We'll never be royals
6 November 2013 08:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alice789My usual spot is a tiny indie/hipster bar in good ol glitter gultch, downtown Vegas.
I went to highschool just down the street. I know the neighborhoods around there, where I park my piece of shit car and walk. I have friends that still live there, in those little houses surrounded by dirt lots and abandoned buildings that are home to crazy hobos and stray cats.
I stick a few bobby pins in my hair to keep it from my face. I go there dressed in plaid flannel, jeans and boots. I drink whiskey and I smoke. When I feel like it, I get up and dance like a hooker. I never stop laughing and I sing along to every song I know.
There's always tourists, in short dresses and heels, hair and makeup galore. They think I'm insane. I think they try too hard.
Sitting on the stones around the fireplace, with my feet up on the table, my friends propose a toast - and since it was Halloween and I was wearing kitty cat ears - I shouted, YEAH, FOR PUSSY!
The random patron sitting in the booth across from us sprays his beer, bursts out laughing.
My friends know me. I'm not elegant. I'm not delicate. And despite how I might look to strangers, I'm not really girly either. Scott found this out when I punched him in the gut - hell yeah, Fight Club commence!
I'll kick all yall asses. Line up.
For example, just last week, I was loading in wardrobe for a Kanye West concert. It sounds lofty, but I'm really just a stagehand like all the other guys there. I was wearing a hi-vis safety vest and hardhat - so sexy, I know.
So when the trucks were unloading cases, I stood in line waiting for one. When I got down the ramp, a guy tried to pull the case away. I looked him in the eye.
"I got this."
He argues with me, "Its heavy."
"I got this." I pulled the case back from him. He didn't let go. This damn newb thought he had to prove something his first gig, taking a case from a little girl, eh?
So I got firm, "BITCH, get your hands off my case."
He hesitated, so I added, "And hey, how about you get your ass in the kitchen and make me a goddamn sandwich."
Hmm.. I wonder if I'll get written up for telling guys to suck my cock. Probably not...
I digress. I was sitting there at my usual spot, chatting with my friends (which includes the bartender - Je t'aime, Camden! Et vos messages texte français ivres à 5h du matin), and we are all faded black t-shirts and full sleeve tats, and it dawned on me - My EX had the GALL to say I was BELOW HIM. He used to blather on and on about how he was so rich and educated and blah blah. And holy shit, I am so far below him its not even funny - so far that I'm in a completely different dimension. Because here I am, with (what he would have labeled as the scum of the earth) sweaty carps and techs and stagehands, cussin, spittin, and drinkin Jameson and Hamms - and I'm absolutely happy!
So that's my rant for the night. Time to paint my nails. Ooo, and make myself a coke float.
I am queen of my own world. Baby, I rule.
I went to highschool just down the street. I know the neighborhoods around there, where I park my piece of shit car and walk. I have friends that still live there, in those little houses surrounded by dirt lots and abandoned buildings that are home to crazy hobos and stray cats.
I stick a few bobby pins in my hair to keep it from my face. I go there dressed in plaid flannel, jeans and boots. I drink whiskey and I smoke. When I feel like it, I get up and dance like a hooker. I never stop laughing and I sing along to every song I know.
There's always tourists, in short dresses and heels, hair and makeup galore. They think I'm insane. I think they try too hard.
Sitting on the stones around the fireplace, with my feet up on the table, my friends propose a toast - and since it was Halloween and I was wearing kitty cat ears - I shouted, YEAH, FOR PUSSY!
The random patron sitting in the booth across from us sprays his beer, bursts out laughing.
My friends know me. I'm not elegant. I'm not delicate. And despite how I might look to strangers, I'm not really girly either. Scott found this out when I punched him in the gut - hell yeah, Fight Club commence!
I'll kick all yall asses. Line up.
For example, just last week, I was loading in wardrobe for a Kanye West concert. It sounds lofty, but I'm really just a stagehand like all the other guys there. I was wearing a hi-vis safety vest and hardhat - so sexy, I know.
So when the trucks were unloading cases, I stood in line waiting for one. When I got down the ramp, a guy tried to pull the case away. I looked him in the eye.
"I got this."
He argues with me, "Its heavy."
"I got this." I pulled the case back from him. He didn't let go. This damn newb thought he had to prove something his first gig, taking a case from a little girl, eh?
So I got firm, "BITCH, get your hands off my case."
He hesitated, so I added, "And hey, how about you get your ass in the kitchen and make me a goddamn sandwich."
Hmm.. I wonder if I'll get written up for telling guys to suck my cock. Probably not...
I digress. I was sitting there at my usual spot, chatting with my friends (which includes the bartender - Je t'aime, Camden! Et vos messages texte français ivres à 5h du matin), and we are all faded black t-shirts and full sleeve tats, and it dawned on me - My EX had the GALL to say I was BELOW HIM. He used to blather on and on about how he was so rich and educated and blah blah. And holy shit, I am so far below him its not even funny - so far that I'm in a completely different dimension. Because here I am, with (what he would have labeled as the scum of the earth) sweaty carps and techs and stagehands, cussin, spittin, and drinkin Jameson and Hamms - and I'm absolutely happy!
So that's my rant for the night. Time to paint my nails. Ooo, and make myself a coke float.
I am queen of my own world. Baby, I rule.
no subject
Date: 7 November 2013 06:07 pm (UTC)You hit all the right notes for me on this one. A woman who isn't afraid to fight back and drinks whiskey? After my own heart, I swear it.
I don't mind a guy who offers as long as a) he would do it for anyone and b) he backs off when she says she's got it. Clearly, this guy's masculinity knows no bounds. The testosterone must have been simply dripping from that one.
As for your ex -- hopefully he doesn't suffocate from all of the air that's inflating his big ass head. Then again, if he did, that would be more oxygen for the rest of us.
no subject
Date: 8 November 2013 06:46 am (UTC)Haha, I can be quite charming sometimes - when I'm not being belligerent and violent, or flailing over bugs.
I think its difficult with me at work, because I really am a teeny tiny girl.
Usually the guys know better, and even if they see me struggling with something, they leave me to it. Its my job, after all. If I need help, I'll ask for it.
Its always the new hires, that want to show how manly and hardworking they are - by assuming that girls are too frail or weak to push a case on wheels.
And as for my ex - Hahahaha, that has made my day. I often told him to get over himself - but I don't think that'll ever happen.