The club was closed last week for renovation. If you want to see what’s going on follow my employer @albertblush on Instagram. (I got rid of my dancer instagram sorry.) We are open tomorrow but I only work based on the mode I wake up in. We are the best club in Pittsburgh because everyone is almost as hot as me. Lol There is variety in the beauty department, and ladies here not thots. Everyone’s different. I don’t bring my personal life to work unless asked to. And even if I’m asked to, I won’t usually speak on it unless because it can unbalanced me for the rest of my day. Though feel free to chat and tip, I don’t mind if I’m not busy. I’m a chatter box. Don’t forget the tip part! Champagne Rooms $360/hr, $220/30mins Booth Dances $30 a song or 3 for $79. We are taxed 30% for booth dances. Be conscious of this when you tip someone. Hope to see you soon. My stage name is India. To my traveling dancers I will take pics as soon as I’m back to work.



Tranquila. Breathe. Smile. Smh

I try to avoid looking people in the eye when I’m on the streets. They think if you look them in the eye, even for a mere second you want to tell them how your day went, or want to talk about the weather, and other nonchalant blabber. But today I don’t feel like being polite, or playing nice. A car slowly pulls up next to me. “You too pretty not to smile,” somebody from the car says. I didn’t respond or look over. The car drove off.


Too pretty not to smile? What the fuck does that mean. I felt like yelling, “bitch pay me!” Then maybe I’ll smile.

I feel like I’m just existing. And that’s nothing to smile about. I’m going back to work this month. That’s nothing to smile about either. But I need the “just in case” money. Just in case I’m not happy. Pancho makes me happy but there’s always a part of me that says I’m strong, and I take care of myself, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be. I don’t think I would run from my boyfriend but I know I’m a runner. When things don’t change right away you just run, and things automatically change. And right now I want a whole lot of changes and I don’t have a a lot of patience. He knows it too.

I know I can calm down if I just get to the beach again. The nights are getting cool here like Atlanta in the winter. I don’t do good in the winter. Last winter depression kept me out of work and I was stuck in Atlanta til New Year’s. I wanted to hang myself, literally. I ended up just choking myself every thirty seconds.

My boyfriend and my nurse think going to Western Physic. is where I really need to go but I’m scared they will never let me out. Plus I’m not crazy. And don’t laugh. I’m just like everybody else. Sure, I’m having a hard time just like anyone else. I’m tired like anybody else. Unlike everybody else, I just don’t grab a beer after work. Or look on the bright side. I just don’t get high to numb how I really feel. I see reality and I half blame my mother, I scream at God, I cry to myself, and I mock my boyfriend every time he says tranquila. Tranquila. Tranquila my ass! . That’s the difference between me and everybody else. I know what I see, and life sucks. And it will be a daily fight to stop it from sucking.  And that’s the future for me because I know myself.  I’m not crazy. I just need to get to the beach.

Time wasted on smiles and frowns

If I can’t “save” nobody,  nobody can save me. I give up. This battle only has one end. Everyone bites the dust. Don’t dress me up.  Don’t waste any flowers. Just check a few times to make sure I’m really gone, then throw me in the ground. I don’t need a tombstone with my name on it. I never understood how someone’s name could be meaningful without a definition. Names seem like a way to take credit from the Creator. We should be named by our actions. My actions are spontaneous. I’m unpredictable to myself. I should have been named Chaos.


Sighs* I am is the world beneath the weave extensions.
I’ve been brave. I’ve been strong.  I’ve smiled. I’ve frowned. I’ve cryed and cried. Sometimes there’s a why, most times not so often. I’ve laughed. And boy, did I scream. I know fear. I know love. I know what it’s not. I know hate. I know when it’s evilest form. I used to hate this fight. But now I don’t. Because at the end of the day, it’s the same as yours. “It’s all about smiles and frowns. That’s all you have.”

And time. So much fucking time! All this damn time, everyone’s in your face cooing, waiting for you to speak and you keep on smiling and frowning. You speak, then are told to hush. Time to learn when to speak.  So you question everything and everyone until you are scorned. After over 13 school years, you find out some answers take years to find. So you spend a pretty penny in a college education, just to find out “it’s not what you know, it’s who you know!” Does anyone calculate the cost, I mean time, Never mind- because time builds character. Character that people will treat as a weakness. So overtime you try to conjure a facade to protect yourself from worthless pieces of shit. Then you eagerly take that mask off when you fall in love, and just as quickly heartbreak has you face covered in despair. In love, out of love. In love, out of love. Repeat. Til you take time to love and “find yourself.” Then you find out your feelings run you in circles. And in time, ambition runs you farther. So you spend time focusing on your future. Maybe alone. Maybe with someone you met when you “found” yourself. Then you live your life smiling and frowning until you die. Thee end. I hate to break it to you but if you cut all the bull crap, you done just smiled and frowned your whole damn life! This philosophy was brought to you in part my psychotic brain and “Training Day.” If you thought this post was a waste of time, good. Stop reading.


I’m serious. (Extra spaces Serious.)

Leave my page with your fucking happy ass.

But hey, if your smiling like I know my nurse is, who is somewhere in a clinic taking a break from people like me, reading this right now. You know this is more than a blog. You know this post just saved my life. Well, whadda-you-know, I just saved my life.  🙂

If I Was Drugged I Still Hate Myself

I’m annoyed to have to write this, but it’s part of my story and it’s the truth. The truth should instantly change people. But it doesn’t. Time always shows the proof of that. The truth has reeled in my head time and time again, and I won’t do it to myself today. Today is a new day. I’m tired of being a victim, and today I will not be subjected to my mind. So I will state the truth plainly to not arouse my mind.


Three or so weeks ago, I was heavily intoxicated working in the club, I felt and spoke of things getting a little  blurry. My customer goes to the bar. My memory is blurry, he is telling someone he wants a champagne room with me. He moves quickly to the lobby. I remember this because my customers usually walk behind me. And there was a tiny step by the bar, and I was angry he didn’t take my hand. My thoughts were floating question marks. Why does he want to do a room? Why is he checking which room he wants? Doesn’t he know how this is going to end? My mind answered back, it’s a room, take the money. None of the cameras work anyway. You’re in control. Let him be disappointed a second time.

I remember the first time we did a room. It was close to a year ago.He was in the lobby. VIP came to me to let me know he was ready to do a room. I remember wondering why he hadn’t told me himself. We sit across from each other. He says “I want in.” He continues about how he has money and for me to name  the price. I say I have no price. It’s not my thing. I don’t have sex. Unconcerned he questions whether someone did something to me, and that someone is going to get it sooner or later. “I want in. I’m not going to wait forever.” I repeat myself. The room is over in ten minutes. The VIP guy is even surprised and says so. He responds, “We skipped to the good part.”

Currently my chest is starting to hurt, but I’ve prolonged writing this so I’m going to skip to the facts.

my clothes came off
he ordered two shots, two club sodas
I am in a position where his weight is over me on the couch
he chokes me
he starts saying some dominatrix shit
he kissed me
I bite his cheek hard
he’s mad he goes to the bathroom saying I don’t think this is going to work.
These events are floating, I am floating and I’m feeling like- something is not right
I go to the bathroom, lean over the toilet.
Somehow my room is over. VIP gives me blue money while I’m still in the room.

My customer requests more time, I say I have to go to the dressing room. Something is not right. But I make it to the dressing room. Im in the bathroom stall. Then my face feels the coolness of the bathroom floor. I hear voices. Then I’m out.


Four hours later, I’m still in the dressing room. I regain some consciousness and then I’m throwing up, til I’m repeatedly dry heaving, crying over and over. Stating over and over that “something is not right. I think I was drugged.” An angel is telling me “Yes, I know. You aren’t yourself today. It’s okay.” I keep crying and tell that angel to go back downstairs and make her money. She smiles because she hears me returning. Then she eventually leaves. I think about what wasn’t right. Sure I had a few drinks but the part that was off was I had felt no emotion. No emotion when I was kissed, or even choked. My bite didn’t hold anger it was a response. I couldn’t move my arms. All I had was my mouth. I get dressed and call a cab. I save my fears, and anger, and sadness for my shower. My boyfriend bathes me as I sit in the bathtub crying while the shower ran. Soup nor water would stay in my stomach all morning. I had panic attacks every day throughout the day for a week. It was annoying, because I didn’t want to look crazy losing my head in public. So I stopped leaving the house. My boyfriend stayed home with me for more than a week.

I would like to say I’m getting better. I would like to say I quit drinking. I like to say I quit my job. Truth is, I’m laying in bed at 2p.m. not washed, eating Papa John’s, waiting for my boyfriend to get off so I can get up, cook, watch a movie, have a beer, and do it again tomorrow.

I’ve been to work once since the incident. Why go back? I’m scared of having nothing again. No purpose. No money. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s like a light should be coming on that stripping is a small chapter in my life. But I keep trying to make it longer, or worth it. And now seeing the end is like seeing the end of pricetag dreams. That day should have been a wake-up call, not a death notice. Yet I keep seeing myself die in this room every day. Though this is easiest way emotions can be balanced and my mind can be at peace. It is what it is. I can’t change how everything is affecting me. Only time can do that. And only time will tell.

What I Remember Back Then

I remember the projects in Southeast. I remember my gramma’s apartment across from Wingate, where I would calmly duck below the window at the sounds of gunshots, and proceed to watch Scooby Doo. I remember my babysitter Aunt Massie, who was everybody’s aunt but not mine, which meant I got less butt whippings. I remember moving to Maryland, where my future seemed brighter. Then I remember wanting a different future, and more freedom. A freedom to be full of life, and love. I don’t know what gave me the idea I was missing life but I just knew I needed to have it.

I was raised by my mother in the Pentecostal church since I was 2. I was taught not to wear lipstick, and always wear pantyhose. Never wear pants to a church function. Never wear shirts that are sleeveless or backless nor a skirt that doesn’t pass your knees. My mom got married when I was 7. Then I had rules that were meant to slow down the process of becoming a woman.  Never let your hair hang free, it was always to be in some kind of ponytail. No high heels  greater than 2 inches. Boys couldn’t call the house til they met my parents and I wasn’t allowed to date til I was 17. These rules were annoying but I knew they wouldn’t hurt me so I broke them every now and then but not as a rebel. These rules helped me see who my real friends were, and who liked me for the “me” inside.
The “me” inside my head was growing too. I would have unexpected & unexplained crying spells. Since I had started working at 15, I always ate what I wanted or nothing at all. Everyone said these were my sensitive woman moments. Later on I recognized it as depression. I wasn’t always depressed. I would sometimes find myself in this extremely hyper, and I would get this adrenaline rush that made me feel like I had to do something spontaneous. Even thinking back on it now, I still call those times happiness and not hyper mania. The depression and hyper mania were symptoms of my illness.

At 18, I still hadn’t been diagnosed with bipolar though red flags were everywhere. I even saw a therapist! I didn’t know my illness it was the stem of my anger. But I always felt like deep down inside I hated everybody. I thought that deep down feeling came from my heart, but it was just empty thoughts screaming, fighting to be real. No one told me the mind could be so powerful. So to say I hated my parents back then wouldn’t be true. They were just convenient targets, and I was full of rage and confusion.

Imagine your daughter coming home from school, ignoring you. You ask her about homework, she coldly answers its done. Retreats to her room. You tell her dinner is ready, she looks at you with disgust and says no thank you. Then repeat for 365 days. If your really imaging this. Snap out it, you lucked out. That was me.


Angry, irritated, and misunderstood. That was my childhood. Then I was abused, raped, kidnapped, homeless, jobless, fighting for survival. Sometimes I still think about that future I wanted, all that freedom. I’m alive, that’s enough freedom. Then again, sometimes that’s too much.


So today, I’m quick walking to work as usual. Two guys are sitting on the curb at end of l an alley, and just before I pass them, one of them decides to throw his lighter in front of me, then ask for me to pick it up. I give him the


“now-you-know-there-is-no-way-in-hell-im-picking-that-up” look. As I scurry pass, he shouts, “I had to try!” I look back to give him a quick boss bish look but it wasn’t fast enough for him to not see me laugh. I think that was the most dramatic flirting I’ve had in a long time. Feels good to laugh at the little things.

Alcohol + Reality= Emotional Drowning


I gave my best, it wasn’t enough
You get upset, we argue too much
We made a mess of what used to be love.
So why do I care, I care at all, at all, at all, at all

Going nowhere fast. We’ve reached the climax.
Were together now we’re undone.
Won’t commit so we choose to run away.
Do we separate?
Don’t wanna give in so we both gave up.
Can’t take it back. It’s too late.
We’ve reached the climax, climax.

The deepest Usher lyrics drown me…