Breaking news

Yeah poutine dog walking I feel fine who cares? THIS is what I received from my potential supervisor JUST NOW:

Your thesis is very interesting. I have a suggestion. Would you put all the chapters into one Word file, this time including the title page, table of contents, etc. that are not included in the attachments you emailed to me, and send it to me? Then, if you agree, I would like to forward your thesis to Gen. Dallaire and Major Brent Beardsley, with whom I work through MIGS. If you agree, I would also like to share your thesis with Rene Lemarchand to get his suggestions re. how you could deepen your research on the North-South divide in the FAR before 1994. These are just suggestions. Think them over and let me know what you would or would not like to do./Best wishes, 

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHAHHAHAHHHHHHAAAAAAAA
Romeo DALLAIRE??  Ohmygod what if he hates it and disagrees with everything?  What if he thinks I'm a berk?  What if he phones me personally to tell me I have it all wrong?   AAAAAAAAAAAAAAh this is so fucking cool I'm gonna die.

Health tip

I have a terrible terrible feeling that the thing I have to do today, dog walking, won't mix well with the thing I already did today, Burger King.  I do believe that those chemicals- of 'burger' and dog walking- cling to each other in the worst form to create a problem so big that World War II looks like a minor tiff.  These are the things I believe.  I will update everyone later but for now don't leave your houses.  Over and out.

Oh god I'm so boring now.  Sorry about that. ugh

Emmalicious

Do you remember this photo shoot Emma?  I was so annoyed because you couldn't keep the damn camera steady.  Do you remember how confused we were by your total inability to be still??  It was the most fun I'd had in ages.  Body looks good here.  Emma kept telling me to smile but I could barely do it.  Hate smiling in front of the camera for hooker photos, just bloody annoyed at the whole thing.  And what are they worth now?  Why did we take so many?  Those shoes remain an item of passion between us.  As in, one day I shall have them and be happy and fulfilled.

Memories

When I think of Rwanda now, I don't think of genocide.  I think of Santa Cruz, Bolivia.  It seems not to be the place of genocide anymore but a new place, lawless, angry, and increasingly controlled.  I came home from South America, useless and unhappy.  I hated every minute of the 2 months I spent there.  I think I could never do that again, feel that searing fear, be paralyzed by it.  The worst thing you can do is spend 24 hours a day stuck in your own stupid head.

Africa, with its challenges and its roughness.  I could do it all again.  I could be stuck in a city like Santa Cruz in Africa and do it over.  I can taste the misery, I can taste it all, and I can feel nauseous at the thought but who cares? I miss the hardships of growing up, the hardships of escorting.  If I could go to Rwanda, I would be happy to be miserable.

My dad took photos exactly like this, of these deflated 2 dimensional bodies.  I swear to god it's not like this anymore.  It can't be.  I rifled through his photos when I was ten and he was just back from Rwanda.  Who could recognize these photos as anything but false, doctored?  Don't remember anything of my dad after that.  Before, he had been one person.  After he was a different person and I knew him not at all.

Travel Report

The place, Santa Cruz, Bolivia.  One of the worst cities I've ever been in.  It was a few weeks into what was supposed to be 4 months in South America.  I remember why Auralie and I picked Bolivia, we wanted to do something with ourselves.  I restless and she... restless? I can't speak for her.  I said, I'll go for 4 months.  She said (wise one), I'll go for three weeks.  We wanted to go because we didn't know anybody who'd been there.

Santa Cruz is the oil and gas center of Bolivia, very wealthy but home to so many of the disenfranchised.  One day I saw a woman's purse get ripped from her arm by two men on a passing motorbike.  I sat in the cyber cafe (places that only exist in the third world anymore) and watched, frozen.

The next day I went out.  This was a town in which you could never relax.  It was a mix of Wild West and Jamaica, palm trees and saloons.  I'd heard of the many scams pulled on tourists.  A man came up to me with a map, telling me he didn't know where he was.  He was clearly local so I said, I'm a turista, no se.  Another man approached showing me a police badge.  He said, you must come to the police station to show us your identity papers.  I said, I don't believe you.  He said, look we'll hire a cab and go together.

Of course the cab driver was in on it too.  I screamed so loud, I remember screaming, no no no no no.  In English, I'm not going I won't go don't make me go.  People came to look.  The two men got into the cab and drove away, looking at me out the back window.  I went back to the hostel and vomited.

Profound state of mediocrity

Good morning, smarty pants!  Today I face you not as a genius but as an average intellect. I got my lsat score early.  It was inconspicuously included in an email from the dread LSAC people.  I was reading along thinking it would just tell me how to gain access to my lsat score on November 1st and I realized that it was my actual lsat score IN the email.  My score is 151 out of 180.  My IQ is 12 out of infinity.  My irritation with myself is 11 on a 1 to 10 scale.  And facing you, my esteemed comrades, is embarrassing to the highest degree. 

Ugh, so annoyed and SO useless. 

These are my bunnies! I could never post pictures of them on the other blog, because these are my babies, but since we're among friends...
The chocolate one is Stella.  She's 5.  The caramel one is Solomon.  He's 7.  The other day I came home and all the stuff that had been on my table (lamp, lotion, lip gloss, pencils) was one the floor.  I couldn't figure it out but then I realized that Sol had jumped onto the chair then onto the table and eaten a bag of walnuts that were now missing.  Hmmm.  I thought, if he's clever enough, he probably earned them.  As well as the indigestion they undoubtedly caused.  Voila!  My pride and joy.  And no, Auralie, I did not take them to Sears to get photos done. 

Wild excitement

Now this from potential supervisor:


I will review your chapters next week, bit the odds are good I would be willing to work with you.


AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
AHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH
AHHHHHHHHHHHHH so happy

Esprit d'espoir

AAAAAAAAAaaaahhhhhhhhhh holy crap. I received an email from a potential supervisor this morning saying this:

You have an interesting and valuable approach. I agree with you re. the importance of interviewing ex-FAR (and RPA) soldiers. Rising tensions in Rwanda may make it difficult to accomplish the interviews, however, and it will be just as important to locate other primary sources on the strategies, battles, doctrines, skills, tactics, and evolving morale of the various armed groups.

That's good, right?  I'm so happy.

Most incongruous client

Weddings: Tacky, expensive, pointless. 

I had a client who visited me every two weeks from PEI.  He would lie to his fiancee, spend 7 hours driving back and forth, 2 hours with me.  This was in the lead up to his wedding.  I found myself asking him, over a period of time, how the plans were going, if he was excited, etc.  Eventually I asked him why he was marrying her if he insisted on visiting with (lots of escorts).  He said the sex with her was boring.

The weirdest thing I have ever asked a client is this:  "Oh you're back from your honeymoon.  How was the wedding?"  Followed by this: "Is your ass ready to be fucked?"

EEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW worst sentence to ever come out of my mouth!

Announcement

Listen up, people (all 4 of you.)  I have developed a series of self-help initiatives to help you with your lives.  Here is tip one on building self-esteem:
My day starts with this:

Hopped up out the bed
Turned my swag on
Took A look in the mirror
Said wassup (yeaaah)

I then proceed to this self-esteem mantra:

Swag ain't something you can wear on your neck
You can buy you a chain but you can't buy respect
I'm a walk it
Like I talk it
So you never forget

Got it?  Good.  Respek.

blue jay swarmings

Good morning, coffee plants!  I'm going INSANE waiting for my lsat mark.  Will be revealed November 1st and when it is finally revealed I will no doubt wish it had never been revealed because I will know, concretely and abstractly, that I am a doofus.  Have a great day!  xoxo Doofus

The fallout

Yes, this guy.  This guy is obviously deranged.  This guy has my mother convinced that I'm going to end up duct taped in the boot of a car on my way to an abandoned shed.  Thanks, Russell, because amongst your other crimes you have made my mother call me every half bloody hour for the last week, reminding me not to go outside at night or day or EVER.  Russell, it's up to you to pay for your crimes but also to MAKE MY MOTHER STOP CALLING ME!!!  She's driving me mental!

Religious alert

As a non-technical, non-practicing, non-religious, non-believing Jew, I believe firmly in Jewish food.  It's the only part of the Jewish tradition I care for.  In celebration of Passover, which was March 30, 2010, I am making Jew food.

First up: Charoses
Second up: prayer and self-flagellation

It's going to be one hell of a party.

Bad clients

One of the worst clients I ever had was at the studios in Edmonton.  It was the early shift- 9 to 4 or something.  Two guys came in early, both wired and brawny.  I didn't realize immediately something was wrong.  I took one of them, blonde guy, veins so prominent they looked like plasticine.  It turned out he had not yet slept.  He must have been on coke, a common occurrence in an oil city full of young men.  He was so hard and so out of his mind I really thought he'd have an aneurysm.  He seemed to be hooked up to an electricity supply, jolted into frantic alertness, a caged bull. Everything he did, he did as if he wanted to squeeze me out of existence.  When he finally came, he left it on my breasts and walked out the door.  And he was still hard.  Come to think of it, it might have been meth.

When I write about these things, it's with the distinct impression that I'm complaining about a situation I essentially chose.  You can never really guess how a session is going to turn out so it's a risk you take.  But there's this kind of quiet-girl mentality that takes over.  You think, it'll be over soon, and it could be worse.  You're constantly measuring each client against the worst client you've ever had. You think, at least there's no rape.  At least there's no blood.  Plus you zone out after a while in the business.  You begin to think, what difference does another bad client make?  You think that you've reached a threshold of pain or fear or anger and anything added is nothing, really.  7 years later you wake up with a hooker hangover.

As an escort you are accused of being one of two things: in it for the sex or in it for the money, or some bizarre nonsensical combination of both.  Clients think you are a slut or money-hungry (they assume drugs, drink, shopping, or a circle of bratty children you delivered far too young.) 

Am I slutty? No.  Am I money-hungry? Yes, to the point of everyone else who must work for a living.

So here's my final tally.

Financial Summary of 7 years.  During my time as a hooker I have bought:

• A BA and an MA
• An oppressive number of books, mostly school related
• 6 weeks in El Salvador, 3 week trip to Paris, 3 week trip to Belgium and Luxembourg, 3 weeks in Wales, 2 weeks in Iceland, 3 weeks in the Yukon, countless trips to (dull) Canadian destinations
• Déménagement from Vancouver to Edmonton, to Halifax
• Bunny maintenance (v. pricey)
• food, rent, phone, electricity, internet
• one thousand applications to phD and law school programs.
• one LSAT
• shoes
• certificate of mental stability (black market)
• kidneys (black market, white van, big mistake)

Not bad, I say!  I shall now go forth into the future with excellent life experience and the ability to properly process liquids.

Mon héro

Romeo, Romeo, where art though Romeo? Oh, the McCain building yesterday.

Lovely lovely Roméo Dallaire.  The epitome of a good man and a beautiful speaker.  Do you think he would spurn my advances?

This was my day yesterday:
It all started innocuously enough.  I ran with the border collie.  She NEVER gets sick of running after the ball.  She's such an odd choice of dog for old people.  We both got back to the house, heaving and panting.  Then the old lady took the little dog, Bismarck, for a walk but didn't close the gate.  Then the big dog, Weimar Republic, peed in the house and all hell broke loose. I kicked her out and she ran out the gate but I didn't realize it for a few seconds and it didn't matter bc I wasn't wearing shoes.  So I ran to get shoes and slipped on the pee and fell over, then found the shoes, put them on and the phone rang.  Of course the immediate instinct when a phone rings is to pick it up, even if your dog has escaped.  Then I realized what I was doing but this dude was going on and on about good times at Berkeley, and I don't know why because I've never been to Berkeley, so I got off the phone and ran out the door, only to find the old lady with Bismarck, screaming at a passing car.  Turns out someone had picked up Weimarck Republic and I finally spat out, that's our dog! and so they stopped and let her out and everything was fine.  Except my sanity.

Little boy

It's a madder world than we think if 15-year-old child soldiers are guilty of terrorism.  He's not festering in a marsh of jihadism, although if he is NOW, who can blame him? 

Sex be damned

Good morning, Chancellors!  I'm BACK!  With a few changes.  I'm no longer a hooker and no one is reading.  It's an arrogant thing to create a blog and think you have something to say because I really don't have much to say.  But it's become a habit over the last year.  I'm staying on course but leaving behind the sex content and the business aspect.  Which means no one will read.
This blog will be about two things:
1. The things I'm actually interested in and a short form, Coles notes current events blog and
2. Life as a hooker and as an ex-hooker.

My dream is to collect war narratives from ex-Forces Armées Rwandaises soldiers.  My dream is to know what that war felt like.  So I'm starting here, with my own war narrative, from No Man's Land between hooker and ex-hooker.

xoxo Amelia