Cripes. I wouldn’t normally share stuff like this, but this is fascinating. Woman reads a piece of literature while have a vibrator pressed up against her, she can’t stop reading until she orgasms.
That’s some serious will power on display.
Hysterical Literature: Session One: Stoya (by claytoncubitt)
everyone has different perceptions of beauty
so while you may think you’re ugly
someone out there is gonna wanna tap that so hard
True dat. Always remember, you’re somebody’s reason to masturbate.
It’s been a while since I’ve felt the need to vent like this. I’ve had quite a wonderful year, what with going back to college, exceeding my own expectations to what I thought I could achieve from it and having positive hopes for the future because of it. All in all, it’s been a good year. There’s a particular positive emotion one can take from knowing you set out to accomplish something and actually seeing it through. I can take solace in that, and there’s no shame in it. I’m proud of myself and look forward to it continuing.
So from the one thousand matches I made from one tree, one of the matches just decided to burn down the entire forest.
One year ago I decided to take a break from my ‘job’ to go back to college and finally get something behind me. Out of school in 2003 I went to college for a little while, only to leave because I broke up with the love of my life and seeing her with someone else was killing me. In hindsight, that’s a fucking stupid reason to have given something up which was so promising and interesting. Of course, I was 16 and she was ‘the one’ - it was a dangerous mixture of my then-emo stature and ridiculous reasoning which to this day I look back on my 16 year old self and tell him to man the fuck up and stop being so pathetic. Once I left college, I got myself a full time job at the local bowling alley where I met the guy who would quite literally change my life forever. This guy, the brilliantly talented and fucking annoyingly handsome Scotty Barnes worked at the Bowl when he was home. When he wasn’t, he was travelling the world singing for a living. As an aspiring performer, this dude was legend. He left the cold, uninspiring despicable fucktard of our home town and was the living embodiment of freedom, to me at least. He showed me that I could be something and make anything of my life. He’ll never admit it, or acknowledge it because it’s just the kind of person he is, but to me this dude had lived what I wanted, everything I wanted. I asked him how he did it, he got me an application form for an entertainments agency. Low and behold, I sent it off and before I knew it I was auditioning for a ‘job’ as a singer and entertainer. Getting paid to sing? I’m up for that, always. I got the job, my first season and my first ever taste of singing on stage and getting paid for it began in Newquay.
Several years later, here I am. From then and now I’ve been in countless parks and hotels across Europe. Falling in love all over again, meeting thousands and thousands of people I would have never met if I stayed in Taunton, seeing the world, nearly getting murdered in Cyprus which then led to being followed back home by Cypriate Mafia goons - longer story for another day - and essentially having the time of my life while learning all about it. Having hundreds of strangers clap and cheer your name as you sing is something you can’t really explain. Being on stage in front of an audience which genuinely appreciate what you’re doing is a feeling which you can’t really explain in words, it’s overwhelming. The job of an entertainer is a variety of different things, but first and foremost you’re on stage and your sole purpose is to make sure those before you have the absolute time of their lives. No, they haven’t come to specifically see you, you’re just part of the entertainment package which they pay undisclosed amounts of money to enjoy. It doesn’t take away from it in any circumstance. If they’re strangers on a Monday, by Friday if you’re lucky enough they’ll become friends and you’ll never lose contact with them. You’ll make enough of an impression on people that you will arrange to meet once your season ends. You’ll visit them and they’ll visit you just to hang out again for a catch up. It’s bloody brilliant, and I’ve been fortunate enough to meet many people who I’ve had this exact experience with.
So, here we are then. 2012. At the time of writing the Olympics finished four days ago and I’m still reeling from seeing The Who close a show which One Direction opened and wondering what the hell happened in between these two events. Either way, the Olympics, as wonderful as it was, is not what I’m here to rant about.
The thing is, the job of an entertainer can be, as I’ve explained above, completely and utterly amazing, bewildering and mind-blowing, but this time last year I felt like I had done it. I’d seen everything this job could throw at you, as every park and hotel and its core organise themselves in the exact same way, especially the entertainment. The tried-and-tested formula of ‘kids-bingo-game-cabaret-disco’ had worn thin and I wanted to do something more substantial with my time. From this point, ‘Rossko the entertainer’ was dead. Gone. He can rest in peace. I decided then to look up journalism courses at my local college, as writing is something I enjoy doing fully and would want nothing more than to turn it into a career as fast as I possibly could. As I write this, year one is done and I look forward to year two. However, I needed to do something in between. The toughest part of this is that I just don’t have enough experience to do an actual job. You know the one, Monday-Friday, 9-5 office/retail. I have so little experience in either, in this current economic state the people who have the experience will, rightly, get the job over me. Essentially, this meant I couldn’t spend all summer in Taunton, I just wouldn’t be able to make the money I wanted to save up for Christmas 2012. It was this, then, that bought ‘Rossko’ back to life. He was my only hope because I just couldn’t do anything else. Begrudgingly, I stapled my smile back on his face and went for an audition for an owners park in Bognor Regis.
Now, owners parks are interesting things. I dabbled with them briefly in 2011, where I had a ridiculously eventful few months in Rhyl, North Wales. I shared my van with a guy so unbelievably unsuitable for this job it was bordering on the frightening. We had one particular night together where he claimed his heart stopped so me and the rest of the team spent all night in hospital with him after a night with a few drinks. Turned out he faked the whole thing just to find out if we cared about him enough. No other job will provide you this kind of experience. Anyway, sorry I keep digressing, memories keep popping up that I feel are worth sharing.
Where was I? Ah yes, owners parks.
An owners parks are full of people who have paid absurd amounts of moolah on having their own caravans on the park, and feel like they need to justify this by coming down every single weekend and across the entire breadth of the six week summer holidays so they get their moneys worth. Essentially it’s a holiday home they have chosen to purchase in parts of the world they seem to adore. Now, there’s nothing wrong with this, but as an entertainer it’s incredibly tough. Because of this, you have to keep everything fresh every week. You can’t repeat gameshows, productions, nothing. The luxury that holiday parks have is that you can keep things going throughout a season as you know a new audience will be seeing it every couple of weeks. On an owners park you have no such luck. You’ll see the same faces all the time and every time they come down they want something new - except for bingo. As long as you have it on you’re pretty much safe - which makes you work twice as hard to provide. Again, there’s nothing wrong with this per se, it certainly keeps you on your toes and makes you want to try just that little bit harder to make sure those you are entertaining are happy with what you’re doing. You’ve got to keep your wits about you and be good enough for them to keep them coming back to watch you. It’s true that most owners will just turn up to play bingo and have some drinks, not paying the slightest bit of attention to anything you’re doing on either side of dabbing numbers on the cheap tickets they’ve all bought for half an hour of the entire evening. It’s just one of those things which we have to deal with.
Of course, owners parks have their down sides. I won’t go into too much detail as I’m still working in Bognor Regis, safe to say if they’re not happy with what you’re doing, they will let you know without any thought or concern for your well-being or emotional response. You’re just a face for them to vent too, unless it’s particularly personal to you and their displeasure of your performance. Owners believe they have this luxury. Again, it’s just one of those things we have to deal with.
I got this job after travelling a good amount of time to get here, staying overnight and doing the audition in the morning. That was hard in itself, you want to be at your best for the audition however with it being so very early your voice is in no state to be belting out anthems at the top of your lungs. I fought this by getting up very early and simply drinking hot water for three hours. Luckily, it paid off and everything worked out quite nicely. I got the job and went back to Taunton to tell the masses the good news (my Mum and Dad). A week later I returned and met the team, who are just wicked.
To the crux of this, it’s been the most physically, mentally and emotionally draining job I’ve ever done. I don’t know if it’s just because I’ve done this job so many other times all the negative points of it are annoyingly seeming to win over the positives. It’s full of mighty pressure with very little reward, something I’m finding difficult to handle. The team I’m on are great, and we’re all in the same boat and it’s hard to keep it afloat when there is so much pressure and stress in the air, especially when you have the pressure cooker of an owners park heating up around you at all times. Upon reflection, the owners at Rhyl weren’t that bad at all. Yes, there were some dreadful people there. Many purely despicable people which I’ll happily never see again, as I just don’t need those kind of people in my life when there are so many other brilliant human beings that are worth spending far more of my time with. The owners here, though, are dangerous creatures. Destined to crush your every move just for their own fun and games. A breeding ground for jobless thieves, outrageously vicious, spiteful people and Jeremy Kyle degenerates.
On top of this, I really fucked up tonight. Like, I’ve never felt like I’ve really fucked up before. Yes, I’ve made major mistakes in this job in the past, but I’ve just always put it down to learning. This time though, it was just stupid. I’m not going to go into detail as like I said, it’s not fair on those involved and wrong of me to bring it up in this kind of circumstance while I’m still employed. Suffice to say, it was my mistake and it angers me greatly that others are going to suffer for it along with myself. It should be me and only me and I can’t seem to figure out a way where this is going to happen. I’m writing this the night before it the shit will hit the fan with an almighty slamdunk, and I’m petrified, quite honestly. If I tell you what it was, in words it sounds like absolutely nothing. However the reality and the ramifications of it could be devastating, and it’s absolutely so unfair on those who played no part in it to go down with me. I’d rather take the bullet than have it ricochet. No doubt it was dumb, personally however, it’s been a swift reminder as to why I never wanted to go back to this job one year ago. Every little thing you do (or don’t do) is exacerbated for all to see, you’re not really allowed to keep things quiet because as a unit you become so close to each other so quickly they can all tell when something is bothering you instantly, which means you’re led into talking about it with people who, while they mean well and it’s always appreciated, just don’t know you well enough to really help you. This job is becoming a bit of a pantomime. Not just right here, I should stress, just in general. You can explain to those you care for the most about what you’re going through but unfortunately nobody else quite understands it like another entertainer. And being an entertainer, they’re wrapped up in their own stuff no matter how nice they’re being about it they don’t really want to know. It’s a weird situation, one which I never thought I’d find myself in again.
Perhaps I’ll go into more detail once the season is up (depending on what happens tomorrow it could be sooner rather than later), but I needed to get that out.
YES, being an entertainer is a truly amazing experience, one you’ll never forget and to some, you were the reason their holiday was so brilliant. Because of YOU, the time that people decide to share at your park was so memorable, and they’ll remember YOU forever for it, when in your head you were just doing your job. Because of YOU, you got them singing along to their favourite songs, screaming and wooping, clapping their hands and busting moves on the dancefloor. Because of YOU, these people are going to come back again. Because of YOU, their kids make thank you cards and write you letters and emails telling you how much they miss YOU. Because of YOU, just for maybe that one week, for that small period of time you share with a single family, you gave them the absolute time of their lives. YOU made sure everything was perfect for them. YOU made sure their holiday was the very best it could be. YOU are all the children talk about on their way home. YOU are the legend which made their well deserved holiday so fucking fantastic.
I can’t put a price on any of the things I mentioned above. If you achieve just one of those, you’re doing your job completely correctly. Well done to you. The negative points seem to take away from any of the experiences I mentioned though, which is heartbreaking. You can remember all of this, and one bad thing will happen and all you want to do is go home. Home home. Your proper home.
I don’t know why it still affects me the way it does, it just seems too. Maybe now I know I’m probably getting a little too old for all this insanity (26 this year, getting properly long in the tooth being on the frontline) I start to notice the little things a bit more. Maybe I just bring it on myself. Me being angry at myself is what made me write this blog.
Swings and roundabouts.
about 50 Shades of Grey, but my choice for Mr. Grey in the move adaptation is John Barrowman. Just because I’d probably go watch it.
That’s my peace.