brothel, anyone?

so, it's come to this.

i am willing to sell myself for money to go to spain.

make an offer.

we can negotiate.

(i'm awfully awkward and terribly shy, but if you're into deafening silences, this can work).







**all morning, i've been stressing out about money.
it's overwhelming.

not ready.

to split yourself in two.
the slow and steady process of growing up,
here are the halves
do what you will with them.

one woman wants to be just that,
a woman with things to show for working hard.
need they be simple, yes...
but items nevertheless.
say, maybe a house of her own,
a decent dependable car,
clothes that don't all look the same
and maybe a few extra dollars to walk around in her pocket.
nothing fancy,
just honest.

the other woman wants adventure,
unpredicability,
small fame even (but why?)
traveling,
stories to tell her grandchildren,
memories to write about,
something to be proud of.

to follow your dreams is one big fucking task.
it almost seems like a chore or a job sometimes.
doing what you love always becomes what you are known for,
and in doing that
heavy expectations are set.
you are no longer the girl walking down the street,
you are the girl who sings walking down the street.
no longer just the awkward lesbian who lives next door to you,
you are the awkward lesbian neighbor who in is leaving for 2 months
to go sing in Spain.
never get called just by your first name either.

oh, but who are you to complain?
i mean, isin't this what you wanted?

(and honestly, this is small time scale right now)

5.

no matter what anyone says,
the hotel business is simply just that.
a business.
don't let anyone tell you otherwise.
this hotel business is a counter culture.
a number zero.
one who thrives on the mutual success of others,
an umbrella of blood sucking amatures who yearn to be professionals,
an army of blue vested semi-attractive zombies who nod their heads in
false sympathetic waves and speak in robotic-like directions.
"i am here for you" is the mimicry,
the stout stance that is well under developed.
the guests who are my novacaine,
the directors of my paycheck,
the absent father or petrified lover,
otherwise known as the
mistress chasm.
or more familiarly,
the revered hole in the head.

can't you tell i just love my title?

4.

Stagnero went to the coffee table and picked up the shoelace.
It was brand new, hardly a strand out of place.
He slowly rubbed his fingers against the plastic tip,
his feeble attempt to begin the slow understatement of
death.
After a few seconds passed, he got bored and
rumaged through the magazines on the table.
All of these faces I will never kiss, he thought.
All of these women I will never own.
When in reality, he was the one who wanted to feel "owned",
the man tied up in the realms of a real, suffocating presence.
To be needed.
To be desired.
And he was on page 34, when Tendon woke up.

3.

standing next to the mirror, Maria once stroked my face gently and said
"if only you would allow me to love you
the way that i want to".

i avoided looking her in the eyes from then on.

2.

I got the call one afternoon from Maria that Tendon had overdosed again.
I say again, because I was expecting this call.
You see, Maria and I have a routine.
Some may call it sick, I call it pretty simplistic.
Tendon will go unnanounced one morning "mysteriously" ,
the backdoor to his house will be unlocked,
Maria will get some faint "intuition" and call him.
The call will go unanswered,
she will then call Stagnero frantically,
who will then proceed to make the drive over to Tendon's house.
Upon arrival,
Stagnero will grab the mail from the mailbox,
unlatch the backyard fence,
and come through the unlocked back door.
Finding Tendon is never an easy thing to do,
but Stagnero has gotten rather good at it.
There on the table in the kitchen will be a notepad with a number on it,
a fresh bowl of fruit and a shoelace.
Tendon will either be in 1. his room 2. the kitchen or 3. his laundry room.
(Tendon will never be found in the bathroom because in his own words "it's just not a dignified place for someone to die").
His mouth will be slightly blue and his face a bit pale.
Either in a fetal position or arms folded across his chest,
Tendon will always be wearing his favorite green sweater.

1.

Before I met Tendon, pretending to be sincere was my most accessible trait.
I smiled past pain and anger with a frequent noncommitable urgency.
Breathe once internally, that last gap for air between your ribs and your stomach-take one swallow-and look the stranger in the eye...
stare intently on them (make sure you look like you're listening)
nod your head once,
open mouth
answer
close mouth.
nod your head one more time
and
smile.
Being polite was never necessary,
staying silent was key.
And I did this, for 5 and a half years
as a Front Desk Agent for one of the biggest hotel chains in America.

************************************************************************