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[sweetassassin-blog1]

I've been grinning like a fool today -- first, the weather was absolutely hypnotic, a dream, precisely the temperature, humidity, and light breeziness I would order if I were to dictate the weather forevermore. It had me moaning, just walking around outside.

Then I got the news from my restaurant position that I will indeed be trained not only to serve but to bar tend and that the position will be mine in approximately two months. I know it's going to be challenging and arduous, but god damn, I'm thrilled. I've always wanted to learn to bar tend and I like to think it'll be a profession that really suits me. Fast paced, nuanced, people-focused, and once I have the skill, it'll be invaluable and indispensable to me, wherever I go. I cannot wait to begin this new phase of my life. I think it will be a big part of my life and career for years to come, I really do.

:-)

[sweetassassin-blog1]

Why am I so stuck on this guy? Easy. The bold way he talks...his height...how he already has shown me anger, irritation, intensity...how he has some street knowledge, how he dresses...how he says baby girl like it means nothing -- and it means nothing -- how he curses, how he smokes, how he doesn't seem to give a fuck, but then about some things, he obviously gives a fuck. How he doesn't make a point to say hi to me, how he is cavalier yet bossy.

That bullshit drives me up the walls. 

I just want him to boss me around and take me places with him, and to lay in bed for too long and drink and fuck at all hours of the day vand night. That’s all....

I swear this is the first crush I’ve had since my last relationship blew up. 

But he’s got other shit and women, and so I’ll just keep dating around and fucking people I don’t feel strongly about, and maybe avoid him altogether.

[sweetassassin-blog1]

three men in my head this week, two men in my bed this week, but not the one i’m crushing on. the one i’m all fucky in the head about is, of course the one who isn’t trying to be here 

[sweetassassin-blog1]

In an old building, walls permeated with the mingling scents of long stale and piping hot, fresh popcorn, enclose a dusty, carpeted staircase that leads up up up a few flights to a darkened theater room. Replacing the straight-backed, stiff folding theater seats come to be expected of such a room are plush, bright turquoise loveseats, speckled here and there in a sea of lighter blue armchairs. They face a wall where a giant projection displays previews and reminders to purchase concessions downstairs. The little, independently owned theater is showing a documentary this evening. Kedi¸ appropriately titled the Turkish word for ‘cat’, studies the intricate relationship between the Turkish city of Istanbul, its history, its peoples, and its felines. Subtitles accompany shots of Turkish city streets, shot after shot of the skyline and zoomed out aerial views of the architecture, and of course, footage of cats and kittens doing the things cats and kittens do. Hunting, licking, napping, fighting, caterwauling, howling, pouncing, begging, playing…Though a few occasions arise the sense of tragedy and impending doom that defines the documentary genre,  the changes being faced by people worldwide as old ways fade away in the face of capitalism, industrialism, and other developments of

....

[sweetassassin-blog1]

i feel myself being too much all the time. talking too much. talking too loudly. talking about absurd or obscene things that other people would rather not discuss. giving too much information. dressing too boldly. wearing going-out makeup to work. giggling too easily. spending money too freely. being oddly generous. eating too much.

it's as if any inkling of confidence becomes an overdose for me.

i take up too much space. i exude too much. too much me.

how can i shrink down, become more neutral, less domineering, less attention-grabbing, less annoying?

i could stop wearing heels to work everyday. i could lay off the eyeliner, the lipstick, the glitter, and the bright eye shadows.

i could wear a rubber band on my wrist and snap it forcefully whenever i hear - my voice rising - odd ideas surfacing from my mouth - myself spewing chatter in a quiet space - me talking about myself - me talking about my thoughts, as if they are of value

i could shut up. i could dress down. i could start saving. i could stop eating. i could stop drinking. i could stop flirting. i could stop offering. i could stop sharing. i could stop expressing everything, all the time, and start writing.

is the world becoming as sick of me and my thoughts and my face and my voice and my mannerisms as i am?

i feel out of control, i feel out of whack, i feel larger than life, i feel manic. 

i’m so sick of everything always being in the first person. 

[sweetassassin-blog1]

pressure, and its release

i place a lot of pressure on myself. few others place any real pressure on me. there’s some at work, of course, but at my new jobs, it’s much lower than the place i quit last month. come to think of it,  i have begun placing much more pressure on myself in recent weeks. perhaps i've had the energy or stamina to accept more personal pressure now that i've relinquished my responsibilities at ispot.tv, my former employer. perhaps i am subconsciously working to maintain that level of pressure by redistributing it to different areas of my life.

here are some of the ways i put pressure on myself, in the form of expectations. i must work around 56 hours per week, with zero days off. i must attend as many dance classes as my body and mind can handle, usually two per day, sometimes three. saturdays i often have to run errands when i could be at class, and sundays the class schedule conflicts with my work schedule, but otherwise, those would be dance days too. i must read a lot, and not easy fiction, but *literature* both fiction and non-fiction. while reading, i must keep a list of any words i don't know, and soon after find their definitions and record them in my notebook. when i do read something that's a bit more like popular, poolside fiction, i feel a nagging sense of guilt over not reading something more academic. i must look my best -- aside from dance class, i must wear makeup and high heels nearly everywhere i go. i must eat well, but this is the one area i seem to struggle with most. policing my eating habits makes me fucking crazy, so instead i find pleasure, comfort, and solace in food, which is most often a good thing, but sometimes results in negative feelings too. i must be sweet, pleasant, and likable, and not make mistakes. when i do make mistakes or when i realize i have not come off to someone as sweet, pleasant, or likable, i mentally beat myself up over it for hours and hours.

how are these things helping me? how am i growing? am i enjoying these things? is this pressure necessary or helpful?

i am working a lot, it's true. but i have grown accustomed to a lifestyle that allows for things like expensive dance classes, bimonthly nail appointments, and i crave luxurious upgrades and products, i want to be in a position where a nice dinner out is not stress-inducing, i want to build my wardrobe with quality, stylish things, i want to plan trips. unless i find work that pays more per hour, working less isn't really an option right now. *if i want to have more money for these kinds of things, i need to be wise about things like eating out, buying drinks at bars, and so forth. sometimes these things are cool, but they're always there, waiting, always accessible. the bigger purchases, the lasting things -- those have been much rarer for me, and i would probably be much happier with them than jameson on the rocks four times in a night.*

i think i would make more dancing at a club than at carlile, but carlile is a healthier environment that i (usually) enjoy. i get to have conversations with unique people and there is a chance that i could learn to serve or bar-tend eventually, which could turn into a lifelong skill.

my full time position does not pay well. but  i really like my day job at gourmondo, i really really really do, so the idea of working somewhere other than gourmondo for a higher hourly is unattractive. i definitely think gourmondo is a good place for me to be and i've got to stick it out there for a good while. maybe they'll eventually pay me better.

honestly, when i think about the pressure i put on myself regarding dance class -- it doesn't seem like enough! i want to improve rapidly at dance and i want to dance more, not less. dance is my favorite thing about my life right now. i wouldn't trade it for anything, except more dance.

the reading is pleasurable. i should maybe lighten up a little on myself with expectations, and find something that is in that sweet spot of academic, intellectually stimulating, and engrossing, page-turning. like murakami's 1Q84, or margaret atwood's oryx and crake.

my physical appearance pressure is something i think i will always endure. the ways to combat the pressure and relieve the stress are making time to celebrate myself. to look at myself and see this gorgeous, goddess creature full of energy and light and life, intellect and sex appeal, empathy and education, to see myself as the whole person and remember that striving to look pretty is really just striving to do all of me justice by presenting myself as magnificently as i deserve to be presented.

the pressure i put on myself to be perfect towards other people is unrealistic and frankly, boring. which story characters are the most compelling? the most memorable? certainly not the easy going, whatever-you-want-is-cool-with-me varieties. it's okay to be bold, opinionated, to make some people feel amazing and other people maybe feel intimidated or on edge. you cannot be everybody's flavor.

if i was a more neutral, vanilla sort of flavor, would someone like ryan, a fucking badass who i admire endlessly, say to me, "that's why i like you so much. you're chaotic. it's like getting into an arena, the thunderdome! how are you going to handle it?"

i am exactly the way i am supposed to be.

[sweetassassin-blog1]

class the other day, i’m front left

[sweetassassin-blog1]

I refuse to be anything but curious about and strengthened by my past, even the parts that haunt me, even the parts that I cannot explain to the average person without fearing reproach or the possibility of being disrespected, looked down on. When I catch myself saying something about myself, my past, to an adult, a colleague, a professional, a somebody that I do not know, and then I immediately feel this oh fuck that should not have come out of my mouth at this time to this person is it because I am retaining mystery, allure, and professionalism by remaining unexplained, or is because there are footholds in this society that I teeter on, afraid to fall off in the eyes of someone and lose their ‘respect’?

If they don’t know you, how can they truly respect you anyway?

this morning, in my best attempt at professional-yet-sexy-enough-that-I-don’t-feel-like-a-frump attire, a mid-thigh length gray tank top dress layered with a black long sleeved top and a light gray cardigan duster that stops just at the end of the dress and black suede block heels, I waited in line at the only coffee shop in South Park, a teeny neighborhood near the office I work in, when I realized the head baker was also blearily waiting for a cup of coffee shop curated caffeine. She told me she was glad to run into me at the shop rather than her boss, because at seven am, though she likes the man, it’s just too early to deal with him. 

She said that she tried the bikini stands but couldn’t stand the coffee, and without thinking, I ventured, “It’s their sanitation levels that get me. I’ve worked in them, so I understand...” 

“And they’ve got other things to do,” she jested.

“Right, but also, the management doesn’t provide proper equipment, teach sanitation practices. They don’t care, and it’s less about the coffee.”

The barista chimed in, and the baker said, “I find the girls here just as enchanting.”

As I walked out, I immediately kicked myself for volunteering that information. What if she tells....who tells...what if....

But I sank into the old leather of my car and whipped my long cardigan into the cab and out of the rain and said aloud to myself, 

“No, fuck that. I will be proud of who I am, what I’ve done, my professions, my past, my problems, all of it. I’ll speak out about it, I’ll help normalize it for other girls who happen to transition in and out of sex work, of drug addictions, of whatever the fuck. I won’t be boxed in and intimidated by office wear and this mystical ideal of wholesomeness.” 

[sweetassassin-blog1]

weekend recap

I left my day job a little early on Friday because it was such a slow week due to spring break affecting the majority of Seattle businesses that serve as my company’s clients, which was much appreciated because I worked a double that day and was supposed to head immediately to my second position. Instead, I had about an hour to fulfill the craving I had had all day, the most addictive thing in my life lately – I had to pole. And record some dancing. And post it on Instagram, because I so rarely record my dancing and for progress monitoring purposes, I should. So I did and damn it was good. Watching the clip of my dancing is both embarrassing and inspiring, but I posted it nonetheless. I see so many mistakes watching it over, so much room for improvement, but I’m also doing things I could not even have attempted a year ago with some fluidity and style of my own. I can only get better from here. I feel inspired to choreograph something myself for the first time. I am not sure where to begin with choreographing, but I will try. I danced to “Sideline” by Niia and “Big Boy” by Charlotte Cardin, the latter belonging to an EP I cannot stop listening to lately.

I made myself presentable for work and headed downtown for the first ‘support’ shift I’ve worked at my new restaurant job. It’s basically bussing because the restaurant isn’t quite large enough to make hiring a dedicated busser logical, so the servers and I, the hostess, take turns with the responsibility when needed. I was there relatively late, past 23:00. I took the light rail home with little drama, attempted to dance a bit but had to let my sore limbs and weak ankles rest after the long shift on my feet. Since my roommate was in Oakland for the weekend, I tugged my mattress into the living room by the window and had a sleepover party by myself out there. I stayed up too late talking to boys on tinder and snapchat. I’m really fucking single, what of it?

Saturday was an interesting day. I had plans to meet my friend Nahum for Thai food and E. coli painting. Yes, E. coli painting. This biology lab near the university in the U District hosted this Arts and Sciences meet up where anyone without any science experience prerequisites could come and practice safe lab habits by painting with E. coli bacteria that had been somehow (this goes over my head a bit) modified to react to UV light so that 24 to 48 hours after incubation in a Petri dish, the bacteria would express colors under such light. We used gloves and toothpicks to draw in this gelatinous substance (augur was the word they used, I believe), tracing the outlines of sharpie creations we had penned on paper underneath the translucent dish. It was a unique experience for me, as the last time I was in a lab, I was of high school age and loathing the whole thing. This time, I had fun, and got out of my comfort zone in a safe and welcoming space. Nahum and I each made three Petri dish drawings, none of which I have seen yet. I didn’t know what to draw so I picked three of my forearm tattoos and recreated simpler versions of them. Perhaps more resourceful than creative, but the tombstone, heart, and butterfly will hopefully come out with vague resemblance of their intended forms.

That evening the theater across from my restaurant hosted the metal band Mastodon. The theater’s show times dictate the business of the restaurant, with a pre-show and post-show rush plus the mass exit in between the two shaping the flow of each evening that the theater is packed. This night was nuts, for me at least, as the hostess, but I made a couple friends at the end of my shift. These two young British guys and I had a few shots of tequila and a few beers as they told me their story – they were on tour from Ipswich, England in a rock band called Basement that it turns out is actually a pretty big deal. They headed out to Denver and I left with a few of the BOH people in my restaurant, Ashley, Austin, and Ted. We met up with my dear friend Cu at a weird basement bar in Belltown I had never been to, the Screwdriver. I liked the funky décor. After a few Jack & cokes, it was last call, and Cu and I headed back to my place where we hung out in my living room-turned-bedroom for a bit before he headed to his girl’s place and I smoked myself to sleep. Not before eating my favorite Amy’s meal, though, which is of course the Chinese Noodles and Veggies. It has this amazing creamy cashew sauce and it positively delectable, the best late-night food that doesn’t require ordering in and spending $30 or leaving my apartment.

Sunday I had a surprise day off, though I didn’t know it until 15:00, right before I would have left for work. If I had known, I would have gone to see my parents, but it didn’t work out that way. I took care of the dishes, did my laundry, boiled some eggs for the upcoming week, watched several episodes of 13 Reasons Why, which made me cry and feel horribly lonely. The loneliness drove me to the ice cream shop where the unenthusiastic ice cream salesperson also made me feel lonely, but the vegan orange cake batter waffle cone and a walk in the oddly warm 66 degree air cheered me considerably. I offered to pick my roommate up from the airport and we had a cocktail at Lottie’s, one of the few bars in our little neighborhood of Columbia City that I have visited thus far. I had their featured spring cocktail, a concoction of lemon and strawberry vodkas, crème de violet, and elderflower. It tasted like lemonade and was served in a martini glass. It was delicious. Jan had a mimosa, his customary. Mimosas seem out of place to me outside of brunch, but I can drink a Bloody Mary at any hour which has the same brunch stamped connotation. Nightcap mimosas, sure.

It was a nice weekend. I met people, I made money, I tried something new, I ate and drank delicacies, I spent time with friends, I did something nice for someone, I did chores, I danced. I would have liked to have played outside more or seen my parents, but maybe next weekend I will <3

[haleyincarnate]

Love is something of  roses and dreams. Let’s hope you find  someone who you  are these roses and dreams for.

[themoonspells]

Lick me , Melt me

https://www.instagram.com/themoonbacon/

[watchoutforintellect]

the slime of all my yesterdays rots in the hollow of my skull.

Sylvia Plath, from “April 18th” featured in The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath (via watchoutforintellect)

[sweetassassin-blog1]

feeling scattered and off-balance today, like my energy is funky, and i couldn’t for the life of my decide what to do on my one and only night off, but i ended up at this mostly-vegan bar and super casual restaurant in georgetown with my laptop, so working on my blog seems like a good choice.

i didn’t know what to write about and feared i would blabber some random journal entry bullshit, so i went back to that list i wrote in my first post outlining what i’d discuss and i’ve decided to go with my first topic idea: pole dancing journey.

as far as pole dancers in the pole dancing community go, i’m truly and utterly nothing special, but at the same time, every single pole dancer is truly something special. it’s a phenomenally difficult and complex art form/type of dance/exercise/fitness regime, especially for dancers who don’t come from athletic or dance heavy backgrounds, like myself.

i can’t quite recall the first time i touched a pole... it was either when i began waitressing at a seattle strip club in the sodo area, or at a girlfriend’s apartment who had had a pole installed in her living room. she had been stripping for a few months at a club in seattle and was also engaged in a private stripping company that was available for bookings at bachelor parties and other offbeat, often heavily male-dominated events. at the time, i had already had years of experience working as a webcam model, probably some months as a waitress at the strip club if my time line is correct, and a bit of experience as a bikini barista and a sugar baby, so the sex industry didn’t intimidate me. however, i never thought i had the looks to be a stripper, despite the fact that i was aware of how many strippers aren’t classic beauties or even what you would call in good or healthy physical shape. but i was intrigued by the pole, and through the haze of a drug and alcohol bender i was also experiencing, i glazed over my insecurities and uncertainty, eventually joining her in the private stripping company (rain city entertainment, it was called, i think, and it is no longer in operation) and eventually stripped for a brief three or four months at a seattle club, myself. anyway, my stripping career and my drug problem went well together, in a toxic, codependent, bruised up, blank-minded, confused sort of way, and they both came to a sudden halt around the same time.

a few months later, in a clearer head space, i longed for the toned look my arms had when i had been stripping. i mean, i sort of ignored or naively didn’t notice the fact that my quick, drug-induced weight loss had also affected the wiry, muscular look my arms had adopted, but still. they were certainly stronger when i was poling, and that was fact. but at this time, i had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t into the idea of dating a stripper. (many dudes, however, are, so strip away and date away, if you so choose <3) i decided to look into pole dancing classes instead, and i ended up at a studio about 45 minutes south of tacoma, near where i was residing. 

and really, that was that. i started pole dancing under the instruction of one brilliantly talented, delightfully witty, beautiful, fun instructor who i now call an especially dear friend and role model, and i went several times a week for months and months. i’m naturally decently flexible, which has been really helpful, but i was weak, awkward, ungainly, lacking self confidence and upper body strength -- basically i had many of the characteristics of a new poler, but through jane’s gentle coaching and my own goofy sense of humor, i pushed through the especially awkward and uncomfortable beginning bits and carried on. 

when life changes including a new job led me back north to seattle and a new apartment, i followed jane’s suggestion and chose the studio she recommended, a studio owned by a good friend of hers. i wasn’t too nervous going into it because i had roughly six months of pole experience under my belt and thought that i wouldn’t be as noticeable a novice as i had been when i began instruction under jane. quickly, however, i learned that this seattle studio was much bigger in terms of class body and that there instructors were many, as well. 

and fuck, it was hard. i had become so comfortable with jane that even if i did something totally foolish or unattractive in her class, it was a nonissue and a quick giggle dispelled any negative feelings i may have had. i didn’t have that built up sense of camaraderie and self-esteem in these new classes, and so many of these seattle polers were young, stylish, sexy, intimidatingly beautiful and intelligent-seeming women. what the fuck was my shy, recovering drug addict, heartbroken self doing there?

to be continued...

[thatswhywelovegermany]

Wollt ihr das Volk bessern, so gebt ihm statt Deklamationen gegen die Sünde bessere Speisen.

If you want to better the people then give them better food instead of declamations against sin.

Ludwig Feuerbach (1804 – 1872), German philosopher

[sweetassassin-blog1]

firstly, i suppose i should explain to my imagined audience of strangers, friends, and future me who i am currently. that’s a strange topic to approach and the answer could be given in a myriad of ways. 

the other day, while grappling with some body image stress, i instructed myself to imagine myself, and all other people, to be units of energy, colorful hues sort of like auras, without bodies. i asked myself, how would you feel about who you are if you were only a cloud of light and energy, more brightly illuminated when your energy and mood levels are high, and duller, less compelling, more camouflaged when your energy and mood levels are low? what if you understood and were attracted to other people based on how your colors or shapes played with one another, rather than their physical appearance, style, or sex appeal? would you like yourself? what would you be? i imagined myself in a good mental place, on a bus or in some public scenario, perhaps triangular in shape, an isosceles triangle with the smaller side on top, the two longer sides making a point directly towards the bottom. gloriously pigmented in oranges, pinks, and greens, this happy me is a bubbly, infectious arrangement of joy that others, generally those looking for happiness and open to receiving joy, would be attracted to or at least would appreciate looking at, experiencing, or being around.

this thought exercise, a philosophical one of sorts, helped me separate ‘who i am’ and how i feel about myself from the curvature of my hips or the softness, the roundness of my stomach. 

so i am a being, a physical manifestation, yes, but i am energy, i am thoughts, i am ideas, and i am joy. i am curiosity, i am exploration, i am a complex and multi faceted creature, but i am also a bubbling bit of life. 

in more concrete terms...i am a 23 year old female, i stand about 5′6, i have a womanly shape once compared to the woman in the classic birth of venus painting. i am not a great, head-turning beauty, but in the right light and in the right mood, generally after a run and when the sun is shining, i can be eye-catching. i have tattoos all up and down my arms and a few scattered across the rest of my body and i have a several body piercings, most adorned with rose gold hoops or small colored gems. i have scars from acne, scars from drunken escapades, scars from tattoos and piercings gone wrong, and ever-present bruises from pole dancing. 

my mother describes me as “dynamic and compassionate.” one friend has recently called me “genuine, thoughtful,” another not long ago characterized me as being “understanding and accepting.” my last boss is rumored to have said that kasey is “really smart, but unfortunately unable to take direction.” a girl i don’t consider a friend anymore pegged me as being incredibly “inconsiderate.” 

meyers briggs calls me an ENFP, the zodiac labels me a sagittarius, i would be classified as “extroverted” by psychologists. i could also be considered a person with addiction problems, though they are in far better condition than they have been. 

in a capitalistic society, people are so often defined by their careers or their jobs. at 23, i haven’t developed much of a career, and who knows whether that’s really in the cards for me? i hope so, but it isn’t a life-goal. i have a bachelors degree in english literature with a minor in gender, women, and sexuality studies that i received from the university of washington, and i randomly ended up working in data with the help of a mutual friend and that degree. but, because partially because i am rumored incapable of taking direction, my career path halted and began anew, and i now have a job in hospitality/administration of sorts. i also hostess at a restaurant two nights a week. 

my interests are mainly literature, dance, health, other people, philosophy, technology, science, travel, music, art, alcohol, drugs, food...etc..

and there it is, a strange little introduction to me, at my current state. this is me, or a bit of me, where i am right now in life. 

[sweetassassin-blog1]

blogging: anxieties and reassurance

my biggest challenge with keeping a blog is how scattered i am in my writing. i want to write about interesting topics, and stick to a topic, but i tend to free write in a scattered manner and never quite feel accomplished with my journal entries. i suppose i should ask myself: what am i trying to accomplish? who is my audience? what is the purpose of this writing?

i am not really trying to accomplish anything, but i am inspired by other blogs and i would like to have something similar of my own. i would like to see my life in writing and i would like to work through some of my thoughts in a place where maybe someday somebody else my read it, or maybe just me someday in the future will read it and have some sort of feeling about me in the past, ideally other than poignant embarrassment. my audience then is me, maybe a friend or internet stranger, and especially, future me. 

maybe each entry itself should have a purpose, or maybe some will have a very clear purpose and others will just be exercise. i will categorize them with tags.  

well, i suppose the purpose of this post is to try to clear up my own confusion about blog writing and about how to go about writing a blog by answering some questions. 

what are some topics i will write about?

- my pole dancing journey

- my career/jobs as a 23 year old living in seattle 

- my literary interests

- my love life as a 23 year old woman in 2017 

- my social/political thoughts

- experiences i have, such as 

a. my travels

b. dining out 

c. concerts, shows

d. film, television

- my thoughts about my own psychological state

- trip reports, or summations of past experiences

- social relationships and/or issues

- body image

- nutrition, wellness

shit, i think that will be enough to get me started. what i fear is writing tons of boring shit that nobody will ever be interested in, but if one of my friends had a place where they wrote such things, i would be probably be terrifically interested, depending on whether i liked their writing style and if they chose interesting topics, so thinking about it that way suggests to me that this could potentially be very interesting to select people. and really, does it matter? maybe a little, but the experience of writing is often deeply pleasurable to me, clarifying, and gives me a sense that my creative energy isn’t being squandered totally. 

squandered, that’s a good word. another thing i can write about is my obsession with words! a collection of words and quotes was one of the main facets of my original tumblr, i think maybe that was my favorite part of it all.

i will make a concerted effort not to write exclusively about things that make me sad or upset. i have looked back in past journals before and been dismayed at the utter bleakness, then realized my tendency to write when i’m upset and to disregard writing when i am cheerful. 

without further ado, i will conclude this preliminary introductory sort of outline post, and move to a more specific introduction.