4 Years

Okay so, do you ever have those moments, those defining moments when you are pretty sure you are going to hell?? What I mean is, have you done things that you know might make your entrance into heaven (which I do believe exists in some context) a little dicey? Regardless of your beliefs you must know what I am talking about.

Most of the occurrences that I am referring to happened during my drug abuse. People do stupid sh*t when they are on drugs. Given, people do stupid sh*t all the time but I find that anything "bad" I may do now is definitely forgivable. But some stuff, when I think back..it makes me cringe. I am not going to go into to detail naming off the horrible things I have done just so you can feel better about yourself ("at least I was never as bad as HER, at least I never contracted hep C blah blah blah, at least I never had sex for money" - you probably DID have sex for money at some point you just didn't realize it) - I am just going to tell you about one time. And it isn't even a long story but I still feel bad about. I know my stepmum will probably read this and I just want to tell her that I am sorry..but she knows what I was going through at the time so hopefully P, you will understand. You were there when it happened and you were so nice to me and I totally was sh*tty and I am sorry.

Okay, to put it bluntly.. I smoked crack in the bathroom at a Christian bookstore. There it is, that is it. I have other sorts of regrets from way back when like missing my Grandmother's funeral - that was bad. I wasn't even a prostitute then but unless I could have taken my dope dealer to the island with me there was no way I could go. I still feel sad when I think about it. Grandma, I love you and I am sorry I missed your funeral. I think she heard me.

Back on topic.

This bookstore situation occurred during a brief stint when my loving Father and Stepmother were keeping me/allowing me to stay at their house in an (unwanted by me) attempt at getting it together. Anyone that has ever been addicted to a substance knows that ANYTHING and ANYTIME is an opportunity. Now, it just so happens that my parents' house was not too far from a house that I had "lived" at for a while, when I was staying with my friend R (I have mentioned him before). I had left clothes and things there and called R and asked him if he could put my stuff in a bag and I would come to get them since I had no clothes at my parents' place. He said he would but I wasn't able to go and just pick them up from the house we had been sharing. The other guy that lived there was super paranoid and thought that my stepmother would plant microphones in his house or something so we had to find a different place to do the hand off. This guy, the paranoid one, was always like this. He honestly thought that there was bugs in his car because the gov't wanted to keep an eye on him. Him, a forty something guy with a factory job that did a paper of heroin every six months or so. As if, but besides this he was a really nice guy just very misunderstood.

Anyways, the other issue was that my stepmum would not let me see or be in the same room as R because she thought maybe he would be able to sneak me a piece, as in he might slip me something dope-ish and, well, that would be bad. But see, I was crafty and had spoken basically in code to R when I had called about my stuff and got him to put a huge rock (of crack) in the garbage bag of clothes for me. My stepmum and I drove to a neighbor's house (R had an acquaintance that was in no way dope affiliated) and we picked up the bag of clothes there. As you can well imagine I was almost pissing myself in anticipation.

Now understand this, it wasn't like I was going cold turkey at my parent's house. I mean, they were giving anything a go in order to keep me safe. I was on methadone and my Dad had bought me a certain amout of crack that was supposed to last me a week. I was allowed one ten dollar rock per night and I had to wait until he got home from work before I could get it. It was TORTURE. I mean, seriously, I am sure it would have been easier to go completely without than to have to wait all f*cking day to get ONE CRACK ROCK. Retarded, but of course this was way cool of him and he didn't have to do this. Needless to say they wised up pretty fast and stopped buying me crack since I was stealing it from them anyways and pinching money from their piggy banks, etc. But they were willing to try anything. So when the opportunity came up for me to sneak in an extra bit of dope I could not pass it up.

We went and picked up the bag of clothes. Then my stepmum decides she needs to go to the bookstore. Fine, I said, I will wait in the truck but as soon as she was out I was rifling though that bag fast as anything to find the rock. And I did find it and it was big. Man, I loved R. He always came though for me. He was a total prick and we abused each other left and right but thats what codependancy IS...so whatever.

I find the rock and couldn't even wait the 15 minutes or however long it would have been until we would have been on the way back to the house to smoke it. I had to smoke it ASAP. So I went in the bookstore and asked if I could use the bathroom (because of course, I had my pipe on me..rolled up in paper towel in my sock like I always did-duh). And I smoked it, right there, in the Christian Bookstore. I have smoked/done dope in a lot of places - even in the hospital bathroom when I went I checked myself in when I thought I was pregnant, which I was (yes, I DID - yes, I am terrible and I am sorry it happened. It was the last time I did it and this Dec 24th it will be 4 years since I last used heroin or cocaine- FYI.I am not proud of it but this blog is about truth and things like this do occur so f*ck you if you want to shake your head and judge me). And this time at the Christian bookstore, well I just hate that I did it there. Especially because my step mum is so sweet and I totally used and abused her and my father the whole time I was there. I remember that I smoked that rock so fast..the rest of it, once we got back to the house, and then just jonesed like hell until my Dad got home anyways. This is just such an ugly memory for me for some reason and it stresses me out to write about it.

Anyways, I want to wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Be safe and be happy.

S.

Sketches of Vancouver

I have decided to BEGIN with the asides this time and tell the main story after that. Okay so, this post is mainly about when I was having obvious mental delusions about what was reality and what was not. This isn't the only time I have "freaked" out, though it hasn't happened often. Just quickly I want to say that you may read this and think "wow, this totally isn't a harsh freak out" but it actually was. Enough so that it stayed with me. The other times that I lost my grip was when one time I had been up for days on speed and were convinced that my friends in the other room were planning a birthday party and were not going to invite me because I was too sketchy (which I wasn't but sleep deprivation plays tricks with your mind man...). Another time I remember (and I may have mentioned this in a previous post) was a time when I swore I could hear my "boyfriend" (a guy that I had been seeing on and off, he was date and wouldn't leave me alone) through a vent in my friend's hotel room talking and plotting how they were going to lure me into another room and murder me. Lastly, I will mention that I have not done much grammar or spell checking here - no time, I am a very important person you know....

Where was I??? Oh right, I was going to talk about a night way back that took place around Cambie and 41st. It starts the same as most of the other posts: I was on the stroll, it seems to me that it was a Friday or Saturday night (it's always easier to make money on weekends!! Yay!) - and I was in need of dope. I usually worked all the time, regardless if I had any dope or not already, if I was downtown, I was for sale.

I was in the hood, walking like I would, and a truck pulled up. Unassuming,

casual, smallish truck, no extended cab just room for the driver and one other person, and this night it was me that was the other person.

Immediately after getting in I could see this guy was wasted. He was very drunk. Was this a deterrent for me? No. His drinking and driving was not a problem for me. I wasn't worried about my own mortality, I faced it everyday, nor was I even the slightest concerned for the safety of the public. Sorry, but I just wasn't. I had been with drunk guys before, it happens. Most of the time it just makes them unable to "finish" or they are mildly unreasonable, big deal. And actually I did see this one girl get into this drunk guy's car one time..it was a red convertible and the guy picked up the girl and then took a corner real fast. Moments later I rounded the same bend and saw that right after they had sped around the turn the idiot drunk driver had put his shiny new car around a telephone pole. Awwww, poor him. No one was inured but I bet she was pissed off. Now she had to go find a new date. He would be good for no money.

So random guy picks me up in his truck and asks me if I know where he can get late night off sales. No, i told him except I sort of knew about this guy that ran one of the shady downtown bars that sort of sells (booze) from the hotel lobby. We drive down there and he bought some whiskey or something else equally disgusting. After this we were trying to think where we can go and he decides on Queen Elizabeth park. Now, since having sex in public places was my business I would normally have vetoed this suggestion but it was very late when this guy had picked me up, it was close to dawn and I figured by the time we drove there the sun would be pretty much up. Public parks like this one have hours usually ranging from 6 or 7 am until 10 at night but there is really no enforcing of these daytime hours. Police do cruise however but at least if it is light outside a car is not so obvious, unlike at night when headlights and the cover of darkness can give off a suspicious vibe to any officers or dogooder civilians that happen go by. So we get to the park, I think we did..I mean, I have been there lots of times but it seemed to me we were on the outskirts of it. We were within distance of residential homes so yeah. Anyways, moving on.

I had dope on me, it was crack cocaine and he was not keen on the idea of me smoking it in his new truck. He could be pissed drunk on stinky wild turkey but the scent of crack cocaine (which is really isn't a bad smell, it is sort of sweet if I am to be honest and it is definitely not a smell that sticks around) in his truck was not going to happen. I had to get out of the truck, do my toke and then get back in for whatever sexual favour he had requested, I have no idea what that was when I think back and it isn't even important.

He was sort of a sketchy guy. He was average, fairly attractive, nondescript really. He was sort of unstable - being that he was drunk and I guess that's what caused him to freak when he saw me doing a toke.... I did my toke and by the time I had started to exhale he had thrown my bag out of the driver's side door and squealed away. I was like "whaaaa???". I had been up for a few days and having just exhaled a major crack hoot in combination with his unexpected bail on me I started tripping. Hard. Usually, I could be counted on for not losing my sh*t in most situation but on this occasion I lost it. I assumed he was going to hunt me down and try to kill me since I had his money and hadn't performed any sexual act with/to him. I suddenly found myself running for my life. Don't ask me why I came to the conclusion because I can't tell you. All I know is I was terrified and was running.

He had driven off but then after I had grabbed my bag he had come to screeching halt and violently turned his truck around and came speeding back in my direction. Naturally I thought he was trying to run me over. I was having serious mental delusions. I ended up running into some one's open backyard and hid behind their garbage cans. And as I watched him cruising and trying to find me I ran from one backyard to the next hiding and hoping no one would call the police because I was lurking on their property. Eventually he gave up and took off and I was alone, it was early A.M and I was very far from downtown.

I have always said that no matter where you are, a girl can get a date, and usually this is true. But Cambie St on a busy morning is not a breeding ground for men cruising to pick up a prostitute. Mostly people were on their way to work and pulling over on a busy street like that is not something done casually. So I was left to hitchhike. I had the money he had given me but I had no change for the bus and there was no stores (to get change) open at that time. It was humiliating, I HATED being out when people were going to work plus I had anxiety at whether or not this crazy man was going to come back to murder me - thought it was fabulous of him to chuck my bag out his truck before he took off though, I will give him that.

Hitchhiking was never something I have liked to do (except for on Kingsway in the middle of the night, it is EASY to get a ride on that road). I felt like I was so obviously a drug addicted prostitute so who in their right mind would stop to give ME a ride? Well, the only person that did was a cab driver. Sweet and nice cab driver. He was headed in my direction anyways and my obvious look of distress and fear must have been what made him stop for me. And no, he wasn't like other cab drivers I knew, he didn't expect a hummer for a ride.

This was just another tale of why drugs are bad and why you should never get in a car with a drunk driver.

The Raven:

I am running out of stories maybe. I find myself wanting to share other tales of yore..tales that go all the way back to before prostitution and occurred in the medieval days of ravers and good ecstasy.

A while back, quite a while back, I may have touched on something called psychosis and/or hallucinations, whether they be auditory or visual. Now, most people (including myself), have found it amusing or just wondrous at least when they come into contact with or hear about a person that was so wasted that they are obviously totally out of touch with reality. It can be a laugh and scary. I feel like I may have mentioned this in regards to myself..and my own experiences but I can't totally remember everything I have written about in this blog. But hey, it can happen to the best of us. No one likes to admit that they have lost their sh*t at any time. BUT being that this is so many years after the fact I am able to look back now and laugh, as well as shake my head. In fact the other day I was at school telling a couple of my fellow students about the first time I had done ecstasy. It was ugly. I had put like a half gram of coke up my nose and was on my way to a New Year's Eve "rave" (we used the term "party") called "Life Force". First off, let me mention that this is an aside, this isn't even the intended subject of this post but just something I felt like sharing in this minute.

Anyways, we are at the party and I am there, out of my mind gassed on up and I am introduced to someone that is selling Es. Now, this isn't your average, modern, run of the mill E that is made of some unknown substances be they acid, PCP, etc. This was like, pure, split it between two people gel cap E, worth every cent of the forty dollars (yes, that's right, forty dollars - the cheaper the E is, the sh*ttier it is..so forty is not unreasonable). Within an hour and from a combination between the cocaine and the E I was hallucinating madly. That can happen if you do too much E, I really should have split it with someone but I didn't. So yes, mad hallucinations. I actually didn't have that good of a time that night as I was overly wrecked. But when I got home and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth did I get the real shock, the heart stopper, the "oh my G8d I should not have done that, what if I stay like this forever" moment. As I was brushing my teeth and I looked up and saw my eye.

My eye. My right eye has been weaker than the left for my whole life. I wore glasses as a child, contacts as a teenager but as an adult I never have. I mean, I do now so I can see better while driving and all that but my eyes both stare in the same direction, behaving like normal eyes nothing creepy. When I was young though, I had what one might call a lazy eye. Meaning one eye is normal and the other goes in, towards my nose.

It had been YEARS since I had even thought about my eye..and it was this night, this night doing too much E too soon that made it come and rear its head. I saw in the mirror that my eye was moving around in my eye socket with no rhyme or reason. It was terrifying. I was THAT GIRL. I was her, the girl that was pointed at and you may have said " look at her EYE" and "SHE must be so wasted", etc. I could control it if I tried hard enough but if I didn't it was bouncing around like that DVD graphic that is on your TV when you don't have a DVD in the player but the TV is set to DVD. You know?

It is funny when I think about it now but at the time it was crazy. And as I progressed through my drug using, and actually it was only in my crystal meth/E/MDMA/PCP/LSD phase (which lasted a few years), that I had to purchase an eye patch at a drug store just so I could go into day two or three of sleep deprivation without worrying that my eye was going to "go"....only the closest of friends where ever allowed to see me like that. And, since I am on the subject, my personal recommendation to anyone that does make a habit of consuming copious amounts of whatever substance (especially those that have a hallucinatory effect) and like to stay awake for days at a time, I would suggest that when you are in that very vulnerable and unguarded state, keep only your best friends around you. I found that it helped to reduce any unnecessary paranoid episodes as well.

See, at parties or raves I would actually enjoy singling out those that did appear to be losing their grip and would say things to them that would exacerbate their situation. For example, I recall one individual, he was a person that I knew and I had sold him some acid and could tell the he was trippin' HARD and I went up to him and asked him if he was aware that he was convulsing. He wasn't convulsing but it amused me when I saw that he panicked for a minute. I told him I was kidding so his initial shock became relief ( I probably helped him if anything). Another time I went up to this girl at a party and she was obviously too high, so I told her that her mum was at the door of the facility and that she was asking for her. I had no idea who this girl was so of course there was no way I could know her mother, but the girl freaked like I knew she would. One's mother may not be the best prescription for a youngster in the depths of an ecstasy high.

As a last thought I will mention that often a person in recovery will question themselves this: "will I ever have as much fun as I did while I was getting high?". I mean, that was the problem right, it was too much fun? (I am not referring to my heroin/prostitution days - that was in a way enjoyable but mostly miserable, I am talking about the getting high...getting really, really high. On e's, acid, mushrooms, MDA, crystal meth, etc..you know, the raver "party" drugs that I mentioned a few paragraphs back). Well, I still ask myself that same question because I find that a lot of life still pales in comparison to dancing your f*cking brains out in the middle of the forest ( I went to a lot of outdoor parties) as the sun comes up with a bunch of your friends that are going off as hard as you are.

This isn't to say that I don't get my kicks these days...but it's just something something about those nights. But it does/did get ugly AFTER the party - I will give you that. That sounds so cliche, there must be an after school special out there with that title, "After the Party". Maybe an A & E Special Presentation about the dangers of ecstasy and raving and how there is a direct link between raving and eventual turning "out" to work the streets....(there is no link that I am aware of, I am just an anomaly, soon to be martyr.)

This wasn't even what I was going to write about today, I was GOING to write about a time when I tripped out mega hard and badly, psychosis style when I was with a date out by Cambie and 41St....I guess I will just have to write about that next time.

Yay and oh yeah that's awesome but still.

I saw my infectious disease doctor on Thursday. Needless to say I didn't get much sleep the night before. It had been so nice to not have to think about hepatitis c for so long....since I had completed treatment I just stopped thinking of myself as someone with hep c. Not that a person with hep c is different from any other person but I had sort of convinced myself that my having it may hold the key to my ever finding happiness. I know that sounds ridiculous but still, this is how I felt. Like, why would anyone love me when they could find a girl that had never BEEN a prostitute or a girl that didn't have hep c?? This is poisonous thinking, I realize that, but this is what went through my mind on more than one occasion. Hep C isn't even a big deal but I secretly felt like it was. I play tough like I have come out of "it" all unscathed but I haven't. I still feel like I am constantly trying to make up for lost time, time lost out there....

Anyways, so I saw my doctor. I had told very few people about my appointment. I had to leave school early and just said I had a specialist appointment, told only one person that it was relating to my liver. I just said I had been getting check ups ever since my liver enzymes had shown that I was in stage two cirrhosis of the liver, forever blaming it on my past drug use. It made me feel incredibly lonely to not be able to share this with anyone really, no one really understood how nervous I was about this appointment. It had been postponed once already and I was hoping it would be again. I told maybe 1 friend and then some family members..only people that had already known that I had had hep c in the first place. But as I said only one person from school new that I was seriously concerned...

Speaking of this person I had told, something funny occurred between us the other morning when we had met before school for coffee.

To make a long story short we were discussing something about the internet and I mentioned I had a website. What was the website?? Well, I just came out and told her that I used to be a prostitute (she already knew about the addiction). THEN, after I swore her to secrecy, she then made me vow secrecy in return and told me she actually does that NOW, to supplement her student loan. The work not the drugs. Work in the sense not like I "worked", she isn't working the street she just knows this guy, and he has money - he just shares it with her... She ***** him *** and he ***** *** ***** etc, blah blah blah, whatever they do together is their own business. I don't care what anyone says but it IS work. Another interesting detail is that she is a lesbian which I think makes the story even juicier. Hah, awesome. Like what are the chances?? She had me believing that she just had a very well paying catering job. I mean, she made mad cash at the job and I always wondered how she was able to pay for all her expenses on a part timer's salary. It was funny though, she referred to it as "coming out" to each other, her and I's sharing, which is a great way to put it and I am smiling as I type this. I love her and I am not going to even think about the ethics of anything. I accept her as she accepts me. We did both admit to each other that we may have some faint issues with sex as a result of these experiences but we had to get to school and had no real chance to get any deeper about it.

Back to my hep c story. Did I mention THAT THE HEPATITIS IS STILL NOT THERE?????? Yes, it's true. My doc asked me how I felt and I said great. He said "you should, because you are cured". He actually used that term. Cured? I didn't realize one could be cured but he said he would be very surprised if it ever came back. That it had a less than one percent chance of ever showing it's hideous face again. For now he ( Dr. F) will see me in 6 months then eventually it will be annually. Now I just need to worry about getting my son tested.....

One step closer to personal forgiveness, I hope.

The Boner

Okay, so there I was...f*cking this guy and......noooo, no, no, I would never start out like that. I would never use the f word so early on.

Okay, so there I was, sitting on these steps in front of some unfortunate person's house that lives on Cordova St. Unfortunate in the sense that as a drug user I often sat on their steps (as did many other drug users) and got high. The steps were high up and around a corner so in theory one would think that if a police cruiser had been driving by I might see them before they saw me....

There I was, smoking crack while also looking for a date, and this seedy looking individual approaches and begins a conversation with me. He lives very close, he says, and wants to know if I will accompany him back to his lair and provide oral companionship to his member while he smokes copious amounts on cocaine (paying me in money and dope-duh). "Yes!", I tell him and we skip away.

As an aside I would just like to mention that the downtown Eastside seems to house a lot of people that are business during the week and party on the weekend. Almost as if they are susceptible to the drugs sold on the street there and have to use purely due to geographical convenience. I am sure there are thousands that don't use but still, there are lots that do. I am just saying, I wasn't really going to go anywhere with this paragraph but I just thought I would mention it. This guy was one of those people.

I say he was seedy because he was scrawny and was out hunting for a prostitute. That is seedy...he wasn't someone that I had seen before though, as I mentioned he was a weekend user.

We get to his apartment after a few short minutes and when we get inside I am surprised to find that he already has a person there. His roommate? No, that would be too easy, it was his male lover. Yep, this guy was bisexual, but his boyfriend, not at all. His bf was fully gay. I was fine with this, as long as he doesn't expect me to have sex with an animal or something, I am fine.

His boyfriend just watches and gets high as I get busy doing what I was being paid to do and before long the proceedings are halted. Scrawny decides that he is no longer interested and wants to see if I can get his boyfriend excited, turned on, erect, etc.

This wasn't the first time I had been been asked to do something like this. I already wrote about the girl/guy couple that had picked me up. I had also been picked up by one of my regulars and brought back to his apartment at like 6 in the morning one day, paid to start bl*wing him in his living room. And paid also, to make enough noise doing so that I would wake up his roommate and then surprise his roommate by switching my focus to him. I think it was his (roommate's) birthday or something...

But never had I had a sexual encounter with a homosexual male. It was a challenge and it was fun, if I am to be honest. I gave it a try. At first he had his eyes open but nothing happened. Then I suggested he close his eyes and so we tried that but to no avail. Sadly, I was only to rewarded for my efforts by bringing him to half mast.

So basically, I blew a gay guy. I think that is pretty cool. I think if a woman ever does this, maybe it is with her bf or husband that hasn't openly come out that he is gay yet..so in THAT sense yes, I will give it to them, they have bl*wn a homosexual man...but not like this......ooohhh yeahh and snap and you've been served (and whatever other cliche, quasi hip statements I can make)....I own that ****.

I'm Just Pretending to Drive a Minivan

So, there I was, sick as f*ck, working....waiting for something, anything, anyone to happen. None of my regulars were out and I was desperate. This minivan pulls up (why is it that most guys that cruise for chicks drive minivans?? Interesting....) and the window rolls down and Joe Averagemiddleageguy asks me a few questions. He is into weird shit he says and asks me how I feel about degradation (not a fan of it but if I am sick and the price is right, I can be anyone and do anything. Excusing, of course, being sh*t on or gang banged anally by a bunch of guys, etc.).

He says he has tried lots of girls and none of them can give him what he needs, that most of "us" have hang ups, despite the fact that we talk a good game. I am very curious as to what he is talking about but if he just wants to tell me I am scum and sh*t then I can deal with that. See, I have been called scum before and it was awful BUT in this case I would be going into it KNOWING that it was going to happen. Big difference. He and I come to a mutual understanding that we will give this a trial run, he will just drive around and say/ask me various things and depending on my responses - he will decide whether or not I may be a fit candidate for him and his desires.

Now, degradation is one thing, I mean, prostitution (at the level I was at) was pretty much degrading in itself and is mostly about play acting anyways so that did not concern me. When a guy says that he is into weird sh*t that can be anything. I did post a long time ago about a date that got me to wear his daughter's pyjamas and "walk in" on him watching a porno - and I did it. I one time watched this documentary about somewhere in the states and the prostitutes that work the streets there, in it this girl was talking about how one of her dates that she had known for a while decided he wanted her to go to the zoo with him after hours, break into the monkey cage and have sex with them. Personally, I was told about this one guy that used to pick up girls in Vancouver and would hire two to have sex with each other while he watched and jerked his dog off at the same time. I know it sounds retarded but I knew I guy that sold dope to a girl that did it...

Anyways, you can never know what they mean by weird, weird is defined differently by different people. Like how six inches to me may not be the same as six inches to you. This guy and I weren't going to get a chance to step to far into the "weird" part of his fantasy but just deal with the immediate degradation part of things. His main concern and instruction for me was that no matter what he asks me to do, I have to do it. Fine. I have to do exactly what he says, no questions.

I jumped in the van and am told to get on my hands and knees on the floor in front of the passenger seat. Fine, no problem. Then he is telling me I am scum and all that and that I deserve nothing and that he is lucky that he let me into his van. I am lower than a dog...blahblahblah. I am trying to respond appropriately but since I have no idea what he wants me to say, I was finding it hard to play along. "Yes, master?" Is that appropriate??

I am not allowed to look at him, only at the floor. He is driving around and the eventually he pulls over to the side of the road but leaves the van running. I have no idea where we are, we could have been anywhere. He tells me to get on the seat, after I pull my pants down and shove my ass in the air so anyone that walks by can see me. This is where my problem begins...I would take my gear off all the time for "work" but exposing myself like that is not something I was ever comfortable with. But I am not allowed to ask questions, remember? I just have to do it. Reluctantly, I do what he asks.

He is having me wave my ass around and then unrolls the passenger window. He tells me to stay exactly where I am and not to move. He says "Oh, there is 2 young guys about to walk by on your side, I am going to talk to them". Me? I am mortified. I mean, what a position to be in. I know it seems that I could just sit up and get the hell out of there and I can't even explain to you why I didn't do that..but I just didn't.

He says loudly "Hey guys come over here...come on, look at her, do you want to stick your fingers inside her?" I'm like "WHATTTT???" and he just rolls with it demanding me to stay where I am and proceeds to offer these guy ten bucks to do as he asks. It was at this point I had had enough. I sit up and there is no one there. No guys, no fingers, no one. He was just testing me and I failed.

It was really humiliating, he was right. I laughed (with sincerity and with relief) when I realized that there was in fact, no guys there. I just find this story amusing.

No moral, no life lesson, nothing overly heart wrenching here. Just rather humiliating to recant but here it is...because I'm sharing. I am sure this is something for dinner time conversation.

"Can you believe she did that??" "No, I can't. I would NEVER..."

Tobias' Secret

Despite what the average person might think, it is not only unattractive, hurtin', greasy, slimy, dirty, perverted degenerates who are undeserving of sex from a "real" woman (that last bit was for you, Anonymous) that pay for the service of a prostitute. Hot guys pick them up too. Well, they picked me up anyways. From my perspective they may not even go into it looking for a prostitute and the first time it happens they may just drive by and see something they like and bang - their prostitution virginity is surrendered. And once it happens once...well.....most likely there will not be a first and only time. A first time, yes. An only time, not so much. Not that this is an absolute rule, nothing is absolute.

So, it was into my trap that a young, very attractive male flew unsuspectingly into my evil web one sunny summer day...mwah-ha-ha-ha!!! Actually, I was just on my usual corner when Toby had driven by in his work truck like he probably did all the time, making deliveries or whatever it was that he did with his vehicle. But this particular day was his lucky day.

He was a first timer, I could just tell. He drove by me and immediately pulled over to the side of the road just a bit past where I was. It was very obvious that it was a spontaneous decision. Guys that cruise for girls usually make the rounds....and then are all paranoid and go into the alley and wait for the girl there or something like that. But Toby just pulled right over and I ran to the truck and jumped right in.

His truck was one of those company vehicles with the big cube box on the back. Like I said, a delivery truck of some sort. Anyways, he drove to the end of the block pulled over and we just climbed right into the box from the front seat. Easy, peasy. He was very excited, he told me. I was attractive, I managed to maintain myself most of the time and had more of a regular girl vibe and less of a strung out on heroin/crack one. Of course, everyone has their good and bad days - and this was one of my good days. A tan always helps - it takes the sting out of the track marks perhaps.

We jumped into the back, I gave him a hummer AFTER he paid me and that was that. I got out, we said our farewells and went our separate ways. I was almost positive that I would see him again. I mentioned that he was attractive, hip, hot body and all that. He was the type of guy that I may have actually been intimate with in "real life" had I not been heroin/cocaine dependent, homeless, a prostitute and all other charming attributes that accompany life as I was living it. Toby would have had no problems getting girls but he would be back to see me, they usually do, accidentally or on purpose.

Weeks, maybe months passed. Toby had slipped into the recesses of my drug addled mind and the whole experience had been forgotten. I did end up seeing him again but it wasn't until after I had had my abscessed tooth.

Now, if you have ever had an infected tooth/severe tooth ache, you know how painful it is. Times that by one hundred due to the inconvenience that is added on top by severe drug addiction and malnutrition.

I can't even remember when the whole issue of tooth pain had reared it's ugly head, all I can recall right now is that suddenly it was there with a vengeance. One thing about drug addicts, anything can cause a hiccup in our daily routine but usually never is it worth actual attention, including any physical pain (other than the usual dope sickness pain). I would have to have been pretty near death in order to be forced to seek medical attention.

So, here I am a busy little working prostitute and I get a toothache. Big deal. But then it went beyond that once the swelling started...and grew and grew and make it literally impossible for me to even open my mouth. So how, may I ask, is a girl whose "bread and butter" depends on being able to perform magic whilst a penis is in her mouth supposed to make any money when she can hardly even open it enough accept even the ever necessary crack pipe? It was bad but at first I just adapted. Initially the swelling was just on the inside and I just had to explain to my dates that I wasn't able to give any hummers due to my toothache and most were understanding and accommodating. But eventually, as the days wore on, the swelling became so intense that half of my jaw was twice or three times the size of the other half. Horrible and ugly and made bl*w jobs impossible. (You would think that it would have been a turn off to pick up a girl that is so obviously in the midst of some sort of infection has obvious signs of physical "distress", but in situations like this there are always one's die hard regular dates that can be depended on. They are so in "love" with you or obsessed that even when I had been punched in the face and had my eye swelled shut it was no deterrent. It was business as usual for them). When it got to the point where I could not even stand it (the pain from my tooth) anymore and I HAD to get it taken care of, I called an ambulance for myself. I called 911 right from Carnegie. (I wrote a bit about this experience in my post entitled "Scammin' Round Two" - see it for a description on the way I was treated as a a patient who was also an addict.)

Turns out it was an abscessed tooth but it was not worth lancing (gross) so I was given a round of intravenous antibiotics and then eventually some pills to take orally. I got the pills only after the doctors there realized that the chance I was going to be able to show up daily for my IV antibiotics was slim to none...I mean, what junkie can be depended on to be anywhere at a certain time daily? Unless it relates to dope, getting dope, making money to get dope, etc.

As a result of my dental issues the swelling in my face took a while to go down. My pain was relieved after a few days on the meds but I still wasn't able to open my mouth properly for weeks. I just suffered through the discomfort. I was able to force my mouth open when necessary without telling my dates - very painful but doable.

When I again saw Mr. Toby it was a short time after the swelling had reduced but in the midst of my having to pry my mouth open for any required oral pleasure that my heroin addiction demanded that I perform.

Again, it was split second decision on his part, he happened to be driving by on Main street when he saw me and pulled over, right across the street from the Police station. He was in his car this time and he just drove to some random alley and we did our date there. Again, I was having to swallow (har har) my pain and make like everything was fine. We were not using a condom just like we hadn't the first time. I wish I could tell you we did, but we didn't.

I did what he paid me to do and when I removed him from my mouth there was blood all over him. I guess I had pushed my healing gums to the max that time or it had just ruptured after repeated abuse by my incessant ignorance of it needing to heal. He panicked. I didn't. I understand why he did though. Here was him, average guy that happens to decide to spontaneously pick up this good looking semi strung out appearing girl for a bl*w job and with this decision, and about 4 minutes, had changed his whole "life" or so he thought. Maybe. That was the question, wasn't it?

I tried to assure him that I was fine ( I mean, I could honestly tell him that I was not HIV positive or that I had anything - well, at the time I had no clue as to my being positive OR negative (I had never been clinically diagnosed with anything - not that I had even been to a doctor..), it is only after the fact that I can say it with conviction that I was HIV neg, but the hep c may well have been there then, there no way to know for sure). It must have been very scary for him.

But I bet you he didn't pick up any more prostitutes after that (I never saw him again) and I probably saved him lots of money too. He really should have thanked me because of it, which sort of cancels out any mistake he may or may not have made by picking me up in the first place or any wrong doing on my part by intentionally going ahead with "it" despite my healing medical condition. For the record, I had no idea that I was going to bleed on him and had I known I would have at least used a condom. Probably.

I am making light of a bad situation, I know that and I get no pleasure out of recanting this for you. I bet he never told anyone about this, it is the sort of thing one keeps to themselves and now the world knows his secret (or has access to it anyways).

Hieroglyphics

I signed up for this new thing that allows me to see my lab results before I go to the doctor to have him tell me what the results are. Big mistake. Now I am all stressing until my appointment with my specialist next Thursday. Sigh. I have no idea how to read blood test results, it isn't in casual "is it there or not" format. I see the results but what do all those abbreviations and numbers mean?

I shouldn't have registered for it. Since I have completed my treatment for the hep c I haven't really thought about it. I think of myself as not having hep c anymore. A close family member of mine had it and the treatment worked for him and it is ten years later and his doctor told him he is "cleared". It is gone, that is that. I hope and FEEL like it worked but I never really felt like I had it anyways. I mean, in the sense that I never felt sick.

I don't want to go back to before. It must have worked. I don't really drink and I am generally a healthy individual but I can't stop thinking about it. Hep C be gone.

Pray for me.

She Thinks She's So Fisticated

I am here sitting here trying to figure out what to write about. I feel like writing something but what?..So, I look in my books of tricks (haha, but really, I do have a book that I write things down in, in abbreviated form...random one liners that remind me of certain things...) and nothing jumps out at me. Mainly because what I have written lately has been pretty "adult" and I don't feel like making that a constant theme. Because it wasn't all like that. A lot of what I have written in my "book" are just one sentence experiences that for some reason have stayed with me and for whatever other reason I feel they might be of interest to someone else.

As I am writing this I have come to the decision that rather than try to tell a story this time, I will just quote myself from the book of tricks and then explain what each one means. There will be no special order, no theme per se, just random happenings that I feel like recognizing in the public forum that is the world wide web. Notes that I will highlight in bold and I will type them up exactly how they appear in my book. I may only get to mention a few of 'em, but if I/we enjoy ourselves here, now, then I may do a post like this again.

He has "no one to care about, which is what makes a good con man" from One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest by Ken Kesey, in reference to McMurphy (said/thought by Chief, from whose point of view the book was written). - I have had that book on my book shelf forever, got it at Value Village I think, and since I know the book is always better than the movie, I wanted to read it. Eventually I got around to it about 5 months ago and when I read the above phrase I was like "YEAH, EXACTLY". Total description of the mentality of an addict, a guiltless con man.

picture of me holding $20 - It may not seem like a big deal to anyone else but one time, when I was super ill (as in dope sick) I was approached by this young-ish guy that asked me if he paid me 20 bucks could he take some pictures of me. I have done this before, it is easy money, they usually want to be quick, they don't want me to touch them and don't need to touch me, they just want to see my boobs or whatever. (Of course there WAS that one guy that wanted pics of me and an English cucumber......-am I joking? Maybe? Maybe not? Let's say yes, for dignity's sake)

Anyways, this guy approached me, wanted some pics. No problem, I said. We went into some random alley and he asked me if I would pull down my pants and lift up my shirt. I said "yes", of course. Is this a big deal? It wasn't to me. It isn't like I had any plans to be a politician or anything, so the picture leaking out was not a huge concern. Plus, try to understand, I was at the point where I couldn't even visualize myself ever getting "out" of the life I was living. So contemplating the repercussions or consequences of anything was null and void. I put myself in danger daily, multiple times a day, so no big deal. You may think "why is she writing about a f*cking picture, who cares?". I get that, the thing IS, com-padres, is that he had me pull down my pants, pull up my shirt and HOLD THE 4 FIVE DOLLAR BILLS THAT HE PAID ME TO DO IT. Basically just showing that all it took was a measly $20 for me to show him and his camera, myself..face, nakedness, nothingness and all. I don't know know why I mention it, all I know is, when I think back, I feel pretty stupid about it. Yeah, it was cheap.

still looking in windows - All this means is that for a looong time after I had quit working the street I would catch myself looking to see who was driving vehicles. When you work the street seeing and making eye contact with the driver of any particular vehicle was very important because anyone/everyone was an opportunity to make money. Plus, you could never know if it was the last "cruise" around the block that a guy was making. It was a hard habit to break, in fact my ex used to bitch me out for the longest time whenever I would do it. But I got so used to doing it that it was normal for me. I don't do it anymore.

Franco stroke - beating/deaf, Chrissy stroke - shooting meth - this refers to this guy Franco that I used to know. He was your average junkie, nice guy just f*cked up and addicted to crack. I guess he ripped off the wrong guy or something and ended up getting seriously sh*t kicked by someone and had a stroke as a result. The stroke left him like 90% deaf and brain damaged. He went from the hospital back to Main and Hastings and was a different person after it. He was still using but he was like a child after the whole ordeal. Didn't really ever really understand what was going on...he was a shell of what he once was. Chrissy was this girl I knew that was so beautiful even though she was using and she banged some super strong gibb one time and had a stroke. She was was 26 at the time. Scary. She was basically fine after but still...

David and dry humping - I had this date named David. He paid really sh*tty but all he ever wanted was to rent a room and would lie on top of me with his clothes on and dry hump me so hard that it was almost painful. He always had razor stubble and it burned my face. He would do this for a good 20 minutes then put on a condom and give one good push into me and would finish. He always talked about how he was planning on giving me more money but for some reason never got the promotion he kept telling me about...

I will share more another day, this is enough for now. And if anyone is wondering, these days I am doing great. In fact I just received word last week that I've been chosen as a recipient of a small scholarship that is rewarded to women that have triumphed through adversity. I had to write a personal essay and all this other stuff, so it was quite the process to even apply, but they have decided to give it to ME. ME. I have worked my ass of to try to make up for lost time and it feels really good to have this happen. Really good. So yeah, I am almost happy?? Yes, I am.

onway iatushay

Okay, so here's the situation......

my parent's went away on a week's vacation and...

Here IS the situation. I am not really sure where I want to take "this" now that I am in school. I am super busy now and what with school and my son, I don't really have time to do a post every week. AND to be fair, I must be honest, the last 2 posts that I wrote, well, my heart just wasn't in 'em. It was more just relating facts not actually telling the story in my usual way. So, I just wanted to acknowledge that I take pride in what I do on this site and it bums me out that I can't put the time in right now that I did for the last year.

What I have decided to do is to just write when I am inspired. Not to say that I wasn't always inspired when I wrote all my previous posts but I before, I was emotionally able to take the necessary energy needed to recall, recreate and publish these memories from the past.

My counsellor (Hi, A, I know you are reading this) and I were discussing the blog and I am really not interested in turning this into a that was me then, this is me now sort of thing. I have convinced myself that people read this solely because of the rawness of it and plus, does anyone even really CARE about NOW? I mean, it is the dirty stuff, the morbidly satisfying and shocking things that keep them coming back, is it not?

Anyways, maybe I am wrong. Feel free to email me and tell me what you think I should do. Or simply post a comment. Or let it be. I am not going anywhere, let that be clear. This is my site, I just paid to renewed my domain name and I WILL be getting my ten dollars worth.

*********

And that was a direct reference to the Fresh Prince's "Parents Just Don't Understand" at the top.

So You Say You Want to Have a Threesome....

I promised a long time ago that I would write a post about one of the "couple" dates that I did. Couple as in more than one person yes, but more importantly, couple, as in girlfriend/boyfriend. It happens out there, rather than put an ad on craigslist or whatever they decide to go straight to the professionals. Because that is exactly what we were....

Actually, here is a tip...girls on the street that are selling sex on the low track usually have drug problems so if you are looking for a female that is going to get into what you are proposing, this is the WRONG type of girl for the job. "We" want to get in and get out, asap. No, we aren't enjoying ourselves..mentally we will not be "present", so give it up. We want the money not your feeble attempts at casual experimentation. Don't get me wrong, I can act like whoever you want just don't ask me to have an orgasm..because I won't, can't, and will fake badly at the best of times. I mean, I HAVE had orgasms on rare occasions but never (or almost never) when it is required. And if you must get one of these type girls for your escapade at least have her get drugs for herself first. Then and only then will she (I) participate more than marginally and even then there is no guarantee.

In my own person experience I found that one of the 2 persons in a bf/gf combination is usually more into it than the other, so from the outset the whole idea of a threesome is sort of unfair. And it is usually him that is more into than her. That is just from my point of view.

Setting: Nighttime, Hastings and Gore.

A motorcycle pulls up along side of the street where I am about to score my dope. On the motorcycle is two leather clad individuals, one male one female. They are of average age, average appearance. She approaches me and asks me if I will accompany her to their apartment which is in the big apt building right at Main and Hastings (which is perfect because it is local, very local). "They" (HIM) want to have a threesome and want my services in completing their sexual ring of desire.

ME: Fine, but I was just about to score, can I do that first?

HER: No, we are both in recovery, so no drugs.

ME: (heavily disappointed but somewhat consoled by the fact that we are near the red zone anyways, so within minutes of finishing my "work" with them, I will be inhaling/injecting the necessary intoxicants) Sigh, F I N E.

It is common knowledge that anytime there is more than one person present during the date or if more than one person wants servicing it can be dangerous. You can be occupied doing something and then the other "party" can attack you when you are least expecting it and or you can be easily overpowered... But to counter that thought, more than one means double the money. It is like the whole 2 birds with one stone scenario. The risk is worth the payoff.

He takes off on the bike to park it and she and I walk the one block to their building and we all go inside together. If it wasn't already obvious to me, it was more so obvious that he was more into it than her as soon as we got there. He wanted to waste no time, wanted to jump in, pronto, stat.

I only wanted to know what exactly I was being paid for. I understood that I was to be a third to their usual twosome but I needed to be clear on how they wanted me to behave. See, as I mentioned above...a person could hire me for whatever but it has to be understood that I am merely playing a role. I can ACT like I am a willing participant but things can get tricky. Like this situation..he tells me to "get into it, have fun...." and all this other crap. I am like "um, no, I can't do that" since I was there for THEM not for me. It is as people don't understand this part of the "date dynamic". I would not be there if it wasn't for the money so it goes against the whole concept of a threesome. I cannot make out with your girlfriend and seriously enjoy myself. I can't even have sex with her boyfriend and seriously enjoy myself. It is not what Shirley wants, it is what THEY want. A person doesn't hire a maid and expect them (the maid) to thoroughly get off on making some stranger's house clean. The house cleaner most likely does not clean for fun..she is being paid to clean the house and she would not be there otherwise.

Moving on: I said I would give it a try (the 3 way) and make like I was enjoying myself during it especially when they handed me a bunch of money. A bunch. Of money. Once I have that money, I am keeping it. Especially in places like apartment buildings, sure, I can be overpowered by another human being, BUT I can also scream like hell and fight back as loud as I can. I can guarantee that the neighbors will hear me. I had done it before and no one ever wants anyone else to know that "they" utilize the services of a street girl. Once I already HAVE the money, if things don't go their way, what can they do?

Immediately he wants to get busy. So, he requests that I start going d*wn on him and that she watch. I still feel bad about this because I KNOW she probably wasn't getting all riled up like he was. Poor girl. So I oblige and do what he asks and then he says he wants to be in me from behind (not anally, in case you wondered, you pervert) and watch me go down on her. A sexual sandwich with me in the middle. I reluctantly agreed..I mean, I have no problems doing one date after another, but at the same time, no matter who you are, IS quite intense, and I have never been a fan in my personal or professional life, which isn't to say I haven't done it. The girlfriend prepares to enter the scenario.

One thing I can tell you is that in my life, then and now, I believe that being prepared for a sexual encounter is key. What I mean is..being clean, hygienically most importantly (I am not addressing the whole STI thing, just cleanliness of oneself). I am not going to really talk about MY life NOW but I will tell you that while I was working the street and certain things were asked of me I always made sure I was clean. Even as a homeless drug addict I made sure of it. I was a junkie so I always water on me and even a splash can help a particularly intimate situation.

As I have said in previous posts, often I was asked to shower before we did the "date" and always did if it was possible, and more often that not the other party does as well or is already respectably clean. Now, you might think that most individuals would NOT care to be clean since prostitutes are considered the scum of the Earth according to the majority but that is not the case. There are the filthy guys/dates and they have to be reckoned with, etc but most aren't overly scummy. I would expect this from another female for sure, being clean, I mean.

I would have thought that she would have made sure of this cleanliness before our rendezvous or even after we got to the apartment when it was clear we going to go ahead with it. But no, I guess riding on the back of her boyfriend's motorcycle in full leather bike gear was not something that she considered a threat to her "presentation". Don't get me wrong, she wasn't overly foul or anything..she was just the average woman, and like any woman she could have had a quick wipe down before hand. I know this sounds gross but I am not sure how to describe it other wise.

Long story short, she got in front of me and after about a minute and a half I was just like "no, I can't do this". I mean, I MAY have been able to had she been squeaky clean because hey, it just skin, right? But no, I was very aware that she was female and with buddy in the back of me trying to destroy me from the inside, it just wasn't going to happen. It is one thing to shut your eyes and just let them to things to you (intercourse) but it is a whole new game when you have to actually participate actively when in reality you cannot possible displace yourself mentally from the situation. I can't make you understand. It may sound crazy because I had to provide bl*w jobs all the time and that's me doing all the work, bl*wing vile men daily. But one bl*wjob is like any other and really, that was always easy.

SO, I just told them, I said I couldn't do it. I did not clarify why exactly but just said I wasn't into it or told them I was dope sick or something. And being the nice street girl that I was, I actually gave them a whole $10 dollars back. Which was a teensy percentage of the grand total but I felt they deserved that much back. They still had the visual of the few minutes I HAD taken part, so whatever. Plus, I found her lack of courtesy off putting as well.

That is it, that is my story for this week. Nice and humiliating and embarrassing and all the people that I know from my real life will read this and shake their heads and talk amongst themselves about how they cannot believe I used to do things like this and how disgusting, blahblahblah. But remember, you didn't live my life, you have no idea how it was. You have no clue that once you get to a certain point (and that point is very early on once you sell yourself just one time) you will do pretty much anything (pain excluded or hopefully avoided) and it is all work. Just work, just a job, one day no different than any other..the only thing that sets the days apart is the amount of dates you can fit into one day and of course the people change.. But then again, they sort of ARE all the same people that just want a variation of the same thing.

And the posts, well, they all end the same way too. Without a life lesson, you don't leave having learned something new. Just another tale about a day in my life that I wish had never happened but am not ashamed that it did all the same.

Stay Gold, Ponyboy

Salutations, my loyal minions...I don't feel like ripping out my guts and putting them on display for you today. Nor will I indulge in a spell check or profred.

___________________________

On occasion guys/people pick up prostitutes for non-sexual reasons. I had requests from "clients" calling in sick to work for them to writing out bogus police statements. One time in particular I was hired by these two American guys that told me they were from New York. I have no idea why they were in Vancouver, but I do know that they knew no one. They wanted to go to a bar but needed someone that knew the area and so decided on a prostitute as their guide. Now, this night I am writing about was not an average night.. I seem to remember that it was the eve of a day that I had ran away from my parents house...

*If you can't remember from previous posts my parents would come to try to rescue me and would bring me back to their house and I would last about 12 hrs then I would bail. During this 12 hours I would shower, change in to some of the clothes I had there, and then climb the fence or run out the front door while they were asleep (they knew I left, the alarm would go off, but by then I would be gone - I have said this before: a girl can get picked up anywhere - those that have sex for sale and those that want to buy it are drawn to each other..it's a weird unspoken vibe. SO, I was able to get back downtown....fast and easy).*

So when these 2 "yanks" pulled up to me I looked like a normal person I guess. I know for sure they wouldn't have picked me up if I had been exuding a vibe of soul destruction and drug addiction. They were a little yellow in the belly if you know what I mean.. wimpy.. chickens, you know? I wasn't sick at the time, which must have helped my appearance.

So, they pull over to me and I get in. They were mid 30's ish, attractive, sort of geeky..kind of like what I would imagine the children of people with money might be like as they got older. You know, private schools and all that. Total Socs. They wanted me to go to a bar with them so I suggested the Penthouse. We drove there and I was starting to wonder what was going to happen next, the topic of bl*w jobs hadn't really come into play yet. That happens sometimes. I would meet certain people that made me feel stupid for bringing it up..stupid like ashamed, sort of. Usually if a girl and a guy ever approached me and she was around my age I always felt like an idiot. These guys kind of had the same affect. Of course they could never understand why I did what I did for my dope. People like them always say stupid things like "but there is always another WAY.." Barf. NO, SOMETIMES THERE ISN'T.

Guy #1 bought me a drink (which was weird because as a heroin addict I was soooo not into drinking) and the three of us just sat around a table..chilled out, talked. Then it was last call, so we left. I know all these small details may seem unimportant but they are crucial for me because this is how I remember the story, therefore this is how I must tell it.

Anyways, turns out they were staying at the Four Seasons or somewhere like that. Initially, after we left the Penthouse, I had asked guy #1 if he wanted a "happy ending" to the evening and the two of them were giggling like little girls but #1 agreed. They obviously had money and I wanted it. #1 and I went to his room while #2 went to his.

I asked for the money first and he hands me $300. I was stoked, to put it mildly. I guess he was used to "hookers" (hate that word) from TV or movies because apparently he thought my time was worth big bucks. Which it WAS....most of the time. Sometimes.

So, there we were, he gives me $$ and then starts asking me questions like if I do drugs..what kind, how old am I ...am I really a prostitute, etc. As I am answering his questions he makes it obvious that he has no knowledge whatsoever about addiction, drugs, life on the street or hardship of any kind and when I ask if he has ever used any sort of drug he says no. Alcohol yes, but drugs no.

Then, rather than asking for the hummer he shelled out for, he instead asks me if I will help him play a practical joke on his friend. He wants me to act like I did some crack with him, make like he is totally f*cked up and that I don't know what to do because he is wasted. I was to say to his friend that I think he should go to the hospital. A total Grade 7 idea but awesome none the less.

I go and knock on #2's door and I tell him that his buddy is wasted because he smoked some crack and I am a bitch and I don't care and I am just going to leave him there. #2 freaks out when I drag #1 into his room. He is asking me why? why did I do this terrible thing? #1, not knowing how a person is when they get high from smoking the up, starts moaning and swooning and says.."ohhh man..I am sooo high..f*ck I am STONED" and other such ridiculous statements all while feigning like he is going to pass out. #2 totally buys it.

After a few minutes the jig is up and #1 busts out laughing and #2 does not think this was funny at all.

I got paid $300 for pretty much nothing and it was awesome. The only down side was that after I left and went back downtown I spent like $100 bucks on heroin and it totally sucked. I mean, it was bad heroin, that is what sucked. The heroin, not me.

Get it? I didn't suck?? As in I did not hum his or anyone else's mer?

Deaf-speak is the Unword

Horrendous things happen in any area that has an infestation of drug addicts. As a dope addict with a conscience, a lot of the time I witnessed various sorts of heinous activities in action and it wasn't easy to see (most of the time). I mean, these people (addicts) are ruthless, they don't give a sh*t about anyone..almost psychopathic in a sense. Me, being the except to every rule (smiles), felt bad for the victims of these crimes against humanity. Maybe I am a pussy or maybe I just wasn't "there yet" in the sense of what I would do for my dope. Selling my ass was a more appealing method....Or, maybe I was just lucky to be a girl and therefore was able to make $$ easier than other addicts. The girls ALWAYS make more money than guys. Except for the dope addicts that could support their dope addiction by selling. But that was rare, everyone is basically a f*ck up and it always comes to the surface eventually.

It's true though, even the harshest of women can make money. I've seen it. I would be like, "What?? You got paid that much??" Meanwhile they have almost no hair because they pull it out, they pick their faces so bad it looks as if they got stung by an army of bees, they have track marks and scars all over them because they can't use their arms anymore since their veins there are dead, they have no teeth and are about 55 in street years - which is 105 in people years. I think some guys may get all riled up being with a prostitute, so they pick up the "textbook" example of what one is.

But this isn't even what this post is about. Not that it (the post) was going to be about anything in particular.

I witnessed things all the time as I said. I saw people smash car windows when they thought no one was watching. I was watching from a distance of course, not that it mattered because I was one of "THEM" so they weren't threatened by my presence. They'd smash these windows in broad daylight, so desperate that they do it in plain view..but still got away with it. I mean, say someone does see it, what can they do? Do a citizen's arrest? Maybe, but then they may be worried they will get stuck with a needle (never saw that happen, but it was a good threat though). Or they could call it in to 911 and tell them they are looking for a tall guy with a hooded sweatshirt, who looks dirty, making his escape on a bicycle. Which could be anyone.

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SO....

I was sitting on the steps of some building in Chinatown, myself and couple of other people. They were not my "friends", merely acquaintances, and total bullies. I had no dope or anything so they weren't muscling me at the time. That is how it is, when they aren't muscling you or jacking you up they just act like you and them-are just friends, hanging out.

It was late, we were sitting on steps and this old guy with a cane was walking by us on the other side of the street. This guy (we'll call him S) and this girl (we'll call him Tammy - since that was her name) that were with me on the steps came to a quick agreement that they were going to rob him, the old guy. They ran across the street, S grabbed the man in a headlock, the old man drops his cane while Tammy demands that he give the 2 of them his money. It was brutal. The guy was like ninety. It was horrible to watch, it made me feel really sh*tty and since I was sitting there, not doing anything in defense of this guy, I was a party to the crime. I wasn't about to do anything that may have lessened my chance at survival, so sorry, I just sat there and watched. better him than me. Sorry, that was my life. NOT that I have to explain myself to you anyways. You weren't there.

Tammy was screaming at this old guy and he was yelling for help and telling her that he had no money. She started digging in all his pockets and found his wallet. When she found it she smacked him across the face because he only had ten bucks. The other guy, S, released him from the headlock and the guy fell to the ground. Tammy and S just cruised back across the street to the steps, bitching about how dare the guy only have such a small amount of money on him. Like, how dare he make them rob him for ten bucks. They didn't even feel the need to run. They just traumatized this guy for a lousy ten spot. He probably pissed his pants, I would have. It was frightening to watch and how they can just be normal after that is crazy. I guess I would have sex with strange men and be normal afterwards but that was my "job", so I think there is a difference between what I did for $$ and what they did.

Another time on a Sunday morning I saw a guy on roller blades sucker punch a girl on Hastings for $3. Really I did. She was being all loud and may have been drunk and he just belted her. She hit the pavement and then he went in her pockets and took her whole 3 dollars. Understand this too, it isn't as if these people flee after committing these atrocities, they are in no hurry to disappear. What is she going to do? Nothing, she can't do nothing.

People get beat up all the time though, for whatever reason. Selling bunk dope, stealing, owing money, just for being an idiot. I got punched once because I wasn't paying attention and I went right up to a dope dealer and asked him if he was "working" at the same moment that a cop was walking by and as a result the dealer got busted that day. On a daily basis you see certain people you know that suddenly show up with the whites of their eyes gone, replaced by the blood red that is the evidence of a sh*t kicking. It's gross.

On an unrelated topic: (sub titled : SCAM OF THE WEEK)

One of the people with the best scam going was the deaf girl (of course it is unfortunate that she is deaf, OBVIOUSLY). I saw her doing her thing on several occasions. She would do the quintessential deaf voice which made people really uncomfortable (especially the dope dealers, she was a bit of a heat score, her and her noise). There was no reason to it, her deaf-speak, there was no words. She would just wail while doing charades of smoking crack. Like hold an imaginary pipe to her lips and then an imaginary lighter to the end of it. She would do this until the dope sellers or someone gave her tokes. It was awesome. It is one of the rarities in our earthly realm... the mysterious crack addicted deaf girl. How does a deaf girl even get addicted to crack in the first place??

Anubis wuz here.

Lost of times guys that have out of town jobs..like jobs that take them away from the city for months at a time, hire prostitutes. Fishermen, oil rig workers, tree planters..anything like that where one would be in the middle of nowhere but get paid tons of money for it. Usually these guys like to "go off" as soon as they get back to town. Like go off in the chemical substance sense. Especially crack..they love that sh*t. These men tend to have a connection in the underworld (the red zone), some drug addict that will let them use their room, will have a connection to get dope, and also will FIND a girl for them to violate. Many occasions I had acquaintances come up to me telling me they had this "friend" that wanted a girl to get high with and could I come with them (the junkie) back to his room to meet this guy. This guy with tons of money.

Sometimes there is no need for a middle man though- I had this fisherman pick me up once. He showed me his wad of $28,000, I actually WATCHED him cash a check at Money Mart for that amount. Can you believe that? What an idiot. Turns out that I may have gotten syphilis from him..but I can never be sure. But I WILL tell you that when I found out I had it I told the nurse his name and the city he was from so they could contact him and tell him HE had it, or may have had it. See, when you have a thing like syphilis or HIV or anything serious "they" (the gov't) need to know your sexual partners so they can talk to them and try to stop the spreading of it. I gave them only one name. His. I would tell you that name now but I won't. Though I should.

Oh, I should really include this next bit because it is totally relevant to that last paragraph and totally effing hilarious. I knew this Asian guy that drove a truck. He had a business that was all about delivering plastic bags. You know, those crappy, cheap ass, only good for one use plastic bags that you get at corners stores? Well, next time you get one, it may have been handled by him or one of his affiliates.

This guy was one of the worst. I mean, he would pay okay but would always pay the girls in coins. Do you know how degrading it is to be paid in coins? I don't care if it is 50 two dollar coins or what but it feels pretty lame. This guy, he had zero loyalty to any one girl, he would pick up who ever, didn't matter. He was sure to always use a condom but MAY have gone without one a few times. I know he did with me maybe once. So this one day he pulls up and he tells me he just wants to talk to me. He tells me that he had gone to the doctor and found out that he had caught something from one of the girls. He said he had something called "clem-dye", he pronounced it just like that. Clem-dye? I'm like what the f*ck is clem-dye? I told him that he didn't get it from me because I didn't even know what it was, I had never heard of it and thought he must have been misinformed. And then it came to me. He meant chlamydia. English was his second language so it makes perfect sense that his brain would have computed it incorrectly.

CLEM-dye. Chlamy-dia. Clem (silent y) dAI - he got the i and the a mixed up. Clem-dye.

Hil. Ar. I. Ous.

One chilly winter evening I was approached by one of these out of town working guys. I had originally been with him months before, we hooked in a manner previous mentioned in the first paragraph of this post. His name was Ricky (that was his name for real. I hate that name, by the way. I always have and I am sorry if that happens to be your name). He was into the up, they usually are. I ran into him in an alley behind this old folks home on Cordova, just off of Gore.

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*At this point I feel the need to say something: This alley I'm writing about right now wasn't super harsh and gross like the alley one's imagination might conjure up. It was harmless, wide, in the back of a few businesses..what else can I say? It wasn't totally used-needle ridden with piss and feces everywhere, etc. In fact it was my most frequented alley. It was spacious and most of my dates knew that I did a lot of my dope there. There were stairs behind the old folks home that people could sit on. It is gated now but wasn't when I was there. My Dad actually knew of this spot too and came to find me there on at least one occasion that I remember. Did I ever tell you about the time my Dad came to see me down there and at one point we were crossing the road and this addict saw us and actually asked us if we needed a room? How humiliating, I was like, "No, this is my Dad".*

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Back to Ricky. I ran into Ricky in this same alley. Like I said it was cold and wet and gross out and I was sick as f*ck. Like very sick, sickness amplified by the weather. It was early evening and pretty much every girl out was hurtin'. I saw him and was thanking the heavens...He was doing fine, had obviously just came back from months out working (I assumed) and was smoking tons of crack and wanted me to do things to him while he smoked. He said he would share his dope with me and would give me money for heroin. I was so happy (relieved) but still very sick.

I got no relief from the cold because what he wanted was to be done on those very steps, the steps that I was just describing. (This was not a busy alley, just so you know, it's not like there would be Christian families driving by on their way to drop off the kids at youth group. The only guys that drove through it were trolling and if a cop DID go by you could hear it coming. A police car motor sounds like no other and I can still hear one before I actually see the car) I wanted my $$ first but he only had a hundred dollar bill. He did show it to me and told me that I could hold on to it until we were done doing what we were doing (I wasn't having sex with him on the steps in case you were wondering, it was just a ******). Fine with me. He made it seem like afterwords we would go get a room, warm up and all that nice stuff.

I did what he wanted, I smoked some of his dope (which only made me feel worse. Crack does that when a person is dope sick, at least that is how it was with me), and then I said that I HAD to get some down. He said fine that he would wait for me in the alley since I was literally going to run to score. There was this pizza place 2 blocks away that sold relatively good dope so that was where I was planning to go. I left him my winter coat so he would know I would come right back. This coat was my only means of protection from the cold. I had a toque, I have always been a toque wearer, but the jacket was key too. It had everything I owned in it. Pipe, rigs, water, chap-stick, condoms, whatever. I run to the pizza place with the hundred dollar bill in my sock. I can't even describe how sick I was. I mean, I was soooo ill. I think I hadn't even used that day, I had woken up in my friend's room in the afternoon with nothing and had been wandering the streets waiting for a regular when I had bumped into Ricky.

I get to the pizza place, told the guy what I wanted and gave him the hundred dollar bill. He looks at it and tells me "this bill is fake". Crash, burn, implode, ....my world is destroyed in about a millisecond. "Fake?" I asked him. "Fake. Watch this" he says and proceeds to put a tiny bit of water on the bill and the ink started smudging only slightly but enough. I couldn't believe it. I was devastated. I mean, I had just given this a guy a bl*wjob in a f*cking alley in the middle of a snowstorm for nothing. Sure I got a few hoots but that didn't count, just common courtesy if you will. FAKE??

I ran back to the alley and of course he was gone. Not only was he gone though, he took my f*cking jacket. Can you believe that? I found remnants of my pocket contents strewn throughout the alley. He had obviously rifled through the coat during his escape. I felt like a fool and a dirt bag and totally worthless.

No happy ending this time. I ended getting helped out by another working girl, or at least she had intentions of it. She had heroin and said she would share it with me (this happens down there, I help you out, you help me out). She wanted to go to her friend's room but on the way she wanted to smoke some of her crack. I had no idea how she was after smoking crack but I was soon to find out that she was crazy. She starting thinking that the buildings were out to get her and that they had a very ominous feel when she touched them and basically begged me to stay with her while at the same time telling me that she had changed her mind and would not be sharing her heroin.

Bad bad bad bad. I would bust out yet another f-bomb whilst summing up the events of that evening but I fear another one may not be entirely ladylike.

Points

Since last week's post was so graphic and intense, I have decided to be "lighter" this week. What follows is just something that happened..one night..like any other night. Actually come to think of it there may be a little graphic undertone.....

I used to see this guy, his name was Francois. He was a heavy (more round than heavy), short, harmless French man. He used to pick me up and give me half of my money up front so I could score and then give me the other half after, when he drove me back after the date.

He always picked me up for the same thing. After he was done work he would swing by and get me every month or so. The "same thing" that he wanted was,...sigh...was for me to put a latex glove on my hand an insert it into one of his orifices. Guess which one? Anyways, that isn't really what this post is about, as I mentioned I don't feel like getting heavy.

One night Francois picked me up, gave me $$ to score (which I did) and then we went back to his apartment like always. BUT this time we made a stop on the way to his place. I cannot remember what he was doing and why but I just remember that the crack I had purchased burning a hole in my pocket and I told him that while he was doing whatever it was that he was doing, I would go find some public washroom somewhere to do some dope.

We were parked on West 4th right by a restaurant. I went in there and asked them if I could use their washroom. They agreed. I go into the washroom and took out a make up container..like eye shadow or something (it had the dope inside)...another one of my ingenious hiding places. I smoked some dope and then re-braided my hair or combed it in the mirror. In this process I completely forgot about the eye shadow container that I had placed on the toilet paper dispenser. I finished in the washroom, went back to Francois and we continued on to his house, which was not far. A few blocks.

The drill was basically the same every time. We would arrive at his house, he would shower while I would sit in the living room and do dope. He would get out and go into his room. He would lie on the bed face down and wait for me. Wait until I WAS READY. See I always had to do a lot of dope before I stuck my hand inside someone. It may not have been the whole hand but my job was to do one finger at a time..working up to, but never was, the whole hand. I know it sounds gross, weird, or maybe it doesn't but it wasn't weird. I was wearing a glove, he didn't have to penetrate me..so I was fine with it. You have to understand that when I am doing these sorts of things my mind is everywhere else and not in the room/car, etc. with me and the date. I am thinking of dope most likely...and anything else. He told me that his ex-wife got him into the whole "rear entry" thing. Yeah, sure Francois.

I keep getting distracted. I didn't even mean to include that part because this particular evening (the evening I was talking about in the beginning of the post) we didn't even GET to the hand insertion.

He did get in the shower and I did sit down to smoke a bowl but then chaos ensued.It's what I considered a catastrophe. I couldn't find my dope. If you have ever been around dope addict that can't find their dope, it is not a pretty sight. Everything pales in comparison. I mean, the house could be burning down and they aren't leaving until they find it. As I mentioned before though, I had left it in the washroom at the restaurant. Francois had already given me half of the money for the date but he knew me well enough to know that he was going to get nothing good out of me while I was in this frenzy. Obviously I HAD to go back to find it, there was no way I was going to wait until after the date. He gave me bus fare to get back downtown and I told him I would get him back for the cash he had already floated me.

I had forgotten dope in lots places before and usually had good luck with finding it. I had left some on the floor in a 7-11 washroom early one Sunday morning HE (the date) was not one that was "cool" with me doing dope around him so I casually asked him to stop so I could use the 7-11 bathroom-and got high in there). On the way back from the date I got "him" (whoever it was) to drive me by there on the way back so I could go in and get it. It was there, where I left it, on the floor. Crack is white, floor was white. So it wasn't very obvious to an average person, plus I doubt any one even used the washroom since I had. But this time, the time with Francois, I had not only left it in a washroom but had left it very visible on the toilet paper dispenser and it was a very busy restaurant. The chances of it being seen was %100. Not that anyone would pick up someone else's makeup, I mean that is uber unsanitary. But, though the reason escapes me right now, I seem to remember that the dope must have been obvious IN the container for some reason. I was extra concerned, as well I should have been.

I get to the restaurant, bee-lining for the washroom. The place was emptying out. I go in..and no eyeshadow container, which means no crack. F*CK. As a dope addict you will do anything to get the dope back. It is that serious. I went up to a staff member that worked there and asked them about my makeup and where was it..could she ask her servers and all that if they had seen it. This is where it gets stupid..I actually told them that I had HEART PILLS in the container and that was why it was soooo important that I find them. Like who would believe that? Anyways, it turned out that one guy that worked there HAD seen it and had thrown it out. Once he knew it was mine he just happened to be able to locate my missing makeup in the garbage. Good thing because I would have seriously turned the place upside down. Garbage or not (I guess that digging through garbage is nothing compared to s*cking off random strangers in all sorts of dangerous locations). I KNEW just by looking at him that something was up. He gives it to me and of course, it is empty..besides the eyeshadow. Now, HE knows that I know that there was dope in there. He can't rat me out to the people he works with because he would have to explain where the crack was because why would he not have just thrown it out all together, why remove the "pills" (dope)? Does that make sense? I hope it does, I am moving on.

He never coughed them up, he had no reason to, but he DID have to act like he was all sympathetic and all that. Did they know I was bullsh*tting? I have no idea, probably. What I do know is that as an addict you have to be one hell of a hustler to get your needs met. I ended up convincing a different guy that worked there to drive me back downtown and then to give me ten bucks. It is the last part that I find so awesome. I still managed to turn it into a win.

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PS: I thought I would add in another something that this post made me think of. I used to be a total raver. Like fat pants, bright colors, all of it. No soothers though OR glow sticks, FYI. During this phase of my life I was heavy into the crystal meth. Me and my methy posse used to call it points ( holy sh*t, isn't that the best phrase ever?? Methy posse?? Haha, awesome). You know how a point of something is .1 of a gram? Thus the term, points.

One day me and my friend M had been up for a few days and she had exactly ONE POINT left on her and she had it in her wallet. We were waiting until we absolutely needed it before using it. We were far from home out in Dunbar I think and we were on our way to a friend's and had stopped at the local Safeway. I have no idea what was bought. Maybe water.

We got to said friend's house and after a time we go in the washroom to do our secret points (even though there was only 1 point, it was still referred to as points). They were a secret because we were surrounded by a house full of hurtin' jonesers so we had to be sneaky. The points were not in her wallet where they should have been. We searched everywhere and realized we had to burn back to Safeway. It was tough going back there, I mean I felt paper thin at this point in my Binge??..I had zero energy left.

We looked up and down the aisle we had been in, around the cashier's desk, I am sure we must have looked harsh. Cheeks sunken in, bags under our eyes..super fat pants...we actually asked the cashier to find out if anyone had swept that isle. She asked us why and we told her that my friend had had a small piece of paper with a VERY important phone number on it and we had to find it..had to. We laugh about it now, like as if. A small piece of paper? We couldn't tell them it was a bag of dope and we had to tell them something, so it was piece of paper.

We then turned our search to the parking lot when "it" wasn't found inside. I am sure we looked even worse outside. We were looking very slowly everywhere we had walked, total backtracking. I ended up spotting it right by the curb, by the main doors. It must have fallen out of her wallet when she put her money back in.

The moral of the story is what? I don't know. But both stories had happy endings.