged that her being pregnant, and the hormonal changes in her body, due to that, likely had something to do with this outcome. She was still upset with them though because they had not found some way to make it work, on her hair. (There is an ongoing debate about whether it is even safe, to get a perm during pregnancy, due to the chemicals used that sit on the scalp for quite a while, with some absorption of those substances into the body.) After that, she called a couple of her girl friends, to complain. These women all had nothing better to do, apparently, than talk with one another for an hour or more on these calls, with Susan actually talking to one for awhile while putting the other one on Call Waiting (and as they actually sat and waited), then talking to the other one for awhile, while the other of the three had been put on hold, on Call Waiting. I had never seen anything like that before. They seemed to have nothing better to do with the time, that was more important, for them. Sometimes, Susan's complaints to her friends were about her manicurist. Outward appearances, even her own, were what mattered the most, to Susan.

Only once did I ever see Susan attentively engage in a real conversation with one of the boys (the 5-year-old, Daniel), and that was on the night of her dinner party, when he got out of bed, and showed up in the kitchen, among her guests, who were mingling and milling around. She spoke to him for a few minutes while stroking his hair with her hand in an affectionate gesture that I had never seen her do, toward any, of the children, before; or, after. Then, she sent him back to bed. David was also home then, though, and in the room, as well. It was obvious that he was very proud, of his brood of boys, which may have been why Susan suddenly seemed to be so gentle, patient, and loving, toward Daniel. When David was not at home, Susan was much more easily and quickly frustrated by the boys, and was also not nearly as attentive, or affectionate, toward them. She would sit on the couch in the den while all the boys were right there, only a few feet away from her, at the most, and definitely within earshot, and say to me which one of the children she wanted, and would take with her, if she ever divorced David for whatever reason, and which boys she would leave behind, with him---  and good riddance! It made my blood run cold to see her do this as I wondered what the impact of it could possibly be on the developing psyche, and self-esteem, of these impressionable young children. I did not even want to know, why, she felt, and talked about, that she was contemplating divorcing David*****. I knew her to be someone that was so critical, of anyone, who wasn't hellbent, on keeping her happy, whatever that took, at whatever moment; which she always wanted, from everyone, around her. Even at their own expense! Perhaps David had also failed to meet her demands, in some way, in their relationship. The days that she would carry on this way about which boys she would leave behind, in a divorce, with the boys sitting right there, hearing her, were some of the worst ones, for me, there. I had never been a nanny, before. I did not know, what I could, or should, do, if anything, about this situation! She was, my employer, after all. I knew for myself that keeping Susan satisfied was such an impossible task due to her spoiled and demanding attitude. I hated hearing her say those things, in front of the children, though.

Daniel and Andrew would often come home from the summer program at the synagogue both excitedly rushing in with their handmade craft creations from that day. These were the type of art projects that children are often shown how to make by gluing macaroni and such things to paper plates to make some type of picture out of all that. One day the boys brought home the paper plate plaques, they had made, to give to Susan. I could see their teacher had told them these were going to be something special, for their mother, to show appreciation and love, for the mothers of the kids in this craft class, because they had scrawled something in crayon on their preschool-age artwork to this effect. They came running into the house and up to Susan, who was sitting on the couch, engrossed in one of those long phone calls with her girl friends. Both boys were trying their best, to get her attention, to give her the gifts. As they each held a 'love gift', from them, out to her, she finally turned, to look at the two boys, with an expression full of annoyance. As she asked her friends to hang on, for a moment, the boys barely got the words "LOOK!" "I MADE THIS FOR YOU!" out of their mouths before Susan snapped at them impatiently, saying, "GET THOSE NASTY-LOOKING THINGS OUT OF MY FACE, AND, OUT OF MY HOUSE! GO PUT THEM IN THE TRASHCAN, RIGHT NOW!" along with a dismissive wave of her hand, in their faces, to shoo them away from her. I was so sad, for these children, and so horrified, by her. To me, the very saddest part, of all, of that, was the fact that the boys seemed so used to this type of behavior from their mother, that after just a momentary look of disappointment flashed across their faces they simply took their 'love gifts' over to the kitchen trashcan, and threw them away, as they were told to, by her. Susan, was teaching them, what was valuable, and not valuable, at all, in the world, based on her perception, that those things which were extremely superficial mattered more than a paper plate, with macaroni glued on it, crookedly, and your young child's handwriting saying that they love you. I know of many other mothers who have saved such things, from their kids, wrapped, carefully, in tissue paper, and would never throw them out for any reason. Some have even run back into a burning building to get those childhood creations out to save them! It is obviously true that 'One man's trash is another man's treasure', as the adage says. I still have things that Jay wrote, growing up, that his stepmother sent, to me, written in his childish scribble. Those things, touch me to the core, of my heart. They truly are treasures to me. Those and the few photographs that I have of him. 

While I was there I did get to go to the Miami zoo one day, on my day off. I also went to one of the malls, there, which featured extremely expensive, upscale stores. Susan also arranged for me to spend a day off at South Beach, one time, instructing me, how to treat the cabana boys, which I would encounter there, for the first time in my life. Miami was an interesting and exotic place! Those were about the only outings that I got to go on while I was working for this family, as their nanny, when I was able to venture out alone on my days off, into the city itself. Where the family lived, in the suburbs, wasn't directly connected to the public transit system. It wasn't close enough, for me to access it, at all, unless Susan was willing to go out into the hot Miami summer to drive me over to what was the nearest point for me to do that; which was well past walking distance, from their house. Kendall was filled with endless, confusing, winding streets full of houses that all looked fairly similar in style where families lived with their kids, and SUV. There was simply no accessible public transportation coming anywhere near the house, that I worked in as a nanny, making it very isolating, for me, since I had no vehicle there for my own personal use. That meant that I had to depend on Susan, coming through, for me, as she had promised when I interviewed for the job, by at least driving me in her SUV to a bus stop where I could connect with the transit system, there. Most of the time, she told me that she just didn't feel like going outside, because it was so hot; and, that was that. So, sometimes, I sat outside in the yard of their house just to get away by myself on my day off, painting watercolors of the beautiful palm trees, which captivated me since they were so exotic-looking. However, I could not really get away by myself that way. Since I was still hanging around the house, on my day off, the boys would usually do all that they could to get my attention even though their parents would repeatedly ask them to leave me alone, for a little while. It was not exactly like having a real break from being at work for me. One of the trickiest parts of being a live-in nanny comes from the fact that you live, where you work, and you work, where you live. The boundaries get blurred, by someone or other involved in the situation, and suddenly you find yourself working on your day off in some capacity when you should not have to, et cetera. Even just socializing with family members, on your day off, especially, with the children, can end up feeling like you are working, which is not conducive to feeling like you actually had any time off, to yourself, to rest, relax, and do something for yourself, for a change, to recharge your own soul, for a while.

On one of my days off, things began to unravel so completely for me, in working for this family, that it became 'the beginning of the end', of my being their nanny. However, the only one that I would blame for that was Susan. But, first, I had a little adventure, in the middle of what would become a very long day, for me. David helpfully drove me farther into the city as he was going in to work; so I got to see the women's dress shop that he had, there, as well. He was, always, a very nice man, including to me. He was just not home, very much, at all, since he worked so much, to see some of what Susan put me, and their kids, through, because of her spoiled self-centeredness. He told me how to take the buses back to the closest bus stop to their house in Kendall, which, was still nowhere near, being within walking distance, of the house; so, Susan was to pick me up, when I got that far, which was only about a 5 minute drive from their house by car. I thought, that I got on the right bus, when I was trying to get back, only I ended up in a colorful, run-down-looking, urban neighborhood, that I knew, could not have me heading in the right direction. When I asked the bus driver about it, he suggested I get off that bus, there, and get on a different one, going the other way, that should be the one, that I needed. As I stepped off that bus, and it drove away, out of sight, leaving me there at the corner bus stop, it became immediately apparent that I was the 'gringa'. Everyone, in the area, stopped, and stared at me, curiously, which was my first clue, that I was somewhere, that nobody, including me, expected me to be! I was the only Caucasian anywhere around there, as far as the eye could see. Then, I noticed, that none of the shop signs, or anything else that I saw, there, was in English. It was all, only Spanish! I have never been to any foreign country in my life, but this situation was the closest that I have ever come to what that would actually feel like to me, even though this was in Miami, Florida, U.S.A.! I was never more grateful in all of my life, that I had taken 3 years of Spanish, in high school, as when I was able to speak to a couple of people standing nearby in the only language they spoke, explaining where I was trying to go, by bus. (My initial attempts to get some help from them, while speaking in English, had only elicited shrugs and sideways glances between them.) Soon, I had several Hispanic people around me, explaining what bus number to get on and such in Spanish, which I was able to translate well enough to get on the right bus, going the right way, after that. So, this, is not the part, of that day, that contributed to me deciding to quit this job, and go back to Omaha. This was actually one of the best parts, of what would become a very bad and very long day, for me. The trouble started back in Kendall.

It can be intimidating, trying to get around a huge metropolitan area, like Miami, all by yourself; especially, when you are not from there, or familiar with it. I was very isolated, as a nanny, and did not get out of the house, that I worked in, much, to be able to really 'get the lay of the land'. So, I realized pretty quickly that I was lost, after I got back to the Kendall area, and Susan told me to walk back to the house from the bus stop, now. As I said before, there were not any cell phones, back then. Just landlines; and pay phones. I had called her on a pay phone, to let her know that I was back, at the closest bus stop, and needed her to come pick me up, from there, as we had previously planned that she would do! However, now she flatly stated, to me, that it was too hot, and that she did not feel like coming outside, in the heat (although she had an air conditioned SUV, to drive), to do that; so, I would simply have to walk back, from there. Susan knew full well that it was much farther than any reasonable walking distance. Now, she wasn't willing to come out in those tropical temperatures to get me, as she had agreed to do this very morning before I left the house, but she apparently had no problem at all leaving me to walk to the house from there in that very same heat and humidity she was avoiding herself. While she would have only had to walk from the house to the air conditioned SUV and drive for just a few minutes, I was now left, by her, to walk, for miles, and for hours, because, I ended up lost. The Kendall area of Miami was not laid out in some squared, grid, pattern, of streets, so although I tried to remember the way, to the house, once I had, finally, walked to, what I thought was, the residential area that it was a part of, I did not recognize anything along the way, anymore, and felt like I was just going around in circles. After a couple of hours of this, with the heat from the sun even more intense as it radiated off the paved roads, that I was walking alongside of, onto my body, I felt really drained, and weak. Seeing a church ahead, that I had never seen, before, I went in, to ask if I could get a drink of water, and whether they could give me directions to the address of the house. Someone from the church gave me a ride to the house and dropped me off, there. But, even better than this, much-needed, ride, I connected with a young family there, that took me under their wing, befriending me, and inviting me to go on an outing with them, to snorkel in Key Largo, on my next day off, which we all really enjoyed! I am a Romans 8:28 girl!

But, Susan, on the other hand, left me feeling frustrated, and demoralized. Now, after her self-centered indifference had also led to my getting needlessly lost, for hours, with bad blisters on both feet to remind me of that, I was feeling really angry toward her, too. She must have been wondering where I was, when I never showed up back at the house, after a certain amount of time, that day she left me stranded, at the bus stop. As it turned out, I was nowhere near their house, when I saw that church and went in there to ask for directions. I might have continued being hopelessly lost, even until it was dark outside, had I not gotten their help. When I finally arrived, back at the house, after the people from the church so kindly gave me a ride, the rest of the way, Susan was at the front door, holding it open, for me to enter. My jaw was set, tight, from my anger, at her, as I went on inside, and I held my tongue, even though all the negative emotions, that I had, toward this woman, were screaming, within me, to be expressed! I didn't decide, not to let loose on her, that day, just because she was my employer. That relationship, between us, was so tenuous by now that it was hanging by a thread anyway. I kept my mouth firmly shut and went right past her into my room, without one single word to her, because all 3 boys were standing there with her at the front door when I got back, and I wouldn't want them to ever hear the kinds of things that I might have said to their mother, that day, had I indulged myself. She never said a word about it either, including not apologizing to me for the situation that she had placed me in that day, when she refused to come pick me up, after I had left, the house, for my day off, believing that she would. Without that assurance from her, about that, I wouldn't have gone; precisely because of the situation, that happened to me, when she didn't.

Things finally came to a head, with her, though, when I spent 6 hours, straight, one day, from early morning until after noon, deep cleaning the bathrooms, as well as other chores I did, to keep their house so clean, without having anything at all to eat, that day. I did those tasks by sheer willpower, because, my body did not have the fuel, that it needed, to do all that work. I tried not to eat anything at all unless I finally felt that I had to, because I was weary of getting admonished by Susan for eating the food, in that house. I had gotten good at finding things I felt she wouldn't possibly want, for herself, but that was not alot, of nourishment for my body. On this particular day, she was in her bedroom, which was a real relief to me as I went in the kitchen, and feeling physically shaky, from hunger, I took two crusts (the end pieces of a loaf  of bread) that I had saved, for me, to eat, and made myself a peanut butter sandwich. It was the most nutrition that I could give myself, in the hopefully-most-unnoticeable way possible. I stood holding it over the kitchen sink so that I wouldn't drop crumbs on the floor and was just about to take my first bite of food that entire day when Susan suddenly appeared, asking me  in a very demanding voice where I had gotten that food and telling me that peanut butter was expensive. Suddenly, I just snapped. I finally had enough, of this 'Jewish American Princess', treating me like 'Cinderella' in this house, leaving me, literally, scrounging for crumbs. I didn't answer her, even one word, about where I got the peanut butter sandwich made with the two crusts of bread. I simply let go, of the sandwich, I hadn't even taken one bite out of, dropping  it, into the sink, and I went to my room, packed up my things, and called the nanny agency to come get me; which they did. I was DONE, with working for Susan. She would never change. She wouldn't even want to, and, worse, ever see the need to. I stayed about another week in Miami with the Christian couple I had become friends with but they lived in a small apartment and had no room or need to keep me as their own nanny. So, I returned to Omaha. Was God still, leading me, back there, for the unfolding of my destiny? I had no idea! I simply knew that Omaha had become home to me, although I was originally born and raised in North Carolina, and HOME seemed like a REALLY GOOD PLACE to be now, while I pondered what direction  I should go in, with my life, for the next chapter, of it. I was just not at all sure what to do, next.

* "And one of them, a lawyer, asked him a question to test him. 'Teacher, which is the great commandment in the Law?' And he said to him, 'You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets.'" - Matthew 22:35 - 40

** https://www.healthline.com/health/what-is-an-empath

*** http://www.cnn.com/2010/LIVING/09/13/p.boys.vs.girls/index.html "On balance, the general consensus seems to be that boys are more of a handful early on . . . ."

**** "Attachment disorder is a broad term intended to describe disorders of mood, behavior, and social relationships arising from unavailability of normal socializing care and attention from primary care giving figures in early childhood." - Wikipedia

***** https://www.insider.com/things-you-shouldnt-do-in-front-of-nanny-2017-3

And So, I Became A Dancer, On Broadway. And No, I Do NOT Mean THAT Broadway!

I had first met my feisty friend, Debbie, while in the Certified Nursing Assistant program that we graduated from, together, at the local community college. We were the top two students, in our class, and I had just barely beat her out as the Honor Graduate, by my pulling off a 4.0 GPA to achieve that. Although we went our separate ways, after graduation, due to our finding work in different medical facilities from one other, we had remained friends over the years. My being a CNA had eventually injured my lower back due to doing all the patient lifting, which had begun to be an ever-increasing problem, as I needed to work full-time to be able to support myself in what was then a barely-above-minimum-wage job. Now, not only was I losing work hours due to having to recover each time my back went out but the pain and weakness in my lower back also prevented me from being able to fully and safely perform all of my nursing duties with the patients, on the medical/surgical hospital floor that I worked on. This type of injury happens to many people in this career field. With my tall, slender frame at 5'9" and 128 pounds I suppose that it was surprising it hadn't become bad enough to end my medical career sooner than this.

The hospital had well respected my high-quality contribution to their patient care and because of that had reassigned me to work in the business office doing billing and insurance duties, to retain me as an employee. Although I had deeply loved working in this hospital I found myself completely miserable in this new work environment. I had felt so fulfilled in the nursing side of things there; something I clearly could not ever return to doing again now, though. Seeing the other nurses, around the hospital, such as in the cafeteria at meal times, left me feeling, even more, despondent, over how things turned out for me. I missed the camaraderie of caregivers working together for a noble common cause, and the tender aspect, at the core of the nursing profession. My heart had been so depleted by the distressing things I had been through in my own life. This, loving, environment had helped heal my own broken heart in ways, because of the nurturing and hopefulness, surrounding me, then, as we helped our ailing patients to heal. The behind-the-scenes of the business side of things was catty, and cold, both among the co-workers and even toward those patients who stopped by regarding their payment for services rendered. The situation in the office environment quickly and steadily deteriorated for me and things simply seemed to only go from bad to worse there. It just wasn't for me. I realized that I would have to let go of the hospital that I loved, now, because to stay there would mean I had to go on trying to force myself to do what just felt, to me, like petty paperwork, with a bunch of backstabbing bitches as co-workers, all of which I had absolutely no heart for. I felt empty and sad. This place that had once been such a blessing to me, of hope and happiness, when I got hired for the job to work on the patient floor there, as a Certified Nursing Assistant, had turned into a source of despair and growing depression for me, as each moment 'pushing papers', in the office, felt like emotional agony. Unable to continue living at that level of pure misery, I left.  I had no idea what I would do, for a living, now, but I knew that I could not do that, any longer!

I was lying on the livingroom floor of my apartment, not many days later, trying to help heal my remaining back injury which I was left with from working there, when I thought to call my friend Debbie, and tell her, what had happened, to me. She and I had both truly enjoyed our work, in the patient care field, so I knew that she would really understand why all of this was so deeply upsetting, for me. Debbie was a fiery, red-headed, take charge type of personality! Wanting to be helpful, in a practical and proactive way, she had come over to my apartment, as soon as I called to tell her about my dilemma, and she brought the current newspaper along with her for potential employment possibilities, to aid me in my job search. There wasn't any internet back then. Job searches were primarily done through simply checking the local newspapers for any current employment opportunities. As she read the various job ads to me I continued lying flat on my back on the floor which seemed to help my lower back problem. With each ad she read we discussed my current skillset, and any possible new skills I could learn, in light of what was actually available now, as a potential job for me. Whatever it was going to be, I needed it to be an immediate hire, which most jobs weren't, because my monthly bills were almost due. It also needed to pay weekly, to keep me from falling further behind financially than I was now; again, something that the large majority of jobs did not do.  

Almost all, of the conventional employers, had lengthy application and interview processes which often lingered over several weeks, with no assurance, at all, of ever even being hired, after all that! Even worse, since time was of the essence, for me, financially, those mainstream type of jobs usually only paid every two weeks, so the first paycheck wouldn't actually be in hand for 3 to 4 weeks from the actual start date; if hired, for any of those. At that point all of my bills, including the rent, would be past due, which could even put me at risk of possible eviction from my apartment, if I couldn't get caught up on what I owed by then fast enough. I had been living at poverty level even though I was working fulltime, at the hospital, so I did not have the luxury of having any money saved up. I had lived paycheck to paycheck, just barely making ends meet, while living an extremely frugal lifestyle. My bad back was also an issue as it affected what types of employment I would be able to do. Employers wouldn't have much patience with it interfering with their expectations, of me, as a new hire, in any way. Especially if it hurt my attendance, productivity or the quality of my work.

Working her way down the page, with all these things in mind, Debbie eventually said, to me, "Here's one! Dancers needed. Good money plus tips. No experience needed!" When I asked what kind of dancers she went on reading from the Help Wanted ad. "It says 'Razzle Dazzle'. Their address is just across the river, over in Council Bluffs. They hire on the spot!  I think it's one of those 'Strip Clubs'." She looked at me from over the newspaper she was holding, as I responded from where I was still lying down on the floor, "I could NEVER do that!" I said that, to her, because those few days in Biloxi, Mississippi when I had been an actual stripper were not fun or fulfilling, for me. There was nothing, about that experience, that I wanted to repeat. Now or ever! There was no rapport there, with any of the other strippers or staff. The patrons were completely voyeuristic, which I suppose one must expect in such an establishment, but were not socially engaging at all, aside from wanting to put their sweaty hands on me when I had to sit with them, in the dark, on hard, sticky-feeling chairs, in between my dance sets. I'd used so much peppermint breath spray to try to ease some of my discomfort in being that up close with strange men, that one, nearly, keeled over off his chair, after he'd asked me to join him, and I breathed out that strong scent while introducing myself, as I sat down, next to him; as was required of me. I had felt humiliated doing my striptease, on that stage, even though I was far removed from the tables the patrons sat at, there. The contrast, between how distant from everyone, and impersonal, that had felt, for me, and my being completely naked, while I was on the stage during my 3-song-striptease in the most physically vulnerable way possible, except for my high heels, and a feather boa, was something that I couldn't reconcile, about it, in my emotions. Rather than my feeling classy like Gypsy Rose Lee had seemed to me to be,  I felt like, what I was doing, there, was, at best, only some disgusting display in a dingy dive. I couldn't do that again. I couldn't feel like I had felt there about me, and where I worked, again.

However, my friend, Debbie, unclouded in her judgement by the emotions I was feeling about all this, saw my getting a job right away where I could make some good money now as a real necessity for me rather than as just an option which I could afford to choose to ignore. In fact, after covering the entire Want Ads section of the newspaper, with me, it seemed, to her, to be my only option! Literally pulling me up off the floor she hauled me outside and to her car, then drove me across the bridge, over the Missouri River, and into Council Bluffs, Iowa. It was late afternoon, when we pulled up, in front of 'Mickey's Razzle Dazzle', one of those bars with live female entertainment, which is often euphemistically referred to as a gentlemen's club. It was not far over the bridge, from Omaha, Nebraska, where I lived. It sat right along Broadway, the city's busy main drag. I did not want to go in! I was determined, not to go inside, actually. But, Debbie persisted, prying me out of her car and then pulling me toward the door, saying that it wouldn't hurt, just to go in, and see what it was like! As I continued to refuse, she then took it upon herself to, literally, drag me toward this rather ramshackle Go Go bar. I lost this struggle with her, when she pulled my hands away from gripping the outer doorframe, of the entrance, in a last ditch effort to try to keep her from pulling me through that door. She was determined, to help me; even in spite of me! So, she did, eventually, manage to get, both of us, inside the door, of this dilapidated structure. She had ignored my protests and overrode my attempts at evasion. To see her physically pulling me into this Go Go bar, by force, onlookers might have thought that what was going on was, actually, a kidnapping of me, due to my resistance, to it!

As we entered, this very dark room, and were standing, just inside the door, it took a moment, for my eyes to be able to see well, after coming from outside in the bright afternoon sunshine. Some sexy-sounding song was booming, in my ears, and I heard Debbie, talking to someone over the loud music, assertively announcing about me, that, "SHE WANTS A JOB!" Since my eyes were adjusting now, I was able to see small, white, lights, blinking continually all around the floor of the stage which extended out into the center of this cramped room, that was filled with small tables. I turned to look at whomever Debbie was speaking to about me, and saw a large, intimidating-looking figure with his bald head and his black suit. I guessed that he must be the doorman, but he actually turned out to be the manager of this bar! He had been sitting, perched on a bar stool right by the entry door, watching the room, when we had walked in (or, rather, Debbie had walked in, dragging me, with her!). Although this guy was a little unnerving to me, because of his sheer size, and a seemingly thug-like toughness, I retorted, to Debbie's statement to him about my wanting a job there, with "NO I DON'T." Then I turned back toward the door to try to exit as fast as I could, but my friend grabbed my arm, to stop me, and just as she did this menacing-looking man, we were speaking to, stood up from his seat, blocking the door now with his large frame. His body almost eclipsed the door so I had no escape. He said to me, very curtly, "Get up, on the stage, on the next song, and let's see, what you've got." So, between Debbie and this guy, I was left with no choice it seemed, but to get through this thing.

The stage was completely edged with very-close-sitting tables, except where the large mirror was attached to the back wall of the stage. Because of the seating arrangement, some of the bar patrons were easily within distance of being able to actually reach out and touch the girls on stage. There were tables packed in as tightly as possible throughout the room; not just up by the stage, and a long bar at the back of the room with several bar stools for customers, as well. The only other part of the club, I could see, at the time, was a somewhat separate room, slightly partitioned off, from this main room with the stage, which had a pool table inside. The bar had a completely different look and feel from that actual stripper bar I had worked at for a few days, several years earlier, back in Biloxi. This place wasn't set up at all like that bar, had been. This one was, and felt, very up close and personal. As the jukebox playing the 45 RPM records changed those out, there was a gap, of silence, as it rotated to the next one. With my exit blocked, by both, my friend, and the man standing in front of the door, I knew that I would simply have to humor them, to get through this, and then just never come back, once I, finally, got myself out of there! When the song ended for the dancer that was performing up on stage the manager motioned, to me, with the hand holding his cigar, for me to get up on stage, next.

I stepped up over some of the blinking floor lights to stand up on the stage, which wasn't very high above the floor at all; feeling completely ill at ease, as the song started. I don't recall the song. I only remember feeling like I was lost, in a panic mode internally, and just trying to get this ordeal over with, as best I could; and leave! I didn't know how to move my body, the way that I had seen the dancer, on stage, doing when we came into the club. It was very sinuous, and nuanced. Actual dancing, rather than just 'strutting her stuff', like I had basically done, in the strip joint, as I'd traipsed around the stage, and bent over, and such, much in the style of Gypsy Rose Lee. There, the primary focus had been on just doing a striptease, which meant getting those few clothes off myself during my set on stage and ending up nude, while doing strategic strutting, and stretching, in the process of that. This Go Go bar had bikini-clad girls, working here, which did real dancing, with no nudity, although the bikinis that they each wore all had a thong bottom, exposing each of their behinds fully, except for their butt crack. I was not sure how to do this type of dancing during my audition on stage. It wasn't stripping so the focus was not on actually taking off any of my clothing although I later learned that there was sometimes a, legally limited, degree of that, done, during the dancers' performances. Go Go dancing seemed to be much more about the skill of the dancer. I really had no experience to draw on for my audition as far as this particular style of dancing, and that really showed now.

I did the best I could, which, I admit, wasn't very good. Plus, my heart wasn't in trying to do it. All I wanted was to just get through this and leave. I stayed back by the large mirror covering the back wall of the stage, for most of the song, trying not to look at the customers who were sitting there sipping their beers looking at me. As soon as the song stopped I quickly hopped off the stage, and stood in front of this man, who was still blocking the door, hoping he would say that, I sucked, at it, and could leave, now. Moving aside, to allow that to happen! Instead, he regarded me with a look of slight amusement, across his, otherwise, emotionless face, as he puffed on his cigar, looking me up and down, as if he were taking total stock, of me. Then, breathing out cigar smoke, in my face, as he spoke, he said, to me, "You're the 'GREENEST' thing I've EVER seen, but I THINK I can make a DANCER out of you!" There was something about that--- what he said to me, or perhaps, the way that he said it, or even that slight smirk, of bemusement, on his face, that caused something to rise up, in me, almost as if I had been given--- not an ultimatum but--- a challenge. A challenge that for some reason I found myself suddenly wanting to actually accept. He told me to return the next night to start working there and Debbie and I left. She was smiling from ear to ear with an ecstatic, satisfied, grin, as she drove me home and dropped me off. "I TOLD you I'd find you a job!" she said to me. To her it was that simple; and I really did need this job, I realized, on the way back, to my apartment. I didn't see another way, to survive, and not lose my apartment, without this kind of immediate income that dancers make; especially from customer tips. At least, I hoped that I would make money, as 'green' as I was. . . . I would need to do well enough for the guys to want to tip me. There was alot to learn in my upcoming on-the-job training to become the Go Go girl 'Stevie'. [Please refer to my blog post dated 10-30-19, for how I selected that dancer name of 'Stevie':  https://ascentthroughthedarknightofthesoul.blogspot.com/2019/10/from-my-giving-all-i-had-to-my-showing.html]

I really didn't know, what I was getting into, at the time. I just needed a way to survive; alone. My heart was still broken, from the divorce from Jim, and the transfer of our son's custody to him; and to his second wife. Pouring my heart out, for patients in the hospital, had been very therapeutic for me, but once I was no longer able to do that, the despair had settled back on me, overwhelming and nearly suffocating me. God knows, I needed someone, or something, that could capture my heart, again, to carry me through some of the dark days into hopefully better ones, at some point along the way. I never would've expected that becoming a dancer would replace being a Nursing Assistant as my favorite job. It's said that God doesn't give us what we want, but what we need. All of these colorful characters, that were about to become part of my life in the entertainment business, would cause me to fall in love . . . with them all! Well, with most of them. There were a few bitches, along the way. And, of course, some real assholes, also. But, none of them were in my path, for too long, to make my life permanently painful for me. One of the worst parts of it, though, was when I became one of those bitches, myself, for a short time. But, I get ahead of myself with that, here. That would be years down the road. I am just going to describe the very beginning of this career change for me, now. It will take me several posts, to share everything there is to say, about all the different aspects, involving my work, relationships, and lifestyle when I became a dancer. This was going to be quite a big transition, for me, to make! Even a culture shock. Going from my being a hospital caregiver, with an altruistic mindset, to a nightclub dancer, with the confidence and even ego needed to be able to handle this type of job and do it well, meant that I was about to embark on a, long, journey, clear across the expanse of my own soul; to the other side of myself! My alter ego was waiting, there, in my subconscious, for me to unearth it, and breathe life into it.

Later that evening when I was alone, I drove myself to a nice, quiet, bar, the night before my life would change, as I stepped onto the stage, as a working Go Go girl; to have a drink, and ponder whether my dreams, of finding and having real romantic love, would ever happen for me, again, now. I had never been completely in love with any man, until, and except for, Jim, whom I had set free, by divorcing him, when it was obvious, that he would never choose me, over his parents, over the opinions of his co-workers, over his own doubts about us together; married, or otherwise. I knew there were alot of strong stereotypes, associated with girls that worked as dancers, which I felt would only make it more impossible for me to experience the loyal and lasting love that I always longed for, with one, good, man, in this life! Strictly based on those assumptions, made about people, I felt that no good man would ever want me now.  There were already too many strikes, against me, from the failures in my life, that brought so much heartache to my existence on this earth. It's said that women want love and men want respect. But, I've always wanted respect more than love, if I had to choose, between the two, from someone, and I was very well aware, that respect isn't something normally extended to nightclub dancers. There was still, at this time in my life, which was my late twenties, a small hope, lingering, deep, in my heart, that Disney movies weren't lies, and that my prince would come, and I would live happily ever after with him. It just seemed impossible now because of my new job which I was about to start. I had always had very high standards, for myself, and therefore, for others, as well. So, I could not imagine meeting any guy, that came to ogle me, and the other girls, dancing, in the Go Go bar, and thinking that he had the values, character, and integrity that I was now starving to see in any man I would ever know. For me men were the single biggest let down in my life. Pure disappointment and disillusionment for me. Still, I thought, there must be someone, who fit my image of what a good man would really be like! How else was I even able to see that so clearly in my dreams? My Disneyesque dreams. . . .

There was no one in this upscale neighborhood bar, located in a strip mall, in the suburbs, of Omaha, that evening, other than a male bartender, and one lone male customer sitting at the far end of the bar, from where I sat, as I came in. I really wasn't 'a bar person', by personality, so when the bartender asked me what I wanted to drink, I told him I really had no idea, so he concocted something he called an 'Elk Creek Springwater' with shots of gin and vodka, some 7-Up, I think, and a squeeze of lime (or, something similar, to that). As I sipped it, through the straw, from the tall glass in front of me, he made the usual, bartender, small talk with me. The man at the other end of the bar sipped on his drink in total silence. As I finished the second of these drinks, I opened up about what I was feeling that night as I sensed my life was about to change drastically, by the next evening, and that my new job would make my heart's desire to really be loved, by someone, even more impossible for me than it already felt. I told him that I couldn't even find someone who liked to actually talk about things, the way that I liked to do. I am an Aquarius which are known for that. I doubted that any man I would meet at my new job would have any interest at all in having a real conversation with me, either in or outside of the Go Go bar they met me in. Sensing my deep loneliness, and grief, the bartender set a refill in front of the man sitting at the far end of the bar, and then he said, to both of us, two obviously very lonely and sad people, "Why don't you two talk to one another?" The customer had been sitting and listening to me tell the bartender that I couldn't even find a man that could or would carry on a conversation with me, so, as he picked up his drink, and came over to sit by me, at the bar, he introduced himself, and said to me, "Good evening, Ma'am. I can talk to you about politics, religion, philosophy, or the subject of your choice!". I liked that response, from him, so we talked from then on, until the bar was closing for the night, in what was now the wee hours of the morning. We went, and sat, together, in one of our cars, and with the help of our drinks, for liquid courage, we began to make out, like two starving people, that hated to even have to come up for air. He seemed like a really nice man! A good man. Right there. With me. It could have been magic, for both of us; the start of something real, and romantic, together. But there was no way, that it could take root, or survive, in the soil of our separate sadness, in our lives.

He was an Air Force officer--- a captain I believe. Because I could tell that he definitely wasn't any jerk, and because he had been a gentleman, from the start, and, because I trusted him, I agreed to follow him back to his home, in my car, because he lived closest, and he needed to get home to check on his children. It turned out that he had 2 young sons living with him after his divorce. His wife had left him and the boys, because she simply couldn't handle the death sentence hanging continually over their two beloved sons. Both boys had Cystic Fibrosis and weren't expected to live, to see adulthood. His ex-wife was racked with guilt, because of their having children, since this was an inherited, genetic, condition, that had been thrust upon her babies, and always considered fatal, up until the 1980s, which is when all this was happening in this family. It was chronic, progressive and required daily, energetic, chest percussion to be done, on both boys, to help clear their airways. Although there have since been great medical advances making the prognosis so much better, and longer, for Cystic Fibrosis patients, back then, about half of the people, with this infirmity, did not live to see their 20s. It was certainly a sad situation, for this family. Unable to cope with the grief and the guilt, the mother had exited the picture, leaving the boys motherless and this devoted dad with his hands full as the single parent, and, an active duty officer, in the U.S. Air Force. I liked him. He literally was 'an officer and a gentleman', and very similar to the real-life prince that I had always wished I would find. Only, we just wouldn't work out, because we were both drowning in our sorrows over our own children, and simply could not take on the additional heartache, from one another's situations.

I had told him all about my deciding to let go of, my own son, Jay, leaving him, with his father, and stepmother, to have a two-parent home, and a better life, than a struggling single mother could give him. This, of course, hit a nerve, with him, because of his wife leaving their picture, with their boys, although the motivations were much different for us two women. With my son, it was only due to having his best interests at heart. Also, I made sure he was in a stable, two-parent, home, because I believed that it would be the healthiest, happiest, home life he could have, growing up. Many people feel, very emotionally, that, a mother, should not or could not, 'abandon' their own babies, birthed from their own bodies, under any circumstances. But that doesn't always fit with the realities, of the relationships involved, when other choices must be made. I interacted with his boys well, but I also could not cope with getting attached, to them, and watching them wasting away toward death, which would be, another, horrible loss, in my own life, as well; if I let them in, to my heart! My heart was, already, so shattered, from losing my own son, from my life, that I just couldn't do it. This was a great guy; and he always made me great grilled cheese sandwiches, with Velveeta, every time that I went over to their house to visit them because he mostly needed to be at home, near his boys, to care for their needs. Knowing that, given the situation, I just couldn't cope with getting more attached to him or the boys, I parted ways, with him, before we would start to fall in love, and add more pain, to one another's lives, that neither one, of us, needed, or could deal with, now. Because I'd told him, about my new job starting, he showed up, there, one night, in Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, to see me. He sat at the end of the bar, just as he had been sitting the night we met at the other bar, weeks before, and I went over, to speak to him, as soon as I saw him. I just couldn't go there, emotionally, though, and I never saw him again after that night. I pray he found healing love. I never did. But, I know that he really deserved to have that, in his life. He was so loving! There just seems, to me, to be too few, of these, really, good, deserving, men, like him, in this world.

My first night, going to work, at the Razzle Dazzle, I had no idea what to expect. Dick had told me to just show up and what I needed, to get started as a Go Go girl, would be waiting for me. After seeing how tiny those thong bikinis were which the girls wore I had shaved off almost all my pubic hair, and put on, what I thought was, plenty of makeup, before I left home for the Go Go bar. When I walked in, one of the bouncers called one of the dancers over, and told her to take me back to the dressing room, that she shared with a few of the other girls and now also me because the manager had assigned me to that room as well. As we headed to the back of the bar, and down a dark hall, toward this dressing room, she introduced herself as Nikki, and explained to me that there were a few different dressing rooms tucked away in out-of-the-way places throughout the bar; each having several girls in them who had to share that very small space, as they got themselves ready to go out on stage, to do the show. As we were about to pass by, a larger room, with its door open, I saw a big desk, and the manager, Dick McGinnis, who had hired me the day before, sitting behind it. He called out for me to come in there for a moment. (People in the bar later told me that he was the spitting image of a wrestler who was nicknamed 'Mad Dog' Vachon*. So much so in fact, that many people actually insisted that he was him! In size, appearance, gruffness, even menacing attitude, etc., Dick was, definitely, an intimidating person, to be around! As I got to know him, there were many times that it seemed he definitely lived up--- or down--- to the name Dick.) Going into the office, I saw that an Asian woman stood off to one side of the desk. Her name was Lee and she was there asking to sew costumes, and bring them in, to sell directly to the girls there. He asked her to look at me, and asked if she could sew something for me because I was just starting in the business. She said she could, and would bring something in for me within a couple of days for me to buy from her. Dick told me if it cost more than I could afford, that I could take a draw against my base/hourly pay to be able to purchase that from her. That was such a nice perk, of working in these clubs that I danced in! If an employee ever needed quick cash, to pay a bill, or purchase something, and was short on funds, they could just take a cash draw against their pay usually on the spot.

Then Nikki took me on back to our dressing room and told me that, before I came in, Dick had asked her to find me something, that I could wear, to dance in, that night. She picked up what looked like two skinny pieces of fake fur, and handed them to me. I stared at them, wondering what they even were, before I realized that one small piece was a tiny top, like from a bathing suit, and the other little piece tied, on both sides, making it into a slender, thong, bikini bottom. Somebody had simply cut them out of furry fabric. There was no sewing involved. No lining or elastic. Nothing, but the fur. I got the top on. Then Nikki tied it much tighter on me, for support, and told me to bend over at the waist, and pull my breasts upward, and inward, to make them look bigger, by creating cleavage. It was so tight, I could barely breathe! Then she handed me a package of brand new, nude-colored, seamless, pantyhose. She told me it was an Iowa law at that time that dancers were required to wear pantyhose underneath their costume bottom. I had no idea at all how to do that, because once I pulled on the pantyhose they came up to my waist and the costume bottom did not, sitting further down on me, along my hip bones. I could not even figure out, which part, of the costume bottom, was the front, and which was the back, because either way, the fabric covered so very little of me! Nikki had to show me. Then, taking safety pins she rolled the pantyhose down from my waist until they were hidden just below the top of the costume bottom and pinned them in, all around, to hide the fact that they were even on me. Nikki basically dressed me, for the first several nights that I worked there! I brought my own high heels, so I was as ready to go on stage as I was going to be for my first night there, I thought, until she also darkened my eyeliner, to make it more dramatic, because the room with the stage was so dark. Even the walls were painted black. When the seamstress, Lee, brought the costume she made for me, it was so plain, basic, and not very well sewn (the seams came apart, and I had to mend it!), or professional looking, but it was a start. At least, I had a change of costume, now. Both Lee and I were clearly both new, to being around this business, and we both had alot to learn, about it. Nikki sold me a pretty purple costume, with white lace trim, that she had owned, and it was the prettiest, of my 3 'starter' costumes. I was wearing that one, the night that the sweet man, with the 2 sick boys, I had briefly been seeing, stopped in, to see me. I was glad that he hadn't shown up one of my first few nights, working there! Those went badly.

Not only was I struggling to learn to dance this way, when I first started, and studying the other girls' moves, intently, as they did their routines on stage, but I also had what would, now, likely be referred to as humiliating 'wardrobe malfunctions' wearing that fake fur costume, those first couple of nights I was working there. At the time, I was such a sweet girl (even still quite naive, almost innocent, in alot of ways) that when I went in the restroom and saw and read the graffiti on the walls, I honestly didn't really know what it meant! The drawings, or the words. I was just a very decent human being by most standards. Too much so, for where I was now, I would say. So, in the beginning, I looked, and felt, like a fool, at times, as I tried to learn the culture of this, basically, other world, that I had entered! Especially, in those early days, I sometimes felt like I was Alice, in Wonderland, in the Razzle Dazzle, and had fallen through, the looking glass, into some strange, new, world that was topsy turvy. . . . So, I figured out why the girls had so easily parted with that, fake fur, costume, simply giving it to me, when I started working there; though no one warned me, about it. (Maybe they thought it would help my tips!) I had to find out about that costume in the worst way. Due to the pantyhose underneath the costume bottom being so slick, the bottom slid, over the nylon, shifting to the side, completely exposing my private parts, through those very sheer, nude-colored, pantyhose, underneath. I was on stage doing a leg lift as I had seen some of the other girls doing, right over the head of a customer that was right by the stage. He said something to me then, but I couldn't hear his words over the extremely loud music, and my own pounding heart, from being up there on stage, so close to these men, who were watching me. When I shook my head, that I didn't know what he said to me, he stood up, to get closer to my ear, and even when I finally heard his words, I didn't know what they meant. He said, to me, "DO YOU KNOW THAT YOU'RE 'SHOOTING BEAVER?' " ** When I got down from the stage, I asked one of the girls what that even meant, and she told me, it meant, that I was exposing my crotch! I was mortified. I didn't do any more leg raises wearing that costume, and as soon as I had a couple more to wear I never wore that thing ever again, nor did I give it to another dancer, as some 'rite of passage'. Nikki had not given me that to be bitchy. She had dressed me for the first week that I worked there, and was always supportive, helpful and kind. She had just given me what someone else had left behind, probably for the same reason that I stopped wearing it; making it available then for whoever came along next, which was me. I did make some tips, in it, too! Only, now, I was left wondering what, exactly, I had gotten those for!

One of my first couple of nights working there, I was standing near the back of the main room, watching the dancers on stage, and waiting for my turn, that was coming up in a couple more songs. A busty young woman with long, auburn, hair, came and stood next to me, introducing herself as June. She was very open and friendly and she started telling me that her boyfriend worked there, too, as one of the doormen, but that she couldn't introduce me to him, because he was not there that night. When I asked if it was his night off, her red-painted lips started to quiver, and tears began to roll down her cheeks, as she wailed, "No, he's not off tonight. He's in JAIL!" Apparently he had been arrested, for doing some type of, petty, misdemeanor, crime.  I met him, after he got bailed out. June bounced up to me, holding him by the hand, saying to me proudly, "Stevie, THIS is my boyfriend, LYLE!" He seemed like he was a nice enough guy; just really goofy. They were so cute, together, though, because they were so in love! I'd never even known anyone, personally, that had actually been in jail for anything! So, it was just part of this whole new scene I was experiencing, that I had never really been, directly, exposed to, before. Compared to these people, that I worked with, in these bars, I must have lived a more sheltered life. Or else, they had also been naive, like I was, but were now far ahead of me, on the learning curve, regarding the lingo, and the landscape, of what was, for me, at least, such a strange new world. Surprisingly, for the person that I was, rather than being repulsed, by it, I was captivated, and even charmed, by these people. I truly liked them, and I also learned alot, from them. We never do forget our teachers, in this life. Even when they aren't in a classroom.

[There had been this one girl, that I knew of, at the stripper bar back in Biloxi, that I had, finally, figured out, during those few days, that I worked there, must be doing prostitution, out of there, with the management's involvement and/or approval. When she'd kept on disappearing, out of the stage lineup, I had, innocently, asked her where she went, sometimes several times, in the same night. Usually for an hour or two at a time, and while we were (supposed to be?) at work. She, always, simply answered me, that she had 'gone out for donuts', and left it at that.  I must have seemed so ignorant, to her, in my naivete, because I kept enthusiastically replying that, I liked donuts, and asked her, if she would bring some back, for the rest of us, next time, since I never saw any other girl leave, during the shift, like that; just her! She was a very pretty, young woman, but also extremely closed off emotionally; and never smiled, so, she always looked so serious. Of course, she never did bring any donuts back with her. That was 40 years ago, now, and only because of my doing the background research for this post, did I Google whether the word "donuts" could ever be used as a, sexual, euphemism; and this is what I found, online, in that search: 'doughnut: slang. A woman a man chooses to have sex/relationship with based on proximity first and foremost; based on a theory that men are lazy and will reach for the nearest doughnut.' Who knew?!? OBVIOUSLY NOT ME! She could also have been referring to me, for asking something she likely saw as being none of my business, however, because, I found this on the internet, as well: "What does a 'donut' mean, in slang? In informal speech, the phrase is used to highlight stupidity, e.g. You Donut means an individual whom is extremely stupid, lacks intelligence and common sense." In these rougher, cruder, types of environments, where I was completely 'out of my element', initially, my total lack of understanding, of how things were, and what people were even, actually, saying, when they talked to me, very likely made me look like a foolish person, to the people that either worked in, or were used to being around, these bars! There were alot of dirty words, and dirty deeds, that I was exposed to, working in the bars, that I had no clue about, when I was new, to the business. Especially, alot of language, which I was wholly unfamiliar with, such as, several, 'street slang' terms, that I couldn't comprehend, at first, until I learned what they meant, from working in these places. I heard some really crude words, that took the decency and dignity right out of the thing that they were referring to in such ways.]

Because I would go back, to the dressing room, in the back hall, to check my hair, lipstick, and overall appearance before going on stage now, I would often stand in that one spot at the very back of the main room, waiting to go up on stage. In between dances, we were encouraged to go sit and talk to the customers, to get to know them, and of course, sell drinks in the process. I had not had any real problems with bad behavior, from the men, there, those first few days, I was new to the scene. They had several bouncers, watching over everything going on in there too, which made me feel like the men would not risk stepping out of line toward me. So I admit that I was completely shocked and even indignant, when I was just standing at the back of the room, waiting, to go up on stage and, suddenly, felt a man grab one of my, thong-exposed-but-nylon-covered, butt cheeks with his whole hand, as if it were a melon he was squeezing at the supermarket! Feeling violated, by that, and still ladylike enough, then, to be affronted by it, too, I jerked my head around, to see who this was beside me, doing this to me. Looking downward, from my 6' tall height, in my high heels, I saw, an almost midget-like man, who looked no more than 5' tall. This very short, older man was looking back--- or rather, up--- at me with a big grin on his face. That is, until, I said, to him, very emphatically, "Who do you think you are?!? Don't you EVER do THAT, to ME, AGAIN!" As I was walking off, then, in an annoyed huff, toward the stage, to dance, next, I passed by one of the dancers, that had seen what just happened, with this 'midget man'. She said to me, as I walked by her, in a very matter-of-fact tone, "Way to go, new girl. THAT is Mickey. YOUR BOSS. He owns this bar! So, YOU'RE WORKING FOR HIM."

My heart sank, into my toes, as I stood on the stage to start to dance, all the while wondering if this would be my last dance, there . . . . But, Mickey didn't fire me. He remained, very genial, to me, after that. But, in all the years that I worked, mostly, in his nightclubs, he never, ever, laid a finger, on me, in any way, ever again. Even though, he did, put his arms around, and his hands on, the other dancers, in his bars. That said to me that he never forgot that encounter, with me, anymore than I ever forgot, that incident, happening, with him. He was a Leo, and Leo's do not take kindly to being rebuffed, by a woman, since they see themselves as being the 'King of the jungle', which he was, in his realm, having the best nightclub entertainment, in the area, in that era. (As a side note, when I was very pregnant, with my son, my husband Jim had taken me to Mickey's, in downtown Omaha, one night, to watch the dancers, and we had been seated right up by the stage. I didn't know anyone, who was working there, that evening, although some of those people would become my co-workers, at Mickey's 'Razzle Dazzle', in Council Bluffs. The other bar that he owned. And later, at 'The Twenties' nightclub, the classiest of the bars that he had, where I was one of the first 3 girls, hired, to work there, for him. I had NO idea, when I sat in 'Mickey's', with my husband, with our baby boy, in my womb, that I, would be working, in this business, with these people, a few years later! I am sitting here, shaking my head, at the sheer unlikelihood, of that! But, it happened!) After being hired to dance at the Razzle, I was told that Mickey used to be a gym teacher for a school, or a kids' coach, or such, before getting into the bar business. I was also told things, about him, like he had mafia connections, which, because of things, that happened, later on, I believe it to be true! And, that he was actually the one who killed his wife, to get her out of the way in his life, and had his son 'take the fall' for that murder, going to prison, in place of his father.*** Whichever one, committed the actual crime, both men were there in Mickey's nightclubs, where I worked, because the son went to work for his father, when he got out of prison. I believe I was working at The Twenties, when I finally met him, but I cannot recall that, for sure, now. It was not central, to my own life. However, the few times I did interact directly, with Mickey's son, there was something 'not quite there', about how he looked, and behaved, that was quite unnerving, to me, even apart from my having been told, about the murder of Mickey's wife who was this young man's mother. I knew Mickey's mother, Angie, too, because she was the bookkeeper, for him, at his 'Twenties' nightclub, and did our payroll there.

As for those dancers, that I first worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, they were a great group of very talented girls! I learned alot about who they were, as people (not as sex objects, which is what the men coming in there saw them as, for the most part), and how, and why, they ended up in this business, that was so, extremely, negatively, stereotyped, by both, 'church folk', and 'good people'. I felt blessed to know these girls, who danced on the stage with me every night. Clearly, I have never forgotten them, and that time, in my life, was almost 4 decades ago now. Nikki was a tiny, petite, young woman, who could out drink a sailor, and not even stagger. I've been a size 6 for my entire adult life which is considered to be small, but I looked large next to Nikki. She must have worn adolescent kids size clothing, because she had to be even smaller than a Misses Size 0! She became a dancer, to make good money, which has, almost always, been harder for women to do; to be able to care for their children after her husband bailed, on them all; disappearing, and leaving her to be a single mom to their children, with no income to provide for them. I feel so angry, whenever I see this happen, to women and children, which it does, far too often, because, so many men--- BOYS really!--- are so selfish! She worked hard, wasn't bitter, and never complained, though. That little lady, was actually one big tough broad!

People's passing judgment, on how these women got through the ordeals, in their lives, when these people had never been in their situation, or their shoes, upset me. The crises that I had been through, myself, which were also primarily precipitated by men, in my life, had led me to the same place. I did make, some, different decisions, though, in this environment, than many of the staff did. For the great majority of my years working as a dancer, I basically kept myself clean; especially, considering where I was working, where I was constantly surrounded by the things that people perceive as being temptations to sin, which were often associated with this business. I never was a smoker. There was only a couple of seasons, in my life, during all the time I was a dancer, that I actually accessed the availability of alcohol, in these bars, to drink. I never did drugs. Later, near the very end, I did do prostitution, but that part of the story comes many years later. Now I was just at the beginning, of this long and winding road, at the Razzle Dazzle. From the start, I saw girls doing cocaine in the dressing room, but I never did. As they came in at night to prepare to go up on stage a couple of the dancers would lay a small mirror down on the table, pour out a little packet of white powder, onto that, and use a razor blade, to divide it, in half. Then, they used a short straw, to inhale, their part, of the cut, into their nostrils. For the most part, I live, and let live, as my philosophy on this life, where others are concerned. (Except where I tell them about the love of Christ, for them; because I am Called to do that, as a Christian, and people really need to hear that!) One night, because I have a sense of humor, I came into the dressing room and told the girls, that did the drugs, in there, that I had brought MY 'drug of choice', to share, with them, that night. They were so surprised, since I hadn't ever partaken, of their cocaine, and didn't show any signs of the social habits that many people did, there. As I laid down the mirror, just like they, always, did, and picked up the razor blade to cut it into equal parts, to share with them, they were excitedly asking me, "Where did you get it?!?" I found out, that night, not to mess with people, that do drugs, though, as their curiosity quickly turned to, momentary, disdain, toward me after I pulled out a Snickers candy bar from my bag, and proceeded to cut it, into pieces, for us all to share. Sugar--- sweets--- happened to be 'my drug of choice'! I ate candy, to get my boost. They did NOT appreciate MY HUMOR, however!

Penny, was at the opposite end, of the physical spectrum, from Nikki! Penny, was large-boned, and tall. She made my 5'9" and 128 pounds look small in comparison. When she stood next to Nikki it made me smile, because it looked like a Great Dane standing next to a chihuahua who had no inferiority complex whatsoever! Penny did this move up on stage, where she bent over, backwards, and her belly ended up being like the tabletop in this pose. I guess you could even say, that she, literally, bent over backwards to do her show, for the customers! The trouble was, her falsies would POP OUT, of her costume top, when she did this; landing on the stage, if she was lucky, or onto some, shocked, customer's lap, when she wasn't so lucky. Her 'special skill', to me, though was something that I had first observed her doing back in the dressing room the first night I met her. As Nikki was dressing me, this extremely tall girl with long, black, Cher-like hair, came bursting into the room, due to running late, and having to hurry to get ready on time. Greeting Nikki with a warm, quick, "Hi", and me with a "Hey", that acknowledged she had seen me, too, but didn't have time, to wonder who I was, right then, she quickly changed her clothes, then knelt down beside the full-length mirror, to get close enough, to it, to work on her makeup. The thing, that amazed me, about her, was, she had a cigarette, in her mouth, this entire time! Despite all of her rushing about the room, and even more so in spite of all that she was saying to Nikki, at the same time, this cigarette simply sat, and stayed, like some, ostensibly obedient object, on her lower lip! The whole time she was doing all these things, to get ready, she didn't ever take it out, of her mouth, knock it out, of her mouth, or drop it, off of her lip, Most amazing, about this, of all, Penny was the Queen of the F-bomb****, with a rather hard edge, to how she carried herself, that even so didn't fully conceal the actual heart-of-gold which was underneath what was very apparently her pain, from living this life with all its heartaches. As she rushed to get ready, she had been talking, nonstop, to Nikki, about what this week's asshole had done to piss her off. So, hot with anger at being let down by, another, one, in an endless succession of jerks, she was saying the words "FUCK" and "FUCKING" about every other word, while all the while that cigarette stayed put; as if it were somehow glued to her mouth! I just stared, at such talent as that, in sheer wonderment! If only Penny had been able to train her falsies to stay put.

Kelly, was the 'Showman' of the group. She loved to strut, around the stage, especially wearing her favorite costume of an emerald green 'top hat, and tails', with her walking cane in her hand. She, was the classiest, of the dancers, on stage. Kelly was a very open, and friendly, girl, too. I really liked her! I could sadly see why she had ended up supporting herself by dancing though. Although she did it so well, moving with smooth, and sophisticated, gracefulness all around the stage, entertaining the customers, with her 'Class Act', she also had a severe stutter, whenever she tried to speak. Every single word, out of her mouth, was exhausting agony! Both for her to, finally, get out of her mouth, after she expended much effort, and some flying spit, as she tried, to talk, and for you, the listener, to hang on, and wait, to hear, what she was struggling so hard to say, if she was speaking to you, while witnessing her mighty struggle. I cannot imagine what other jobs she could have been hired to do, where she could make the kind of money, that she did, dancing, given the strong speech impediment, that she had. She had several trunks of the finest costumes. Most of those with some theme, like 'nurse' and others. Sooner, or later, all of us that had become dancers aged out of it, if we were still in the business by then because we had never found, who, or what, we were wishing for, or dreaming of, as a better alternative, for our lives. I have often wondered, what became, of these girls, that I worked with, at the Razzle Dazzle, all those years ago. Especially, Kelly. She was so very talented, as a performer; but, in this business, as well as in many other settings, women are often simply treated as disposable objects, once we begin to show signs of aging, or even just of the toll that life has taken, on us, that, visibly, weighs us down, stoops our posture, and causes us to look older, than our, actual, age. Every girl, including me, that climbed up on that stage, and danced, was living with, some kind, of, real, heartbreak, haunting them in their lives. I admired every, single, one, of them, for that, and appreciated, how kind they were, to me, in the midst of their own problems, and pain. They dressed me, taught me the ropes, and let me into their lives, and hearts. I owe them alot!

Since boys will, forever, unrepentantly, be boys, however, it wasn't always so gratifying, getting to know the club customers. Sometimes, the guys, that worked there, were jerks, too. Even, at my expense. I'm a very cerebral person. I am fairly intelligent, was in the chess club, in school, and studied philosophy, in college. I have very eclectic interests and enjoy conversing in depth, and in detail, about all manner of subjects. I also love lifelong learning. This is me; this is who I am; or rather this is who 'Deborah' is, in me, as opposed to who 'Stevie' is, in me, which is that other, opposite, side of me, that learned, how to speak, act, and even think, in those ways that are appropriate for, and even expected from, a stage dancer, working in a Go Go bar. Because of my leading with my brain, and not, my body, especially, before I created, and developed, my dancer alter ego, 'Stevie', I had a great deal of trouble, trying to sit and talk to the customers in the bars, in the beginning. I have always been a purposeful person. The name "Deborah" even means "industrious; busy as a bee". I, really, dislike making small talk. I prefer not to chitchat. I enjoy delving deeply into conversations, especially on subjects of mutual interest, because, for me, that makes a more meaningful connection, with someone. However, all that being said, we dancers were required, to find some customer(s), to sit with, between our sets on stage, and to talk, with them. I quickly found out, though, that many males, that come into those places, want to talk about, or ask you about, things like, "What size are your nipples?", "Do you shave 'down there' into a heart-shape?", and other inane topics, such as these. It is unbelievable to me, that males spend their, entire, lives, being so concerned with, and consumed by, female anatomy! I am shaking my head again typing that statement. Unless they're gay it never gets old for them.

I had to really try, very hard, to, in effect, 'dumb down', to be able to even talk with, or relate to, the club customers, at all, for the most part! It took, a long, time, for me, to get the hang of that, and even once I did, it felt insulting, to me, to HAVE TO do it. It was part of my job, though. So, it had to be done. When I first started, at the Razzle, I would, sometimes, simply give up trying to talk to these guys, in there. I did not know about this, going on, at the time, but the manager, Dick, would send over some of the, regular, customers that he knew, to talk to me. They would sit down and introduce themselves, and then, both of us, would live to regret it, as I would lead with my intelligence, in order to be my best self, to converse with! So, they would talk for a few minutes, then, and leave, because deep subjects, and intellectual conversations, with a mostly naked woman, was not why they were in this place. I had no clue at the time, though, that men often seem to prefer operating on such a low level, socially! I had actually been trying, my very best, to be respectful toward them by--- apparently wrongly--- assuming they were more highly evolved, than they were, by my 'rising to the occasion', of conversing with them, when the only thing that they were focused on rising was their dicks, by asking me things like 'Did I enjoy oral sex?'. Watching this, going on, from across the room, without hearing the conversations taking place between me and these men, including the ones he had sent over to talk to me, Dick was confused, about why, this was happening. I was not physically unattractive, and he knew that I was a nice person. So, Dick began to ask them why they didn't stay and talk to me longer, and he came to understand, that, I was working their brain, way too hard, by making them use it, to talk to me, and they didn't want that part of them to be engaged in there. They had high hopes, that their OTHER, smaller, but more powerful, 'brain' might even, shall we say, 'come into play', in there, instead. Who alive has not heard the statement--- apparently of fact!--- that men think with their dicks. So, especially because of the price of drinks in these places, which customers had to pay, for their own beverages, as well as those for any dancer, sitting with them, I wasn't worth their time, or their money, as far as what they came into that place to experience. While I was not required to drink alcohol, in these bars, which the great majority of the time, I didn't do, the price, of my drinks, was still steep; even for a soft drink or fruit juice, for me. The glass was also heavily filled with ice by the bartender, leaving little room for the actual drink in the glass. I believe that's why most of the customers ordered bottles of beer. When Dick learned that I was running them off, from me, he started laughing about it, I found out later. Just to amuse himself, then, he would deliberately send some uninitiated guy over to talk to me just to watch the 'poor guy's' face when he was suddenly tasked with trying to make real conversation, with this girl in a thong bikini, that had great legs, pretty eyes, long, brunette, hair, flowing down her back, and a real brain, to go along, with all of that, when he'd only wanted to ask me if I like to suck cock.

One guy came in, after I had been there about a month, that did talk to me in an intelligent way, and I was so excited, to be able to use my brain, as I sat and talked, with him, for hours, during that evening, in the bar!  He was a 'tall, dark, and handsome' Staff Sergeant, from the Air Force base, in Bellevue, and at the end of the night, he tipped me, during my last dance. When I saw what the bill was, though, as I removed it, from where he had folded it lengthwise and then slid it into the waist of my costume bottom, I felt so bad about it. This was a one hundred dollar bill! Minimum wage was $3.35 an hour, back then, so that was around a week's pay after taxes, for me, when I had worked at the hospital just prior to this. That was my very first time ever getting that large of a tip from a customer. I didn't know people even did that, for dancers, then. Also, I couldn't imagine, as a new and not-yet-very-proficient Go Go dancer, my having done anything on that stage, even a month into this new gig, that had deserved such compensation, as that. I thought, that he must have given it to me by mistake, as he had reached into his wallet, in that dark room, because I had heard stories about, and even complaints from, customers, who had mistakenly tipped employees too much of their money. That such mistakes had been made, at times. Especially, with people drinking, while they're in there. So, I ran, to catch him, before he went out the door to leave, to give it back, to him, thinking that he would be relieved to not find that, unexpectedly, missing from his billfold later on. He looked quite surprised, when I held the hundred dollar bill out to him, trying to give it back. But I was more surprised when he said that he knew, what amount he had tipped me, and that he had enjoyed talking to me, that evening! So, he had actually WANTED me to have it!  Then, he asked me out, and thinking the evening had gone so well and he seemed to really like me, I agreed to go out with him. We lasted for a very short time, though. He turned out to be just another jerk, only alot smoother operator than all the others I was used to dealing with in my life, before him. This guy was a complete player.

He led me to believe that we had something special, and real, going on, between us, and were a couple. One evening, I was over at his place, and it snowed so hard I couldn't get my car out of the pile of snow, that it got covered in, and had to call in, to work, that night, spending it with him, instead. After that, he had me come over and stay, at his apartment, while he was at work, at the base. We were together so much, that I was shocked, when I went over to his place one night after I had gotten the night off to surprise him, and when he answered the door there was another woman lying in his bed, whom I could see over his shoulder, as he opened the door to find me there. He did not invite me in. He basically told me he had been humoring me and that she had just had an abortion, of his baby, earlier in the day which he had paid for; and that she was sleeping it off, after that procedure. I had been a little fling, for him, a fill in while they were at odds with one another over his baby being inside her, and him wanting her to abort it; which she had obviously just done, for him. As he was telling me all this, suddenly being truly honest, with me, I felt like he was physically punching me, in the gut, with each of these things, he was saying to me now. Something in me changed, over that, and I started to see the big bill that he had tipped me, the night that I had met him, in the club, as having MUCH MORE VALUE, than HE had; which became the beginning of my developing a dancer mindset, from then on. It was like I had, finally, just turned off the switch, for that place in my heart that had dared to believe I could, and would, be desired, due to my being lovable, as a person, and I turned on the switch, that challenged myself to make the best tips I could possibly get, from club customers' billfolds. My attitude changed. My goals changed. My focus changed. I packed the 'Deborah' part of me away, completely, and started to allow the 'Stevie' side, of me, to rule, and reign, the rest of the time that I worked as a dancer. I carefully calibrated and calculated everything, about me, now. I threw out that simple sincerity, which had, always, been at the heart of who I was as a human being. I tossed it, like trash, right out the window, of my soul! I changed. The way that I walked. Dressed. Even the tone, of my voice; along with what I said, and how I said it. I learned, slowly but surely, to speak to club customers in nuance and innuendo, which seemed to be what they wanted, from me, and made me much better tips, which is all, that I wanted, now, from them. It became all about, power, prick-teasing, and prosperity, for me, . . . as I learned to say, from the other dancers at the Razzle, "FUCK THESE ASSHOLES!" I never wanted to open my heart up to another man, again, in my life. It was never worth all the heartache and betrayal and misery, they gave me, in exchange for my giving my heart to them. My opinion of men got, and stayed, really bad. As much as I had needed some man to give me evidence to the contrary, there only seemed to be more jerks, driving a nail into the coffin, of my opinion about people with penises.

When I had first started dancing, I had, still, brought to it, my highest forms of integrity, honesty, and excellence in my overall work ethic--- all of which created problems for me, in my job, now. It went beyond just the usual cycle, that I felt that I was in, in my life: trying my best, but always believing that my best just was not good enough, somehow, to make things turn out right. I still strived to do my best, in this job, though, diligently seeking ways to do more than was asked of me to show that I was supportive of this establishment that I now worked in. My doing that had the completely opposite effect, of what I had intended, by all that, though. It wasn't met with the appreciation that I had expected, when I stepped up and showed initiative, going out of my way to be (what I truly had thought was) helpful. I had to learn, what the actual priorities were, here, for this, new, social, landscape, in order for it to start going smoothly, for me. The dancers were told to take turns, cleaning the very large mirror, on the back wall of the stage, to keep if free of greasy smudges, caused by sweat, and hand lotion or body oils. This meant that we, generally, had to do that chore while some other dancer was up, on stage, doing their thing, to make their money, for those few minutes, that their song(s) lasted. It never took very long, for the mirror to go from being shiny clean, to a largely non-reflective surface, as it quickly became increasingly clouded by hand prints, over much of its surface, as the dancers rotated on stage through their individual sets, in the night's lineup. Because I was the new girl, and wasn't occupied, by sitting with any 'regular' customers, who came to the club, just to see me, as yet, I took it upon myself to do my co-workers a favor, and keep the mirror clean, myself, by jumping up quite often to go up on stage and clean it, for us all, so that no one else would have to get up, to go do that. But, unbeknownst to me, rather than appreciating it, the girls had begun going up to the manager to complain about me distracting from their dances, by being up there, on stage, with so many, of them, so often, rather than any of them coming to me, directly, and simply telling me to knock it off, themselves.  I believe that they handled it, this way, from a good-hearted place, toward me, though, as they had all liked me, as they met and got to know me, because they could see that I was supportive of them, cared about them, and respected them! So, I think they'd wanted me to stop doing that, but they just didn't want to hurt my feelings, by telling me directly; especially since, it was as clear--- as I was keeping that mirror!--- that I was really just trying to be helpful.

So, Dick, the manager, called me over, to him, where he was sitting, by the front entry door, on the barstool where he had been the day my friend Debbie had dragged me in there to audition; and from where he kept his eye on the goings on, in the room. He began to speak to me about my cleaning the mirrors, and glad that he seemed to have noticed my good efforts, which were meant to show everyone, there, including him, how grateful I was, to have this new job, I knew, that a compliment, was coming any second, now! That never happened, and it really threw me off. He was speaking in a normal voice, to me, because he was used to being in there with the extremely loud music, so he didn't even attempt to talk over it. People, working in there, simply learned to, either, eventually hear one another, in spite of the music booming, so loudly, or lip-read; or both. I, still, struggled though, with both hearing, and speaking, over what seemed like noise that was equivalent to a jet engine next to me, in there. I had also learned just enough of the lingo to be dangerous, to myself, as I was just about to learn the hard way. There were alot of unspoken nuances, to be learned, by me, about how to communicate oneself, at this level of social interaction, among, what was, for me, rougher-talking-and-acting bar folk, which I did not fully understand, at this point. I guess, you could say, that, rightly or wrongly, I still did not really grasp 'the lay of the land', as yet, in this whole, new, world, which all, of this, was, to me!  I was continuing to learn how to fit in, with this unfamiliar environment, now that I worked in this club. Everything the dancers ever said, that I heard, was, liberally, peppered with the 'F-bomb'****. I hadn't really been exposed to that word, in my life, before coming to work here. But now, it was the thing that was most often in my ears, there, penetrating them, and therefore, my mind, and because of that, it was coming out of my mouth. It had seemed, to me, to be the accepted way, of expressing oneself, in this particular place, and I'd wanted to reflect the culture. So to speak.

As I realized, that the manager was describing, to me, that the other girls were upset, about my being in the way, on the stage, because of my coming up there, so often, during their dances, I felt hurt. It hadn't even crossed my mind, that they would feel this way, about it, because, when they had been taking turns cleaning the mirror they had also been up on the stage during other girls' performances. Including mine. There were just more, of them, coming up there, to do this chore, before it had become only me because I had been trying to relieve them of having to do it. Besides, when it was left up to them, they had, usually, let the mirror get so grimy that it was rather gross, to have to look at, as the backdrop, for us girls, when we were dancing, up on the stage. I felt both, misunderstood, and unappreciated, for trying to make it better! My feeling like my very best efforts are, somehow, never good enough, has been a thread running through my life, bringing me one disappopintment or even heartbreak, after another; so this was just a part of that feeling, for me, however small, this incident actually appeared, compared to some of the things that had happened, in my life. Over the years, I had become very reactive, to things that caused me to feel like this, because I had suffered so much let down, and loss, in my life. Now, between my still tending to yell over the very loud music and my feeling upset that the girls had not appreciated my doing, all, the mirror cleaning chore myself, I replied, to the manager, that 'I was just fucking trying, to do my fucking best, in this fucking job!'. I liked these people, I worked for, and with, now, which had surprised me actually, given how very different they seemed from me. I was not very much like them, in so many ways, in the beginning. I was trying, my best, to figure out how to fit in with them, although, my cerebral conversations, multisyllabic words, and genteel mannerisms, often didn't mesh well, with the often rude, and crude, behaviors, of those around me, there, and these things didn't exactly help me to blend in, to this group. I shake my head, now, and even laugh at myself, a little, as I just typed that response from me to my boss.

At the time, though, I, really, was clueless, as to how Dick could suddenly get so angry, at me! I watched his face go from kindly inquisitiveness to complete shock at my reply, as his eyebrows shot up to the top of his bald head in sheer disbelief, at what I had just said, to him. Seeing this reaction, I knew that I must have crossed a line, with the F-bomb usage, that I clearly shouldn't have. Although, everyone else there, including him, said that word routinely. I think that he was taken aback, because, not only was he my boss, I was saying that word to, but Dick had never heard me say that, or anything like that, before, which made it have more of an emphasis then, when I said it, rather than just being considered as normal, like it was when anyone else, there, used that word. But, before I could backtrack, explain myself, or apologize, he went from being benign to ballistic. The next thing I know he was screaming at me to "GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE! NOW! YOU'RE FIRED!" Even in his, momentary, anger, with me, I think that Dick could tell, from my reaction, to him firing me, that I had not, in any way, intended to even seem as if I were mouthing off to him as a subordinate hireling, or disrespecting my job he had hired me to do. But, still, it was too late to turn this thing around, because he had to save face as the boss, and, my just being fired--- something that I had never had happen before that--- left me feeling that it was too late, now, for me to try to fix this. This had happened in the main room, near the entry door, in front of everyone, although the loud music probably drowned much of it out, and most eyes were on the stage. 

Because I had just been fired, losing my job, I liked and needed, I began sobbing so hard that I was physically shaking. Having this very large, and intimidating, man, get that angry, at me, shook me up too. I rushed back to the dressing room, to put on my clothes, over my costume, and get my belongings. Crying, hard, the whole time. Adding, to the humiliation and fear, that I felt from all this, Dick even sent Mike, one of the bouncers, to stand outside the dressing room door and then escort me, out of the building, over to my car, and off of the property! Mike was a handsome, hot-tempered, Mexican man and former Marine, whom I had once seen almost kill a man, in the bar, that got out of line, by jumping on top of him, and choking this guy, until the other bouncers pulled Mike off of him. That was truly terrifying to me! At the time that all of this happened, with me getting fired and being escorted off the property, I was so shaken up, by it, and felt, so ill-matched, to this bar environment, that, I assumed, that I would never, again, work in or even enter, this or any other Go Go bar, in my life! I would, get a job, in another field, for awhile, after this, becoming a Nanny. Something more aligned, with my nurturing, nursing, side, and skill set. But, as it happened, I would be back, again, someday. To work at Mickey's Razzle Dazzle, and even for the manager, Dick McGinnis. But not both, at the same time, again. As Beatle John Lennon, once said, "Life is what happens to you while you're planning on doing something else."  That, sums up, the twists, and turns, in my life, pretty well!

* Interestingly, 'Mad Dog' Vashon, who so many people swore that Dick McGinnis actually was, before retiring from wrestling, died, November 2013, at age 84 . . . . in Omaha, Nebraska! So, I don't know . . . ! Maybe he was; maybe he wasn't . . . ? They could have been twins, though!   https://www.wwe.com/superstars/mauricevachon

** 'Shooting beaver': The slang meaning is a sexual term about furriness (and as such most obviously refers to 'pussy'); the female pubic hair, the vagina, esp. in commercial pornography; a beaver shot is a pornographic photograph graphically displaying the 'beaver' (i.e. external female genitalia.)

*** https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31580553/son-charged-with-urder-lincoln-star-6/ ; https://www.newspapers.com/clip/31579807/sparano-accused-in-stabbing-death/

**** F-bomb - used as a euphemism for the word “fuck”, with reference to the latter's (taboo) status, and potential to shock, or offend.

Mickey's RAZZLE DAZZLE, on Broadway, in Council Bluffs, Iowa