Yeah, I know I have initiative, but...

Rob's coming home in T-minus-42 minutes, and it's a long weekend. I've been working my ass off, winding myself up damn tight what with all the craziness and stress, and tryna make a pretty penny.

You best believe that all I'm about right now is gettin dolled up for my man, throwing caution to the wind (and my employers) and taking the next three days to myself. I'm gonna be hanging out with friends, drinking a lot, and lookin' real cute.

That is all.

I have so much to say.

So. Right now, at this very moment, I'm sitting on campus, in the Women's Center, attempting to send out my resume to day jobs. Sitting right across from me *fanning myself* is Asia, aka the awesome woman who I might move in with. My boss lady, Mei, happened to mention to her that I'm looking to find my own place, and she happens to be in the position of being thisclose to throwing out her roommate. Asia and I haven't seen each other since this time last year, when we were at a mutual friend's birthday barbecue, and we just happened to run into each other here.

Now, I've had my reservations about finding a roommate. Thankfully, I've only ever had a roommate once in my life, and that was for a very short period. But I've heard many many horror stories about having to share a living space with someone, and I've been apprehensive.

The thing is, Asia's beyond cool. Really and truly, she is. And we seem to vibe really well. And I'm really really really hoping that her current roommate can't make the rent, so that I get to move in on October 1st, aka my birthday, aka the same day that I started working for Penguin last year. *fingers crossed* Here's hoping.

But before I can even fathom moving in with Asia, I have to make money. Real money. And that's something that just isn't happening right now. *sigh*

I was supposed to go to another dom training today, but seriously, I'm just really frustrated with the job. Protocol dictates that I must sit in on three days' worth of sessions before I can go on my own, and I don't get paid for them. Not really, at least. It depends on the situation - whether the guy tips the main dom, whether the main dom gives me a share of her tip, whether the guy insists that I be there... There are just too many fucking variables! In the meantime, I'm in a room full of women, and forced to be a social fucking butterfly.

Now, like I've said before, I'm all about the socializing. But lately, what with my working my tail off to train for jobs that are supposed to earn me the quick/big bucks, I'd rather just chill with a magazine and be left the hell alone. This doesn't work too well in an environment like the Dungeon. Some girls are catty, a few of them are divas, and ALL of them are trying to find an angle on you. I chose to defer to the role of "sweet, kinda-ditzy girl who just happens to be hella assertive." It's way less confrontational than vying for the position of top bitch, and fo real, I don't need the extra work. I just wanna do my job and do it well, and from the looks on the girls' faces after they saw me in action, I'm doing a good job.

Which brings me to the subject of work, in general. I've been toying with the idea of starting another blog, one that is all about my work experiences. I have limited "internet access + privacy" these days, and thus the limited blogging - because, chile, lemme tell you: I have soooo much to say about my work experiences. Like, how the first couple of clients that I had at the Dungeon were sooo hot, and I could see why girls are tempted to turn tricks. And how I gave my first breast and pelvic exams with Mei's consulting firm - I got to stick a finger into a woman's rectum while sticking another finger in her vagina, and people watched! And the bitch 2nd year resident at Nassau Medical Center with a superiority complex - I think her name was Cindy Henri; I hope she honestly learned something from the workshops we ran. And the way that Mei is grooming me to possibly take over the consulting firm when she retires.

So much to say.

Geez louise, just lemme work already!

Officially, I have four gigs. Jobs, I guess, if you wanna call em that. Each of em are part-time and have a lotta earning potential. Their purpose is to make me money, but only one of em is really doin that, so...

*insert banshee wail here*

Overall, emotionally, I'm doing well. I'm surrounding myself with positive people, I'm being productive, going to work, doing trainings, exercising, playing with the cat, etc... I'm bonding with my mom and my brother and spending time with close friends. I'm writing up a storm yet again.

But damnit, SHOW ME THE MONEY. NOW.

It's frustrating, knowing that you're doing pretty well but not having any solid evidence to back up this truth. I wanna get an apartment of my own already, and for that to happen, money must be made. Soon. Seriously. I have plans and goals, damnit. And they need to be met.

*sigh*

I hate to say it, but tonight I think I'm gonna be scouring craigslist for office work.

Thank goodness for trusted friends.

I freaked the fuck out yesterday. I really did.

In the morning, my boss, Mei, called me and said that she found me a place to stay; there was pride and relief in her voice, as if she'd just found a home for an abused foster kid. A part of me wanted to jump on her words, leave Rob's place behind, and start anew. But something was holding me back.

I thought it might be fear of the unknown, or fear of losing Rob - and, in truth, those are huge components of why I was holding myself back. The real reason was that it wouldn't feel like my decision. It would feel like Mei was impinging on my ability to take care of myself, and at this point in the game - when I'm 23 and more or less certain of who I am - there is no reason to need anyone's advice for an issue that's so big.

It's strange and paradoxical, this bigness and smallness. It seems like I should only want advice on the big things, and I should be able to handle the small things on my own. And maybe for other people, that's the case. But I'd rather ask someone for advice about make-up and exercise than about what path to take in life. I have a philosophy of doing things and at the end of the day, I'm just going to do what I feel is right anyway.

Mei and my other boss from the women's center, Nina, have tried to fill a void in me. They've been great about finding me work, counseling me, mentoring me - but they're not shrinks. They're not certified counselors. And when they attempt to mentor me, they sometimes end up mothering me. And this is frustrating. So very fucking frustrating.

They tell me things like "Rob's no good for you", and one of them compares him to their dead husband, and they tell me that I'm the victim of a neglectful childhood, and they force me to confront truths that I would have taken a longer time to get around to. While the last part is something that I don't really mind, the rest is unnecessary. I know what I have with Rob, and just because they're older and have been married a combined five times, that doesn't mean they know better. I also know what kind of childhood I had, and it wasn't a neglectful one. Not by a long shot.

There have been truths that they've imparted on me, i.e., Don't take advice from people who are just as broken or more broken than you are, that I've always known but never put my finger on. And for that, and so much of what they've done for me, I'm very grateful. But for the rest, for the mothering and the doting - in a way, they infantalize me, and I don't need that. I'm a grownass woman, damnit.

*****

At the height of my fear and confusion, I wrote a few emails and called a few people. My mind was racing faster than it had ever raced before, so great was the fear and anxiety. All of my emails sounded wieldy and dramatic.

One of the people who emailed me back was a girl I grew up with but who has always stayed on the periphery of my life, Crystal. The first thing she wrote was, "You're doing it again, M. Relax the fuck out. You know what you're doing. You're just freaking out because someone you trust is telling you otherwise, and you're not a know-it-all on your high horse, unable to take judgment or criticism. You're one of those people who lets people speak their minds, and lets peoples' words wash over them. You take what you can work with, and sometimes you're such a fucking packrat that you think you can work with more than you can carry, so you weigh yourself down unnecessarily." By this time, I'd already spoken to two of my closest friends and my brother, and I'd calmed down enough to realize I'd only a few days previously given the exact same advice to someone else.

Crystal's email went on to say, "Why the fuck do you ask advice for shit you already know? I swear, sometimes you're such a fucking lawyer."

When I called Andrea and told her about my thoughts and how I was freaking out, she said very calmly, "Sounds to me like you've got your head on straight. You always have. Just the fact that you're freaking out and letting me know of your doubts supports that. You could've just as easily kept all of this to yourself, but instead you're strong enough and still as creative in your instincts that you let it all hang out. And that's a good thing. But you know what you're doing. You just have to trust yourself."

All of the emails and conversations that I had last night said basically the same thing, and that's when I realized that these people know me best. They know that my dramatics are really just versions of venting, and that the last thing I ever really need is advice. They know that if I ever feel insecure, the best medicine is to show me how I really know myself, and how there's no reason to be insecure. They know that 95% of the things that I say isn't new; I've had an inkling about them for a while. They know that I am not stupid, and I am not stubborn, and I am willing to make myself go nearly crazy in order to be fair and give other peoples' words credence. They know this about me, and they remind me of myself. What they don't do is offer themselves as examples or assume they know better than me.

I can learn a lot from them.

*****

Yesterday, I had the chance to change a lot of my life. I'd forgotten to trust my gut, and I felt alone and adrift. I missed my family more than ever, and I was scared about my relationship with Rob, and its projection.

But it all stemmed from one simple truth: I've been in charge of changing my life, and it's always turned out all right. Regardless of anything, on the subject of My Life, I know better. No one else does. Just me.

I work hard for the money.

Ever since I left my parents' place, I've been a financial mess. Sure, the fact that I gave em most of what was in my bank account wasn't exactly helpful to the situation - but what's done is done. I am no longer a doormat.

The second I set up shop (so to speak) in Rob's mom's place, I had a plan: get a job as a dominatrix, horde my money, then pay off as much of my debt as possible as I simultaneously pay my way through school and get my *own* place. I focused all of my energy into culling information about the dom world, and I cold-called, emailed, and interviewed my ass off. I was determined; not only to make quick cash, but to do it without fucking anyone.

I'd had a brief glimpse of the life at a place that would later be busted for prostitution. All I knew was that, if I kept my temper in check, I'd make boatloads of cash for sensually beating up men. I was hooked.

Unfortunately, lots of places that call themselves "dungeons" are really brothels. In my interviews, I made sure to let them know I wasn't gonna do anything I didn't feel comfortable with, i.e., full nudity, blow jobs, handjobs, sex of any variety, and most of the places just didn't wanna hear it. A good friend of mine, Ginger (aka Opera Singer), had been in the business a little longer than me, and had made more contacts in the world than me. The two of us decided to go job hunting together.

So, with $200 in my bank account and no money coming in, I spent a month tarting myself up for interviews - to no avail. I started to think that maybe, just maybe, I'd have to *gasp* look for an office job.

Now, don't get me wrong. I respect all lines of work. I've been at the nonprofit level (where I was on the board of directors for one of the largest nonprofits in NY), the corporate level (where I was the assistant to the president of a high end real estate firm), and everywhere in between. But, for the most part, office work is B-O-R-I-N-G. Also, at the jobs where my conscience stays clean (cuz I'm helping out the little guy), I make no money. At the jobs where I'm working for the man and earning a decent wage, I feel soulless. Either way, I get frustrated. Really frustrated. So looking for a job that would leave me feeling soulless and like I'm wasting my time - that wasn't necessarily on the top of my list of priorities.

Rob's mom's place, heretofore known as "home", is a 5 minute walk to campus, so I decided to talk my way onto the quad (since I lost my student ID ages ago), and use the facilities. Ginger and I had decided that we'd spend our afternoon sending out resumes, since none of the dungeons were calling us back. We went immediately to one of our old stomping grounds and places of prior employment, the campus Women's Center. And just when I resigned myself to the idea that I'd be working at a desk again and earning a blah wage, my old boss, the director of the Women's Center, approached me with a job offer. Turns out, she has a consulting firm, and she'd like me to work for her.

Off the bat, I figured it was clerical work, and to some extent I was right. But the wage was good ($15/hour), there wouldn't be any taxes taken out for the first three months, and I'd get paid in cash. Add to that, I'd be working mostly from her home, and that's a 15 minute walk away from home. The only down side was that the hours aren't steady;and they're not many, either (15-25 hours/month).

But, as is the case for most of the jobs I land, there was more to this one. Ya see, there's a very specific kind of consulting that Mei's company does. She hires men and women to teach medical students, nursing students, physicians assistance students, etc., how to conduct a thorough, positive, and respectful exam on the resproductive organs of men and women. These men and women, who are called "teachers" or "models" bare all in the name of science. Mei asked if I'd be interested in becoming a teacher.

Now, here's the thing. I've never been shy about my body. But it seems hypocritical that I should tell one employer (at the dungeon) that I refuse to bare all, when not only would I be showing off my goodies at my other job, but strangers would be copping feels and probing my dark places. I thought it over and decided that, Yes, I want to explore this option. I signed up for training and hoped for the best.

A week later, I was at St. Luke's with Mei and some other teachers. She'd told me very little about my training, and I'd assumed that there would be a Q&A and maybe a video to watch. No no no no no no. I'd be looking at naked women for the next three hours, watching second-year residents learn to use a speculum, and observing as the "teachers/patients" got examined. The second this reality came into view, I felt queasy, like maybe I can't handle this. Maybe I'm not mature enough to conduct a class of this nature. Maybe I'd giggle inappropriately (since these situations are rife with off-color conversations and funny anecdotal moments), and embarass Mei.

I handled things well. Not that I had to do anything other than observe the class. But it was definitely an illuminating experience. A snippet from my training: Yvette, a Hispanic woman in her late 40s or early 50s, is lying on the examining table, which is tilted at a 45-degree angle, so that she can watch what the students are doing. She is naked from the waist down, and wears only a hospital gown, draped loosely over her torso. Julie, a thin, short, Asian woman in her early 20s, is seated between Yvette's legs, and attempting to insert a speculum into Yvette's vagina. Yvette has just showed the class the correct way to insert a speculum (the dominant hand holds the device, the other hand inserts a finger into the vagina, to ease the speculum inside). Julie's tiny hands are dwarfed by surgeon's gloves that are a size too big; she has two fingers inside of Yvette's vagina, and is attempting to insert the speculum without first taking out her fingers.

Yvette: Now, you have to replace your fingers with the speculum. [Julie is still trying to shove the speculum into Yvette's vagina.] No, Julie. REPLACE your fingers with the speculum. [Julie is looking, confused, at Yvette.] Julie, your hands are in my vagina. Please stop looking at my face and look at what you're doing. Look at my vagina, Julie. Look at my vagina!

Some moments later:

Yvette: [Her face glowing, and a smile playing on her lips.] Julie, please stop moving your hands. You're touching my clitoris. [Julie, embarassed, clasps her hands in front of her.] Remember, Julie, you must touch the patient with purpose. Never touch a patient if you don't have to do so.... [A minute later.] Julie, you have to stop caressing my thigh, Julie. It's inappropriate, and I know you don't realize what you're doing, but the next time you conduct a pelvic exam, it's gonna be on a real patient, and you don't want to make her feel uncomfortable.

So yeah.

Yvette handled it like a trooper, and she never lost her cool. Despite the fact that she was showing off her goodies to a handful of perfect strangers, she remained in command of the situation. Now there's a woman with cajones.

Mei assures me that, for the most part, students are eager to improve their skills, and they treat teachers from the consulting firm with as much dignity and respect as any teacher at their school. Still, there will be times, depending on who our students are, when very disrespectful scenarios may play out. Some students think they're too good to learn from "a bunch of laymen and laywomen". Some are specializing in a field that has nothing to do with obstetrics or gynecology. That's not our problem. We offer a service, and if NYU Nursing School or Columbia Medical School or whomever believes we should teach, then we do.

I came out of that experience feeling refreshed and with an overwhelming sense of empowerment. These women knew their bodies inside and out - literally; they weren't ashamed of their bodies, and they weren't afraid of them, either. For the longest time, I've been playing with the idea of someday going into nursing and physician's assistance, but those thoughts were always unfounded concepts. Now that I'd witnessed firsthand one of the most awkward and uncomfortable situations imaginable in a doctor's office - and handled it maturely and responsibly - I felt ready for the next step.

As of now, I'm in the midst of training for this job. After about a month, I'll be ready to actually start getting paid for it, at which point the pay breaks down to about $75/hour. Granted, this is a per diem gig, but because I get to choose my own schedule, it's a welcome addition to my routine.

In the midst of all of this positive change, I got a call-back from the dungeon where Ginger used to work. I'd told them during my interview that I'm a newbie, since the last place I worked at was busted for prostitution and I didn't want that following me around. "Training" is tomorrow, and if that goes well, I start asap. The only thing that may deter this from happening is the issue of my bedbug bites, which haven't altogether cleared up, and still look downright gross.

Either way, I also applied to a human resources-type job on campus; I should hear from them in a couple of days.

A short post on my newfound contentment.

Ladies and gentlemen, the tough times are behind me. At least, for now. *enter applause*

In the two months since I left my folks' place, I've had a medical scare (turns out I'm allergic to insect bites, and I had to get them checked out), a pregnancy scare, tons of sadness (brought on by my utter disappointment in my folks), money woes (EXTREME money woes), drama with friends, frustrations with Rob, and general feelings of blah.

And now... Well, almost all of my issues are resolved.

It's strange, this whole coming of age thing. There isn't any formula, and it's certainly not an exact science. If you asked me to pinpoint the exact moment when things turned around, I'd be hard-pressed. But here we are a short while after one of the toughest weeks of my life, and all of a sudden I'm doing fine. Better than fine. Good, even.

I found work that I don't hate; I took myself to a clinic so that my bites could get checked out; I took an early pregnancy test (negative! Yay!); I got the ball rolling on going back to school; I started exercising; I've made it a point to hang out and talk with my mom and brother as much as possible; and I've begun to build relationships with my extended family. There is no single thing that can take credit for the weight being lifted off my shoulders; it was really everything. But, mostly, it was this: I proved to myself that I can handle everything life has to throw at me, and I can do it on my own.

NOTE: A more elaborate post, about my new line of work, whatever happened to domming,the frustrations of dating a man-child, etc., will be up soon. ;-P

It's been a tough week.

My period's been irregular for about 5 months now, and this is further exacerbated by the fact that I keep on taking the Plan B pill. Add to that that the Plan B pill costs almost 90 beans EACH, and that I'm broke and perpetually in a gray-area when it comes to money-making, and I'm overwhelmed. Which leads me to now, aka Going out of my mind as I wait for my period.

Of course, the fact that I'm STRESSED about EVERYTHING doesn't help matters. Not at all.

I went on a total of 4 dominatrix interviews. One of them offered me a job, but made it clear that they were hiring me to a brothel - not a dungeon. One of them never got back to me. And the last two... Well, they seem really promising.

Of the two that might hire me, one of them called back and said they're having a bad month and can't hire anyone new until business picks up; they told me to get back to them in about a month.

My girl, Opera Singer, used to work at the other place; she informed me that my interviewer is a hard-ass who likes to startle girls in order to better psycho-analyze them. Judging by the fact that he and I got along swimmingly, I'm guessing I nailed the interview. We spent almost an hour talking about everything from politics to exercise to the great outdoors. He said I'd definitely hear back from him, sooner or later. Since it's been about a week, my money's on later. Much later.

I'm kind of surprised that I'm not stressing so much on this. Partially, it's because I've learned to accept things as they are. Partially, it's because I've secured two very part time jobs, working for women that I've worked for in the past; I've also talked my way into a steady part-time gig on campus, which I will secure in the next few days. But, most of all, I'm actually pretty certain that one of those last two dom jobs is gonna call me back.

Here's my logic: both men with whom I interviewed were no-nonsense types. They had no problems telling Opera Singer they didn't want her working for them (one on the phone, the other in person). I figure, if they took the time to call me back, have long conversations with me, et al., odds are, I'll hear from them eventually.

Besides: I have a really nasty case of bed bug bites, and there's no way in hell I woulda gotten any clients looking the way that I look. See:

Okay, so that's not me. But my bites are worse. And they're EVERYWHERE. So yeah. You get the idea.

Rob said, jokingly, yesterday, as he dabbed hydrogen peroxide on the bites: "Maybe this is God's way of saying you shouldn't be a dom?"

Besides money woes, I've been having problems of the social variety. Friends have been acting petty, family members have been getting on my nerves more than usual, issues have been brought up that beg my attention. Plus, I'm dog-sitting for a good friend, and God knows I love my friend, but she's kept the poor dog in a cage or on a leash for most of its life, and it's the least socialized or obedient dog EVER. Yet more to worry, aggravate, and irritate me.

I'm trying to handle all of this while keeping my priorities in mind, but sometimes - like while I'm waiting for my period and feeling ridiculously hormonal - I just wanna lash out.

Thankfully, the only person I've been lashing out at is Rob, and not only can he handle it - he helps me get to the root of the problem and fix what's ailing me.