Running From Grace

I am going to take a break from RFG. At the moment, my head and my heart are not in my writing and I am having trouble keeping up with the blog. I will leave the site up for anyone who wants to comment. Hopefully I feel better soon.

Lately, it’s been hard for me to find the words. I used to dream up blog ideas while standing in line at the grocery store. While walking along the beach. Topics would hit me in the shower, in planes, during long drives to who knows where. And how I have lost this passion is beyond me. Perhaps I have run out of ideas to write about. I don’t think so. And then there is the fact that this blog was used to rip apart my entire family. That’s more like it. Either way, there is a huge wound on my heart that will not heal. A lot of people cope by relying on close friends to get them through the tough times. My friends don’t even know the real me. There are others that have fun, interesting hobbies to keep them distracted through the rough patches. My hobbies are writing and dancing. I often wonder why I was given this hand and whether or not I regret laying down certain cards. Was this blog worth the complete disconnection from those I love most? Is the money I make worth the secrets and the lies? Life is all about taking what you are given and making the most of it. I firmly believe that I do this each and every day, despite the fact that I work in a strip club. I stay above the drugs. The drama. The self esteem issues. And it turns out my writing, not my stripping job, is what ended up hurting me in the end. Now there is some fucking irony. When most kids were playing with dolls and toy cars, I was playing with words. Creating stories. Getting lost in worlds that were so much more peaceful than my own. How can I possibly regret this wonderful gift I was given? The answer is I don’t. Life is a gamble. There are times when you are up and times when you are down. There are times when the house takes you for all you are worth and you are left broken and alone. But the point is to stay in the game. At casinos, this is point you need to call a gambling addiction hotline. In life, this is the point you begin to fly.

Also on my mind today…

I am moving next month. Moving is an enormous pain in the ass.

I am visiting Europe for the first time ever next month. Italy, to be exact. Anyone out there have any tips for me? I take dollars and advice.

I am adding a new member to my family next month. Just FYI, my family consists of me and my cat. Stay tuned!

Next month is going to be intense.

Chances are, when you go to the strip club, you will see a dancer that has had one two many drinks. She may be overly friendly. She may bitch you out. There is also the possibility of her knocking you over with beer breath when she lets out the inevitable “Hi… what’s your name?”. This dancer will NEVER be me. Not because I think it is unprofessional, unsexy, and completely obnoxious (I 100% do), but because I have no idea how alcohol will affect me in the strip club setting. Will I be the girl smiling too much? Will I be pinching customer’s nipples and laughing uncontrollably at really bad jokes? How about a nice face plant on stage… I wouldn’t put that one past me. And then, there is the possibility of me actually killing someone. Once in a great while, a customer gets me so angry that it takes every ounce of my sober energy not to wrap my fingers around his neck and make him see God. Of course this is just a sick little fantasy. I am only a man-hating, homicidal maniac on Tuesdays. Other days of the week, like Friday and Saturday, are times when I go out with friends and usually get a little tipsy. There is lots of laughter. Sometimes a new friend or two. Maybe a stage to dance on that doesn’t involve the removal of clothing. Just good times and good people… until you push my buttons. I may be tiny without the ability to intimidate even a lady bug but when someone says the wrong thing to me at the wrong time, I just snap. Like last night for example…

Jealousy can make people truly evil. I write about the insane antics of jealous dancers all the time and it only makes them look weak in the end. I have no sympathy for such a tragic character flaw. I do have sympathy, however, for my friend that is visiting me from out of town. Let’s call her Erica. Erica and I met in college and I was immediately drawn to her outgoing, fun personality. We made our otherwise boring classes go by fast with lots of inside jokes and funny stories. I truly fell in love with everything about her. One thing that was apparent from the very beginning was that Erica was extremely self conscious about her weight. She always made awkward comments about how fat she was and that no man would ever love her. Of course I disagreed and honestly meant it, but no person could ever convince her that she was beautiful. I tried and I tried but I always ended up failing. Last night, we got dressed up in really hot outfits and headed to the neighborhood club for a little night out on the town. After a couple of strong mixed drinks, the room began to spin and there was nothing the two of us didn’t find hilarious. We danced and we sang and we even found a stage to dance on all in a matter of 45 minutes. It was shaping up to be a perfect night out with a good friend… until a really hot guy hit on me. We were taking a breather from all the fun when he approached me from out of no where and began talking to me. There was an instant connection and no sooner than I could blink, he pulled me out on the dance floor and the two of us began breaking it down Dirty Dancing style. I was in absolute heaven. He smelled good, he was in great physical shape, and he knew how to move… a deadly combination if you are looking to get my attention. I only stayed with him for a minute or so because I didn’t want to leave Erica by herself and when I returned to the table, I was dying to know if she caught a glimpse of he and I grinding with each other. After being given what was quite possibly the dirtiest look on earth, she turned her head away from me and continued watching the dance floor. OK then. A few minutes later, the hot guy returned and after acknowledging me with a hug, he introduced himself to her and the two of them began chatting. He left again and she told me that she told him she would leave the two of us alone so we could go have sex somewhere. WHAT! Flashback time. Crazy bitch Susan and her delusional idea of me fucking her boyfriend. Crazy bitch Riley and the threats she posted on my locker. Crazy bitch Nina (PERIOD) My sweet friend Erica had fallen into the crazy bitch category and I completely and totally lost it. I stormed out of the bar and when she followed me, I turned around and I let her have it. Yes people, I was the girl screaming at another girl outside of a bar. Real typical. Basically if the situation was different and the guy hit on her, I would be expected to take pictures of them dancing, ask every detail about him, and sit around while they made out for an hour. When the guy talks to me, I get nothing but dirty looks and snide comments. I said all of this but made it as mean as possible, making sure to throw in some “how dare you’s” and some “I can’t believe you’s”. My angry, drunk ass then stormed down the street, tripping over side walk cracks, swinging my purse dramatically, trying to answer a text. I was a fucking hurricane. Erica lingered behind and when I got to my apartment complex, I held the door for her but continued my walk of rage all the way to the 6th floor. It was here where the storms calmed and I passed out in exactly what I was wearing in a position that suggested I actually did screw the hot guy. The next morning was awkward and all that was mentioned about the previous night was an “I’m sorry” from her. I never accepted it but I didn’t act pissy the entire next day either. There was really no point.

So here I sit, writing this absurdly long blog post about a rather absurd evening, and all I can hear is the soft breathing of my friend. Erica. She is sleeping on my bed and every time some idiot blasts his horn or slams on his brakes, she awakens with the intensity of an on-call firefighter. Country girls… ha! I glance over every time she shuffles and I can’t help but feel overwhelming guilt for the reaction I had last night. She didn’t deserve that rage. Susan did. So did Riley and Nina. But I held it all in and took it out on a loved one who unintentionally tapped into her own inner demons at the very same time I did. God damn booze. But if we weren’t drunk, would we have just fantasized about strangling each other? Was it even necessary to show our true emotions? Or is this… how crazy bitches are born?

At the moment, life is very good. I just got back from a mini-vacation I took all by myself and I have to say I am feeling pretty relaxed. I flew to a state very far away, spent time on the beach, did some sight-seeing, and shopped my hot little ass off. Now that is what I call a good time. In amongst all the fun, the real reason for me going there was because I had a job interview. Often times, I get in these moods when I am done with the strip club world and I just want to have a normal life. I would love to tell someone about my work day or vent about an idiot co-worker. Instead, I have to keep secrets and lie to people I care about. This has become incredibly exhausting and depressing over the years. Maybe if I didn’t distance myself from all my friends, I wouldn’t be going on vacation alone. In all actuality, it was the best few days I have had in a while. I love not talking to anyone. I love doing what I want when I want to do it. I love people watching. I am pretty sure one can not understand this unless they have worked in a strip club and they say the same thing over and over again night in and night out. What’s your name? What do you do? Where are you from? Silence is golden. And quite frankly, I do not give a shit what you do or where your from. Let’s go do a dance instead.

The job interview went well. For some reason, I have always been good at making stuff up off the top of my head. Stuff that makes me look good, atleast. Come to think of it, I have always gotten every job I have interviewed for so I am pretty confident in my skills. One thing that was totally weird was to see myself in real work clothes again. Black slacks. Button up blouse. Sweater. I hardly recognized the girl in the mirror. In order to counteract this feeling of alienation with my own body, I went to a dancer clothing store I passed on the way to the interview site and I tried on some clothing I did feel comfortable in. See below.

Asymmentrical Plunge Gown by Body Zone $44.99

At my club, while you are walking around, your ass has to be covered at all times. I tried this one on in black and absolutely loved the fit and the style. Body Zone really does make the best dancer clothing. I also bought a purple garter so I wouldn’t look like a vampire on stage (black hair, black dress, black shoes, black soul…). After this fun little shopping trip, I then went wild with my GPS and started finding clubs in the area. I had no intention of doing this while I was there, but I found myself punching in the addresses anyways and what I found was a total gold mine. The club I work at now is absolutely beautiful but it doesn’t compare to the ones in this area. Slowly and steadily, the thought of my awesome interview faded from memory and was taken over by the reality of how much money I could make dancing here. I completely blame the Body Zone dress for this relapse. I JUST HAD to look awesome in it.

In all actuality, I have no idea what life is going to throw my way. I’ve had my hurdles and my brick walls, but I have also had many doors of opportunity open right when I need them. I am so thankful I have a degree to fall back on as well as  the body and the mind to be successful in the strip club world. It’s kind of rare, really. I don’t have to worry about a child or a controlling boyfriend. I don’t have to wake up early, sit through boring meetings, or waste away at a desk all day. I am truly free and it feels amazing.

Sometimes, when I go out of town for an extended period of time, I lose touch with myself. For example, one of my best friends asked me to be a bridesmaid in her wedding so I was recently on the east coast celebrating with her and her family. This particular friend is the exact opposite of me in every way so how we are so close I do not know. All I do know is that I love her dearly and I want nothing but happiness for her. And by happiness, I mean hot, wild wedding night sex. About a month ago, I went on the Fredericks of Hollywood website and bought her a little something that looked like this…

Fredericks of Hollywood Erika Hanky Hem Babydoll $22.00

I had to keep in mind that her style is very different from my style. She has a curvy figure and is very modest, so I thought something looser with a halter tie would really flatter her and make her feel sexy. The other bridesmaids were planning on getting her lingerie as well so I was really excited to see what everyone would come up with. Fast forward to the night before the wedding. The maid of honor got her a couple of regular bras, five pairs of multi-colored normal panties, and a floor length silk nightgown with matching robe. The other bridesmaid got her a matching tank top and boy short set along with another silky floor length night gown. And then there was me, the degenerate bridesmaid. As soon as she pulled my gift out of the bag, she looked shocked and the other girls started laughing and rooting her on. Of course she broke out into smiles eventually, but I couldn’t help but feel totally awkward. Are the other girls totally old fashioned or have I completely lost touch with what normal society considers sexy? In my personal opinion, the gift I got her was incredibly tame. But then again, I have no problem wearing something like this in front of a room full of strangers…

Leather Bra and G-String by Snaz75.com $37.99

So it became obvious I was the wild one without even trying to be. That works. In all actuality, I have been labeled much worse things. A lot of people think I am really stuck up when they first meet me. Others think I sleep around or that I am very shy. Then, there are the people at the wedding that think I am a professional dancer. It all started with a really hot, Latin song that the DJ decided to play. As soon as I heard the beat, I kicked off my shoes and ditched the other bridesmaids to go dance. There I was, in the middle of a sea of couples, giving in to the music and allowing it to move my body in any way it wanted. And believe it or not, my job at the strip club did not give me this confidence. I have always loved the feeling of dancing alone. As soon as the song ended, I returned to the table and more than one person asked me where I had learned to move like that. Have you taken lessons? How long have you been practicing? Can you teach me? I feel that what I tap into when I move my body is something more than just dancing. I feel a very intense connection to music and I don’t think that I could teach it even if I tried. You either have it or you don’t. Sometimes, when I am bored at work, I will watch the girls on stage and I can instantly pick up on who “feels” it and who doesn’t. It’s very obvious when you know what you are looking for. Controlled movements. Eye contact. Brief moments where the hands run across the body. And all of it perfectly on beat with the song playing. I often wonder if customers can pick up on this as well.

To top it all off, I crashed at one of the bridesmaid’s houses after the ceremony and they decided to put me in Stacy’s bed room. Stacy was her younger sister and just happened to be stunning in a way I rarely see. Her Spanish heritage gave her a beautiful olive complexion and she had big, full lips that would put Angelina Jolie to shame. In my opinion, I thought she would make a great stripper. As soon as I walked into Stacy’s room, however, my attitude completely changed. Bibles. Crucifixes. Fluffy stuffed animals. Pink. The abrupt thought of my entire body bursting into flames sent a chill down my spine. What the hell was all this? As I laid in her bed, surrounded by innocence and purity, I began to wonder what led me astray. Growing up, I always went to church every Sunday and even took religious education classes. How come I didn’t turn out like Stacy? How come I feel the need to do what I do? I guess the answer is I never believed in the first place. If my memory serves me right, when you receive your first communion and you get confirmed, you take an oath of some sort that says you believe in God and everything He represents. I said exactly what everyone wanted me to say, yet deep down I wasn’t buying it. I suppose if you have my attitude about religion, then dancing naked for strangers is not something that needs to be forgiven. It’s not something that is considered sinful or shameful. It is just fun, sexy, and very lucrative.  Believe it or not, I slept very well in that sweet, loving bedroom but I was happy to get out of there the next day. I yearned to be in my own apartment, to be surrounded by the color black and sexy photographs I have collected from the internet and magazines over the years. I was dying to step over platform shoes strewn about on the floor and to lay down on my leopard print comforter. Needless to say, it’s good to be home.

this is not poetry

And suddenly, there were colors.
Reds and pinks and yellows.
But no blues.
He was with me.
His loud voice screaming.
They were with me too.
And all I could hear was his voice.
And all I could feel were their eyes.
My hands.
Running through my hair.
Across my chest.
Down my legs.
Wrapping around the steel.
Hot.
Cold.
Colliding with a force unlike any other.
And that was when I began to fly.
Weightless underneath the colors.
The lights.
The eyes.
The eyes.
They searched me for something more.
But they are unable to see past my skin.
My desire.
Forbidden.
And tempting.
Because some poetry is not written with words.
It is expressed by the body.

I have been a writer my entire life. It is safe to assume that no matter where I go, no matter who I meet, I find inspiration in everything. The strip club is no exception to this. I observe what is around me and I try to interpret the deeper meaning behind what I see. Popular society tells us that dancers are fuck ups. Losers. Good-for-nothing sluts. And because following what every one else thinks is the safe thing to do, people blindly support this fact and immediately assume there is no deeper meaning to a girl who takes her clothes off for money. This is very wrong. Fellow “degenerates”, get ready for a TG theory that would probably make a licensed psychologist roll his/her eyes. The most inner layer of a person involves the morals, or the system of ethics which is unique to each person. Some girls can’t even get naked in front of their own boyfriend much less an entire crowd of strangers. I am thankful to be capable of both. The next layer is the self esteem, which has to be strong in order to endure the pain inflicted by the outside world. It is hard, like an egg, but can be cracked if the correct pressure is applied. This is the reason people make bad decisions… their morals leak and they become hollow inside. They just stop caring. On top of self esteem, there is the layer in which love, hate, and all of the emotions thrive. This is a very active area of someone’s mind, with many ups and downs and twists and turns. It is very honest, but gets filtered through the fourth layer, which is our invisible screen. This layer weeds out what is worth the trouble and what isn’t. The meaningless, stupid aspects of life are too big to slip through, like waiting longer than normal at a red light or overpaying at a restaurant. Sure they get your attention when they bounce off your defenses, but it’s nothing compared to the real issues in life. Getting married. A DWI. Receiving a thoughtful gift. These things slip right through the barrier and begin reeking havoc on your emotions to the point where they are purged in the form of tears, laughter, complete bullshit, etc.. Is there anyone out there who is truly honest with him or herself? Probably not. I make an attempt to be as true as possible, but I often find myself full of doubt. This doubt is something I never display on my most outer level, or how I present myself to the world. Dancers are so fixated on looks and with good reason. Strip clubs are a celebration of female beauty and if you aren’t attractive on the outside, you are going to have trouble being successful. This is also true for the most beautiful girls. They get so caught up with being hot that the slightest rejection from any person blows their screen into a thousand pieces. This leads to feelings of vulnerability that are very dangerous to the psyche. To combat this, I picture the words of every person stuck in a big blob of green jello. Compliments. Insults. Negativity. All of it is incapable of influencing my bottom layers and that is how I have survived the strip club world for so long. I do not let it consume me. Of course I also push away most people who attempt to get close to me, but that is not entirely because of this green jello thing. People have seriously disappointed me in the past and I have trouble with forgiveness. Anger has been overwhelming my emotions lately and it’s about time I got rid of it. Crying doesn’t work. Neither does punching stuff or venting to a friend. I am able to weaken the emotion, however, by writing. When I am putting words together, nothing about the world is ugly. In fact, it is truly breathtaking. I guess this is my way of saying I will never, ever stop writing. I can write about whatever I want whenever I want and the more people I piss off, the stronger I become. Bring it on, assholes.

There are many reasons why people would think gentleman’s clubs are horrible places. Girls willingly take off their clothes for money, most likely to support an illegitimate child or a drug addiction. Guys observe from afar and spend their hard earned pay checks on an emotionless lap dance with some dancer they don’t even know. People drink alcohol. They may smoke too. There is also the fact that some of the girls turn to prostitution to pay their bills and they use the club to find clientele. With all that going on, it’s no wonder when someone finds out you are part of this business, they try and “fix you.” Try and save you from a sinful lifestyle and show you the light. Call me crazy, but the only light I want shining on me is a black light. Also, a strobe light looks cool when I am in the middle of a fast spin on the pole. Basically it all comes down to fear. People are scared of the unknown and they form opinions on something before they even know the facts.

“There is no way someone could make an honest living doing that.”

“It is impossible for a man to call himself faithful if he goes to strip clubs.”

“The only people who hang out at these places are “degenerates.”"

Yes, strippers have been known to do bad things. Sometimes they sell drugs or avoid paying taxes. They have also been known to jump in the bed of a random man just to make rent for that month. It seems to be the job of the desperate. Something reserved for the loser women of society who have no one to care for them and nothing to lose. This is all true in some cases, but not with me. Dancing is something that has made me very happy and I am 100% sure there are other girls out there that feel the exact same way. I think that if you are going to love someone, and I mean REALLY love everything about them, you will accept them for who they are. Everyone is guilty of something and it is such a refreshing feeling to come clean to someone you trust when you are ready. For example, if a good friend of mine confided in me that she was selling drugs to save up money for college, I would not tell their whole family what she is doing. It is not my place. If another friend of mine came out of the closet and I was the only one that knew, I would not get their mother on the phone and preach my opinions to her in an effort to “fix” my friend. That is entirely his responsibility. I do have people in my life that love everything about me, including the flaws given to me by society. These people may not agree with my actions, but they know my head is in the right place. It always has been.

It wasn’t always like this. In fact, there was a time in my life not too long ago when everything just felt right. I had a great circle of friends. I was working on my degree. And on the nights I wasn’t going to frat parties, I was dancing at my favorite club and making good money. Life was good. Now, I feel there is a dent in my spirit so deep that not even Billy May’s Ding King Kit can help me out. And like with every hit and run situation, I find myself cursing the unknown. Who would do this to me? How could they not admit it? Why are they such a coward? WHO WOULD DO THIS TO ME? There are also the situations where you are fully aware of who put the blemish on your soul and you curse yourself for allowing them to do so. How could I not see that coming? Why did I give them that power? Who do they think they are? HOW COULD I NOT SEE THAT COMING? Allowing people into your life is a huge liability. Often times, you are unaware of how truly evil and selfish they are until it is too late. I think everyone learns this lesson at some point in their lives and my time just happened to be my mid twenties. Unfortunately, I keep getting hit over and over again. What am I doing wrong? I guess it’s about time I stop parking on the street and try a garage instead.

My friend and I wanted to try line dancing class. There was a popular country bar about fifteen minutes from my apartment and we decided to check it out on a rather dull Tuesday night. It was this decision that brought a woman named Susan into my life. She was attending the class with a guy friend of hers and they just happened to be next to us in the huge circle we formed on the dance floor. After some small talk and laughs, we decided to all sit together and have some drinks. I found out Susan lived about five minutes from me and she was an only child. She also told me her family was Muslim and she visited the Middle East often. Her stories were very interesting and we had a wonderful time talking to each other, something I rarely experience with other girls simply because they bore me. My boyfriend did this. My boyfriend did that. Do I look fat in this? Susan didn’t really come across as a typical women other than she was self conscious about her age. She was in her thirties, but if I didn’t know that, I wouldn’t have placed her older than 25. At the end of the night, we exchanged numbers and went our separate ways, but it didn’t take long for us to meet up again. Susan and I checked out some bars down town with our friends and we had movie nights at each other’s apartments. We became gym buddies too and during Total Conditioning class, she told me something I was not expecting at all.

“I used to be a stripper.”

No fucking way. Apparently she did it only for a short while but thought it was fun. I decided to open up and tell her about my past too. The two of us thought it was so interesting that we had that in common and it furthered our friendship into something deeper. I thought she was great. A while later, she introduced me to a new guy she was interested in and he seemed pretty nice. We all hung out and she constantly asked me what I thought of him. This is where things got weird. No matter what I told her, she would always respond with something like, “I bet he wants a pretty, young girl like you”, or “I saw him looking at you and I think he likes you better.” I brushed these comments off as compliments but then received an e-mail from the guy saying that Susan would really like for he and I to be together because we are young and good looking. Where the hell did that come from? I texted her and told her I had no interest in him at all and that I was annoyed she was trying to set us up. She told me that if he sent that message, he must be interested and that the two of us had been planning to hook up for a long time. Once again, where the hell did that come from? I only met the guy once. Suddenly, the ever-so-cool Susan turned into a complete psycho. She texted me about 100 times a day telling me I was nothing but a “home wrecking whore” and an “ugly white person”. And the friends we all went out to the bars with that night… she sent them all a personal message online saying I was a stripper, that I could not be trusted, and that I would sleep with all of them. I was completely furious. I did absolutely nothing to this person and she completely let her mind run away with her. For a long time, I was scared she was going to vandalize my car or my apartment or maybe stalk me on the street. The text messages were extremely hostile and nasty. None of that happened, thank God, but I did acquire a very intense mistrust of women. After all of that with Nina (40 year old dancer that dated my teenage brother and made my life miserable) and then this… I was completely convinced that all women were mentally unstable. Of course my mistrust of men would happen at a later date, but it was the ladies that paved the way to my bitterness. I often wonder what kind of life experiences prompt such horrible social skills. Could it have been the only child thing? Maybe something about age and the Muslim religion? I have no idea and I never want to go back there and find out.

I began working as a stripper a while ago.

The reason I got into dancing was to piss off an ex-boyfriend of mine, who I call G. He was possessive and he filled my head with nonsense about my body. I wanted to do the worst possible thing to him without cheating on him, so I started stripping. I had no idea I was going to fall in love with it the way I did.

My first close call with my family finding out about my job was Nina. She was a psycho dancer I used to work with who started dating my brother. It was a very tense time for me but eventually they broke up and things returned to normal. It was a feeling of vulnerability that I never wanted to experience again.

The number one love of my life is my cat. She is perfect in every way and her unconditional love makes me feel completely content in times of sorrow. I also have two very close girlfriends and a couple of brothers who I would take a bullet for. These five “people” are all I need in this corrupt, untrustworthy world and every one else is merely a suspect. Pardon my paranoia. I just returned from a trip to hell and I haven’t unpacked my baggage yet.

I love to travel. In the first week of March, I am going to Key West for the first time. I think this trip will really help me unwind and see the world as a beautiful place again.

Jenna Jameson and Diablo Cody are my heroes.

I am very sexual. I like to wear sexy clothes. I like to look at erotic photography. I love the fact that I get paid to make fantasies come true. Often times I feel very alone when it comes to this, but I am realizing more and more that women are very nervous about letting go of their inhibitions. Don’t be scared.

There was a point in my life when I was a blonde. There was also a point in my life where I was betrayed by someone I trusted. In my time of panic, I went to my salon and colored my entire head black. I stared in the mirror quite a while after I did it, unsure who was staring back at me and whether or not I liked it. The whole point was to blend in with the world and not stand out in any way. Turns out, it looks great on me. Shit.

I have a masters degree in a subject I hate.

Just in case you are wondering where my previous posts are from Running From Grace, I did not delete them. They are safely saved on my computer and it turns out they come to be approximately 260 pages double spaced in Microsoft Word. Because I can not let them go to waste, I got in contact with a literary agent in NYC. He absolutely loved my writing and is going to work with me on getting it published. I sign the contract tomorrow. This is a truly wonderful thing for me and if I were to look at the whole thing in an optimistic way, I would have to say that this e-mail that was sent to my parents was a blessing in disguise. I probably would not have pursued the task of finding an agent if it didn’t happen. Come to find out, I am not an optimistic person. You’re still a piece of shit, anonymous e-mail writer. While you are sticking your nose in other people’s lives, I am writing novels and living my life exactly the way I want. Go me.

This all may be a little repetitive for those who have kept up with my blog since the beginning. I just needed to write a little background info to help new readers. I am truly thankful for those of you who stuck with me and were unbelievably patient throughout the whole ordeal. You know who you are. How about an autographed book when it comes out?