Gay Leather Night

So, just in case we all weren't aware, I am a girl. One with fairly large breasts and an ass and hips - all those secondary sex characteristics that make 90% of society able to correctly identify the gender of the human being they are looking at.

So, last Thursday, I was booked to dance at a queer leather dance night. And you know what? I had no business being there.

First off, what does a girl who has a closet full of 60s dressed and befringed costumes wear to a leather party? Honestly, I don't know. I know the horrible 70s stereotypes and I happen to have a gay roommate who has played that stereotype so with some guidance (and accessories) from him here is where I ended up:

Right? Maybe? I don't know.

But here is the thing. I want you to close your eyes and think about the advertising that went in to gay leather night at my bar. Now I want you to guess who came. Now I want you to think about how awkward it was when these men came to see the go go dancer on gay leather night and there I am, dancing to remixes of the Spice Girls on my box, all boobs and X chromosomes.

eesh.

So eventually 2 male go go dancers DID show up. Let's talk about that. We are always cautioned when buying/making/putting on costumes that we CANNOT look like a strip club dancer. We need to always have fishnets on - no bare legs. We must look retro and classy and sexy. And I am fine with that, don't get me wrong. But I do wonder what could be when I know I make more money in fringy bras rather than dresses or disco pants.

And then these male dancers show up, literally wearing nothing more than some banana hammocks and baby oil. And they have BUCKETS for their tip jars, since they physically couldn't keep all the dollars stuffed into their crotches in said crotch and needed to dump it out. 

Now why is that ok? Listen, I don't want people shoving money in my crotch. But I do think it is curious that the reputation of the bar stems solely at how properly dressed the female dancers are but the dudes can stand outside smoking in a thong and that's just business as usual.

It was a super awkward night. I danced for about 3 solid hours before I made my one (and only) tip of the night, and it was from the DJ who I am pretty sure felt bad for me.

The next day I asked about the situation: why on earth was there a girl dancer at all? Because we didn't want to "alienate the straight customer"

boo to that.

Ode to a drunk 'Bro'

So the other day I am dancing at the bar. Its a slow night and the music sorta sucks (seriously, don't get me started on shitty "DJs" that spin crap no one can dance to).

So I am wearing a cute enough costume:

it is late, my shift is almost done, and there exactly 3 guys left sitting at the bar. They are "bros" which are essentially as annoying as frat guys, except that they are too old to still be in college which makes it even more sad.

The one guy comes up to my box and starts talking to me. Except there is a speaker in my ear and I can't really hear him.

Him: #@*&)$DDFJS*#$
Me: what?
Him:(*^@$()*# (he makes some weird arm movements)
Me: What?
Him: (he rolls his eyes and speaks slowly but I still can't hear him) *(&#%*BD&*(
Me: It. Is. Loud. You. Need. To Speak. Up.
Him: You need to move your arms more. Do different moves. You've been doing the same thing for an hour.
Me: *laugh* yeah, I know, and the DJ has been playing the same song for an hour, it seems like.
Him: No. It's not like it is that hard. You just have to dance, like this: (he shows me some really jerky and awkward dance moves). I mean, you really suck at your job.
Me: Well, you know, its the end of the night, so yeah. Maybe I do.
Him: You do. You're not even really hot enough to be a gogo dancer.
Me:..... ok. Well, thanks for that.
Him: When do you get off?
Me: 2am. After the bar closes.
Him: And then you're going to come party with us!

So at this point, the other dancer comes over. I tell her that I need to end a few moments early and I get down off my box and start the leave the bar. The guy comes over and tries to slide his hand around my waist. "where are we going to go party?" although really, it was more like "wurwegunnagoperty"

I quickly sidestep and tell him I'll be right back. And I run away.

But I mean really, you come up to my face, mock me, tell me I suck at my job and that I am ugly and then TRY TO HIT ON ME?

Hipsters Don't Tip

Have I mentioned how much I hate hipsters? Real Job™ is in a hipster neighborhood and sometimes I just want to bitch slap this overgrown children who come in and demand their money back for a plant they bought that died, because they "went away to a musical festival for 2 weeks and no one said explicitly that a plant needs to be watered more than once every 2 weeks when we are having a horrific drought and 100+ degree weeks." I mean, how do you get up in the morning and fix your own breakfast and not set yourself on fire?

But, you know, customer service with a smile and all that. So I let it go.

But the go go bar I work at has become a hipster haunt. Do you know how much that sucks? It sucks because hipsters don't tip. And I know that any tip based worker will say that X group of people don't tip, but hipsters really take the cake. Why? Because they should know better. Because 99% of hipsters that come into the bar work in the service industry and they KNOW how much is sucks to work your ass off and not get a tip. Or maybe they don't, because working hard isn't cool or ironic enough, which is why you usually get shitty service when you go to restaurants or cafes that are staffed by hipsters. But  I still tip, regardless.

But I am sick of working 4 hours, in heels, shaking my ass for groups of bar goers who do nothing but watch, make comments, or in the case of the girls mock me who do nothing but drink the cheapest shittiest beer and then walk out without so much as a dollar in my jar. I mean, the fact is, if you are watching the show, you should pay me for it. I understand that some people aren't really interested in the gogo show, and thats fine with me. But if you are going to let you drunk girlfriend shout obscene comments at me, you are obviously paying attention.

I guess what I am saying is, while I used to be the dancer with the lowest tip night ($4 in 4 hours) one of the other girls told me this past weekend that she actually brought home $2 from a 4 hour shift. And that sucks. At least at an actual strip club the customers can't just sit and watch for 4 solid hours without tipping. Large scary men will ask them to leave. As they should.

Art and Costumes

I was on my way to pole dance class the other day when an email popped up on my phone informing me that I had sold some of my art on Etsy. I was so stoked - I haven't given my Etsy page a thought in over a few months.

I honestly don't know how people can depend on internet sales to survive on. Well, any sales really considering I know there are days when no one walks into the shop I work at. But internet especially. When I started my little slice of botanical art there was no one doing it. I know this because I googled the everliving crap out of it to make sure. Now when you do an etsy search a zillion similar products pop up. And cheaper, too. The American way.

C'est la vie.



I was feeling like I was stuck in a rut go go wise so I made myself a fringe bra to wear for my last shift. Now, let's chat about bras for a moment. I am a 34D. I think. (Honestly, boobs are confusing). You know what sucks about being a 34D? Its like bra makers decided you're either a porn star and want sheer, see through, "hey everyone look at my aerolas aren't they fabulous" fabrics with cleavage up to your bangs:

vavaVOOM

look mom, no nipples!

Behold my opaque seams

Or you are 95 years old with boobs to your knees and you simply need a support hose rubberband to haul them back up: 

it's like a battle tank make of nude satin

And don't get me wrong, I LOVE the sexy come hither bras. They are mostly what I own. But they don't make very good foundational pieces for a costume that's "sexy not strippy". And yes, I can  cover them with fabric but that takes SO. MUCH. EFFORT. So whats a girl to do? The discount stores only offer bras in these two catergories so I went to Victoria's Secret and I paid full price.

Fifty Dollars. Fifty dollars for a freaking bra that I covered with black fringe. But it was blue. And I needed a blue, non-see-through, actually functions to hold my tits down bra.

isn't it glorious?

I think I need to play with the straps more. Glitter? Probably. But it worked for the evening.

Interesting side note: I wore this bra and a miniskirt and made more money than i have in months. Okay, okay, I also took an eyebrow pencil and outlined my boobs so they looked HUGE. Whatever works. I suppose it also might have had to do with the AMAZING DJ that was working that night. How can you not exude pure sex when you get to dance on a box in a room full of people to Closer by the Nine Inch Nails?

And then the cream of the sexy dancing crop:

I mean, how is that not worth some dollar bills?

But I think I am going to start showing more skin. Mama needs to pay off her credit card bills.

We're not that kind of bar

So Go Go dancing. It's what, July now? So I've been at it for over 3 months and I am still not sure what to think of the whole thing. In a lot of ways its pretty cool: I got to quit my gym because OMG, I have abs for the first time since moving to this city. Four hours of straight dancing while sucking it in so you look good does wonders for your core. Plus, I just freaking love dancing.

But in some other ways...

I'm not sure if I have made this clear or not before but the bar where I dance is a 60s style go go bar. Meaning its knee high boots and Sonny and Cher not clear platform stilettos and Rihanna. (Side note: I just Googled Rihanna because I can never spell her name and just now learned that she was born in 1988, so I'm going to go cry silent tears into a can of chocolate frosting now).

We don't get topless (usually, heh) and there is no "back room." When I "go on break" I really and truly go downstairs and put my feet up. Because they hurt. I also usually drink a lot of Gatorade because damn do you sweat a lot up there. The point is, I am not trying to get you to buy lapdances from me or anything else. You tipping me in my tip jar is because you are enjoying my performance, you like my moves like Jagger, you are trying to make your girlfriend/boyfriend/lover jealous, whatever. It isn't going to buy you any face time with me. It sure as hell isn't going to buy you any crotch time with me.

Now for some of the older gentlemen that frequent our fair bar, this is confusing. And in some ways I sympathize. You see, up until the grand opening of this new bar there was a strip club in the very same spot. A strip club with the very same name, even. A strip club where, from what I understand, $20 when a very long way. So these guys show up from time to time, either missing the memo, or just choosing not to understand it, and they have it in their heads that it is still  a strip club.

Like the gentlemen the other night. When I get to work the first thing I hear from the bouncer, the bartender, the other dancer is that "there is a creepy man that hasn't actually done anything wrong so we can't kick him out." Awesome. Within 5 minutes of my dancing on the box I have him singled out and am watching him. Yes, he is in fact creepy. And then he tries to tip me. He starts waving money at me and I point to my jar. He shakes his head, grabs at his own chest, and says "titties." Then he tries to stuff said money down the front of my dress. I stop him. And he gets all indignent and says "fine, then i'm keeping my money" and saunters away.




Luckily for the other girl his behavior was enough to finally earn his ejection from the bar.

I think my favorite part, though, was that he was only flashing me a single dollar and he acted as though I was losing out on some great sum of money because I wouldn't let him grope me.

Tutorial: The 24 Hour GoGo Dress

So like I wrote about in my last post, I got overly eager to make a costume for my new gig. After scrapping my first idea, I moved on to a black and white A-line Mod dress. So at about 3:30am, I gathered my materials:

Simplicity Pattern 2967 and fabric

The dress pattern is Simplicity #2967. Don't be fooled, though it is a reprint of a 1960s pattern, this isn't vintage (though, it does appear to be out of print, again). This was one of the "retro" reprints that Simplicity put out  a few years ago (I have a few 50s styles and a 40s skirt suit, too) and I picked it up for a dollar when JoAnn's had a pattern sale a few years ago. I had made the dress once before, so the pieces were already cut out (saving me precious precious time) but really, this dress is like 3 pieces, anyway.

The fabric I used was a white sparkly spandex. Why spandex? Well, here is the thing about being a self taught seamstress: I don't know how to install a zipper. At all. I know there is a special foot for the sewing machine... and I think I can even identify it from all the other sewing machine feet, but damn if I know what the hell to do with it. So while the directions for this dress call for a zipper up the back I don't know how to do that.

Back of dress

Hence the spandex. See what I did there? I just completely sewed up the back of the dress. No zipper needed! Good thing it is stretchy enough to go over my boobs.

So at this point, I hemmed the neck and arm holes as well as the skirt line. There are supposed to be cap sleeves, but A) I was really tired and B) It gets really hot in the bar as you dance so I just decided to forego all that.

Awesome! I have an A-line dress is a pretty white sparkly fabric. But, it doesn't look very 60s. So I looked on google for some mod dress ideas. I was inspired by these two:

Clearly the answer was arrows. But unlike a lot of tutorials out there on the internet, I did not already have an arrow applique. So I had to make one. Using black jersey I made a tube and turned it inside out, so the seam was inside. I sewed it flat to the dress and then made triangle ends that I sewed on.

Mod Arrow Dress

Bam! Instant 60s street cred!

You'll notice that the arrows are not perfectly straight. There is a reason for that other than sleeplessness! You'll notice in this close up, that there are darts in order for my boobs to fit:

boob dart

Turns out boobs are curved. So sewing on a straight arrow over the boob curve means that when the dress is on it looks crooked. So instead, I had my roommate pin the arrows on while I was in the dress to figure out where they really should be placed.

So then I was done! I passed out and went to bed.

The next day I went to Real Job and came home. I decided to try on the dress with the rest of the costume before I went into the bar - the rest of the costume being fishnets and gogo boots. Thank goodness I did. Why? Because like an idiot, I chose white fabric and it was 100% see through. Awesome. Totally awesome. At this point I had NOTHING ELSE to wear, so I had to figure something out.

I noticed that where I had turned the fabric under to hem it was not see through. So I decided I needed to line the dress. But, I didn't really know how to do that. Instead I made myself a tube:

weird wannabe spanx

Yeah, it is exactly as big as it looks - smaller than the width of a coat hanger. I figure it had to be snug so as not to slide off. So snug, in fact, that I could barely wiggle into it. I basically made spanx out of the dress fabric. But whatever, it worked.

So I was able to pull it out and get a costume made in 24 hours. Want to know the best part? I got to work and SURPRISE! It was disco night. So my dress was completely out of place anyway.

I was going to post about craft time...

So I went down to Fabric Row the other week and dropped about $100 on materials for making go go costumes. Because I make good financial decisions.

I was pretty pleased with myself, though, and I decided I was going to make a fringe top and hotpants combo. I bought 16 yards of fringe. More than enough, right?

Look at all the fringe. And my purchased hot pants base!

You guys, that didn't even cover the bottom third of my ass, let alone a halter top, too.

So crap. It is 3:30 in the morning and I have work at 10am all day and then go dance after that. And I really, REALLY have nothing to wear. So I started on an entirely different costume. And you know what, it worked! Sleep is for the weak. I'll post a craft time tutorial about that later this week.

In the mean time, I was introduced to the wonders of Joyce Leslie stores. They are yet another tween disposable clothing chain, but at the moment, 60s inspired outfits seem to be in style. (Thank you Mad Men.) So I bought a lot of amazing clothes, including hot pants and a disco suit! Yes, a disco suit.

I would just like to take this moment to really point out that there is currently a chain of stores in America selling MASS PRODUCED DISCO SUITS. Who would wear that? I mean, other than someone who happens to work at a 60s and 70s themed go go bar. Why is this being sold?!

I did happen to notice some mixed messages from the store though:

I don't know how to interpret this...

But the finished products are pretty awesome!

The Evolution of Go Go

So the other day I auditioned for a go go dancing position. I was excited. Who wouldn't love to wear vintage 60s clothes and get paid to dance on a box!?

This is what I want to be.

Well, here is the thing. When did "go go dancing" become something other than that? Because apparently I've been living under a rock and 'round these parts Go Go dancing means stripping. I honestly did not know that. I thought, you know, stripping meant stripping and go go meant go go. And we all know how qualified I am to be a stripper...

So here I was, telling everyone I could that I had a go go audition wondering why people weren't getting more excited.

But the bar I was auditioning at really WAS a go go bar in the 60s sense. Girls dance in costume to 60s soul and funk. So I have to figure out how to explain that to everyone who has the wrong idea.

I got the job.

And then last night I got called in to work a shift. And it was amazing.

Today? Not so much. I'm getting old you guys. Everything on me hurts.

keywords

You guys, the phrase "wearable fake vagina" just directed a lot of traffic to this blog.

I'm disturbed, and I have not once written about a wearable fake vagina. Because I don't know what that is.

Confessions of a Booth Girl

You know something? I've been through quite a bit of nonsense working as a convention booth girl. There was the porn convention, where good christian girls would walk up, lay their hands on you, and speak in tongues in order to save me from the sins of fornication on film. Which, you know, was nice, except that  I don't have sex on film for money and I was working for a liquid clothing brand. And then there was the part where Ron Jeremy drunkenly stumbled up to me and signed my boob. No seriously.

Yeah, you're right. That IS the girliest "signature" ever. And, no, I didn't ask for it. He just sorta branded me with a sharpie as I walked past. To be fair, it was a porn convention. I wasn't expecting normal.

But I have worked other conventions that have turned out to be just as strange. At the Baltimore ComicCon I posed with many men for many pictures. Not surprising when you are dressed as a sexy female space cat. But when guys start telling you that they are sending your photo to their ex-wife and "can you just say something into the phone to prove you are a real girl" you have to wonder.

Now I am currently working at the Philadelphia Flower Show. Flowers. Garden stuff. A nice, wholesome section of the population. That are crazy. Every single one of them.

Do you know what pissed plant people off? When you hold up a plant and ask "how long does this last?" How long does it LAST? It is a LIVING THING. ALIVE. It lasts as long as you do! Oh wait, no, it won't, because you are going to take it home and kill it. That is... it's like asking the pet store owner how long the kitten you are buying is going to last. And how do you kindly say "it will last until you kill it."

But ok, that is just my pet peeve. At least this time I get to wear pants.

This Food Stamp Thing is STILL a Joke

So last week I spent about 8 hours in a car driving across various states in the union. I hate driving. And it wasn't my car. So I sat in the back of this car for all 8 hours. Do you know what I did? I read books. And in between reading books I called the damn food stamp office. Like... once every 20 minutes or so.

Do you think I got through?

I was on hold for a while. My wait time was 34 minutes, the recording helpfully informed me. Every 5 minutes the perky voice broke in: "your call is important to us, please stay on the line." Then, around minute 30 or so I get a new recorded message: "there are no agents available to take you call. Goodbye" and the line went dead.

Totally awesome.

Later on I called back. Busy. Again. Busy. Again. Busy. Etc. Until, finally! RING. RING. RING. It rang for a bit and an answering machine kicked on. Fine, I thought, I can just leave a message and they can call me. BUT GUESS WHAT! THE MAILBOX WAS FULL AND SO IT HUNG UP ON ME.

So you know what I did? I took a nap. Around 4:30 the driver woke me to say I should try to call again before they closed for the night. So I called. AND OH MY STARS I GOT THROUGH. A PERSON WAS THERE ON THE OTHER END OF THE LINE. I started to explain my situation - calmly, I might add, I didn't accuse or get sassy. And then I hear "oh" AND THE BITCH HUNG UP ON ME.

AFTER ALL THAT.

I screamed. I screamed so loud that the driver almost swerved off the highway. I mean good lord, what's a girl got to do?

Of course when I called back, immediately, the perky recording informed me they were closed for the night.

Fast forward a few days. I started waking up early to call in before I got to work. I actually was on hold the entire commute from my house to my job one morning. I was still on hold when I opened the store and customers came in and had to hang up. You know, so I could actually WORK.

The next morning I called again. This time, finally, I spoke to the operator. After many minutes trying to explain why I was even calling, I was informed that my case worker would call me in one hour. I explained that no, that wouldn't work since I was on my way to work. She helpfully informed me that if I wanted my benefits I would "have to take it seriously" and "work with the system."

I don't know how I didn't reach through the phone and choke the woman.

This Food Stamp thing is a joke

Seriously, I feel bad enough that I can't feed myself. Just so we are all clear. This is not the American dream that I worked for in college. But here we are. I have been using that money to buy myself actual foods and not just high calorie low nutrition obesity causing crap which I think is the worst part about poverty in America: if you can't afford to eat right, you eat cheap, and just end up with even more problems.

But I digress.

The issue today is that it is January. And because it is January it is food stamp renewal time. I highly support this. In the way that we should give driving tests more than once in a lifetime, it is good for any sort of governing body to step in and just make sure things are functioning the way they ought to be. It reduces fraud and waste.

But this system?

I get a packet in the mail and am required to fill it all out. Submit pay stubs and gas bills, etc. Sure, that is all logical. Then there is a telephone interview. Great! I don't have to haul my public transit taking ass up to the scary building location, you can just call me and we can talk about it. What a great idea! Then I keep reading and they have assigned me a time for this interview: Thursday, January 12 at 2:15. You know, right in the middle of the work day.

And there, next to the scheduled time is a friendly reminder that "WORK IS NOT A VALID EXCUSE FOR MISSING OR RESCHEDULING YOUR INTERVIEW TIME." You're right. It would be a lot better if I was just sitting at home, NOT working, feeding off the system and not even TRYING to be a member of society. Whatever.

So my scheduled date comes, and luckily my boss is understanding. I take an hour and a half off for lunch. from 2 until 3:30, waiting for this call. Guess what? IT NEVER COMES! Meanwhile the store is getting busy and I can't just sit there, so at 3:30 I give up and put my phone away.

After work, I have a message. From who, you ask? THE FOOD STAMP CASE WORKER! Leaving me a very smarmy message about how this interview is important and if I wanted my benefits to continue I would need to make myself available. Bitch, please. The call came around 4pm. Never mind that she called me 2 hours late. It was my fault. For having a job.

So in her message she left me instructions on what to do. I have called that number every day since. I have never once gotten through. I just get that "high call volume, please try again, goodbye" auto hang up. And guess what? I cant spend all day calling that number because I HAVE A JOB!

Craft shows and Boozariums

So the foot fetish studio has started having its parties out in the burbs. Sucks for me, because I certainly am not going to rent a car for a night to drive out into the middle of nowhere suburbia to be groped by old men. That is public transit transportation only. Clearly.

But I have been working hard on my crafty side and have actually started selling my wares at craft shows. I sort of fell into the first show I did a few weeks ago. It was at a go go and whiskey bar in town (seriously, whiskey sours and scantily clad go go dancers for everyone!) and I actually did really well. Not only did I walk away with about $150 more dollars than I started with, I was able to trade with the other craft vendors and get most of my holiday shopping done - WITHOUT HAVING TO SPEND MONEY. How can you not love that?

So when I had the opportunity to do another show last night - one with some bigger vendors and better advertised - I jumped at the chance. I spent all weekend making new inventory and building some pretty kick ass terrariums and I was ready to go.

(side note: I literally do nothing at Real Job© since December started except build terrariums, and teach people how to build terrariums, and break up fights between customers over terrariums, and something something something else terrariums. So I knew building kick ass terrariums was well worth my time)

Ok so yesterday I took a half day at work (unpaid time off, of course) to set up at the show. I am still very new to the whole world of craft shows, so while it took me about ten minutes to unfold a table cloth and put out my portfolio everyone around me was building shelving units and stacking tables and all sorts of crazy craft show support.

So I sat there.

Then the show officially opened.

And I sat there.

And sat there.

And then I got up and stretched my legs by checking out the other vendors.

And then I sat some more.

Because there were no customers. At all.

So with 15 minutes left (after 4.25 hours of SITTING THERE) a little old lady comes over to my stand. She starts looking through my portfolio, we make small talk, she tells me my works is beautiful, blah blah blah. And then the strangest thing happened.

Adorable Grandma: "You know dear, I hesitate to even ask you this [she leans in close to me across the table], but do you have any pressed marijuana?"

Craftitute: "Oh. Yeah. Actually I do."

Adorable Grandma: "Lovely. Where is it?"

Craftitute: "I have it hidden. Do you want it framed or not?"

She then proceeded to ask her daughters who had come over if their brother would like it as a gift.

Adorable Grandma: "You see dear, he gets this magazine about this particular plant...."

Craftitute: "Oh then yeah, I think he will really like it"

After that sale, I sold my boozarium to a seven year old boy. Why? Because out of all of the terrariums I had made, he wanted the one in a Jim Beam bottle. Go figure.

Now at this point, you might be wondering what a boozarium is. It is like a terrarium, but better.

Terrariums. Pretty cool.

Terrariums are pretty awesome. Especially when I got all the glass at good will and the moss off some rocks around the city. But a boozarium is better.

Boozarium. Cooler. Because of the booze.

BECAUSE IT IS A TERRARIUM THAT YOU ONLY GET TO BUILD AFTER YOU GET REALLY DRUNK.

I am not exactly sure why I have been recycling our liquor bottles, when I should clearly be filling them with dirt and selling them to hipsters. And seven year old boys, oddly.

So a few notes of housekeeping. I know some of you are more interested into the crafty things I do and I invite those of you to like my crafty side on facebook. I also got a sweet blog nod from Yinzerella over at Dinner is Served! and will be doing an award post about that soon.

On the mountain top

Oh hi. Remember when I ran away to LA? You know, before some asshole kids punched me in the face. (for those of you playing along at home, I rocked that black eye. But, with the exception of some lump on my orbital bone that wasnt there before, I am fully healed)
I so rarely show you all the fruits of my modeling labors tghtfg t you might enjoy some of the photos from the mountaintops of malibu.

Bastards

So I was mugged last week. Mugged. By three 15 year old punks.

It makes blogging a little harder - currently I have a GIANT black eye from getting clocked in the face and have had to cancel many a photoshoot and personal encounter because I look like a hot mess.

The thing that is really annoying, though, is that although my neighbors came to my aid (and I got my things back) I am downright terrified of going outside when it gets dark. Which really sucks.

Back to the Feet

So the foot party went well. I was only there for 2 hours and I made a decent amount of money. This is partly, I think, because I was missed. The few regulars I have threw money at me to see me again. I still can't fathom the fact that I GET PAID TO GET MY FEET RUBBED.

And it was good this time. All foot guys, not a single dude secretly there for a blowjob. At least the guys I spoke with. And i got a $50 tip for having awesome feet!

Part of me is interested in my response to foot stimulation in a sexual setting. While I admit that the massages feel good, they don't really work for me in a sexual way. But at the same time, I can understand how it might. I generally don't give too much credence to new age practices but I am beginning to think there is something to reflexology: when certain parts of my feet are touched or caressed I can feel it on different parts of the body. ONE of them has to affect my ladybits.

On the otherhand, what if I do find that  I like it? I think the reason I am so comfortable with the foot fetish work is that to me it is decidedly non-sexual. Maybe it is best to not mess with that...

Oh well, you know what, I shouldn't say there were no creeps. There was one guy there - halitosis man. He was happy to see me again and to tell me that he spent all this time jacking off to me. Gee, thanks. And then he tells me he is going to try to set up a private session for he and I because he really REALLY wants to watch porn with me.

And then he stuck his tongue down my throat before I could dodge him. But he was just a 5 minute blip on a pretty normal (you know, for a fetish club) night.

Feet, the remix

Well, it seems that the Foot club is back up and running. I got an email informing me that although they had run into some undisclosed issues, the bed eggs (both male and female) had been weeded out and they were going to return to their roots: no more lapdance party or "super private" nights.

Phew.

So next week I will be going back to the club for the first time in a long time. Hopefully it will be fun, like it was when I started, and not the "i'm going to pressure you for a blowjob" bullshit it slowly turned into.

We shall see.

Mouth Taped Shut: pressed flowers and viral 'Dragon Tattoo' treasure hunts

Apparently they are making an American film version of Girl With the Dragon Tattoo. Ok, nothing too special about that, right? Except someone has made the best viral marketing campaign ever... there is an interactive Tumblr account, Twitter feed, and other creepy websites that lead internet views on a real life treasure hunt. So far there have been clues hidden in vintage movie stills (or what I assume are movie stills) that lead you to a website. That website has a photo of a location and GPS coordinates. Somewhere at that GPS local us the image in the photo and hidden there is a wrapped, framed, dried, pressed flower. Pretty much exactly like the ones I make and sell online.

Mine:

Theirs:

Now to be fair, mine are not reproductions (actual props?) from the movie. And they don't come with the director's signature, although *I* sign them (and I am pretty cool). But there are only 40 flowers in the world of the book... and I bet there are more than 40 people out there who want these. So yes, I will jump on this fad, even though I'm not really because i've been selling these dried pressed flowers for over 2 years. 

But hey, as I am writing this I got a sale and I haven't even changed all my key words to #mouthtapedshut or #GWTDT or Viral Flower Girl With the Dragon Tattoo Treasure Hunt, yet. 

Please, god, keep your pants on: part deux

Hey guys, guess what. Remember that feeling I had yesterday about Capt. Creep? Yeah, I'm pretty good at these things. HE ANSWERED THE FUCKING DOOR IN A FUCKING TOWEL WHEN I SHOWED UP.

A towel that he was not interested in trading in for some pants when I politely requested that he do so. And under ANY other circumstances, I would have thrown the money back at him and booked it out, but rent. What do you do?

Right and then his towel "fell off" as he was shooting.

Have you ever seen a photographer attempting to shoot a model one handed? Because I have. I have, because as I was posed with my face away from him, I noticed that it was taking him longer and longer to snap the shutter. But, it IS really hard to manually focus your camera when you are PLAYING WITH YOUR PENIS WHEN YOU THINK THE MODEL ISN'T LOOKING.

Look, I knew I was engaging in a type of prostitution when I took this gig. His photos are shit. He doesn't know how to light (hell, he didn't even HAVE a lighting set up) and the photos are not creative. In the business he is what we call a GWC or Guy With Camera. He likes pretty girls and bought himself a fancy camera so he has a reason to be in the company of pretty girls. In exchange, the pretty girls give him some model time in exchange for his money. Because let's be honest, if you are an amazing photographer, I am not going to charge you because we are going to make some art. But if your photos are shitty, I am there to take you money, and then I'm done. Model prostitution.

NOT ACTUAL PROSTITUTION.


And what gets me is that if you get off on touching yourself while you take photos of a naked girl, then why don't you hire an actual prostitute?
1) I happen to know girls in this city that charge less than $100/hr to actually perform sex acts, so why not pay a girl that will actually do things to you?
2) If you don't want the sex and really do just want to touch yourself with a pretty girl around IT WOULD BE EVEN CHEAPER TO HIRE A HOOKER.
3) Why on Earth would you think that is ok? If you plan on being naked and touching yourself, those are terms that need to be set BEFORE the photoshoot. He complained to me that off of his models look uncomfortable in photos. WELL NO SHIT.

Please, god, keep your pants on

Readers,

In 12 hours I will be meeting a "photographer" at a hotel in town to take photos. I will be nude in said photos. I am charging said man $100/hr to have this privilege. I also made sure to inform him he will be paying me cash, upfront, before a single stitch of my clothing comes off.

But the email exchange we have been having leads me to think I am heading into a disaster.

Here are some email highlights!

Capt. Creep to me

Sep 28

Oh, sorry :).   But that sounds good.  By the way, do you have any full nude samples?  Your mm port is partial only.  Thanks!

Craftitute to Capt. Creep

Sep 28

Really? Even with workmode off? But I can send you a trial to []....that is the site I publish on. Give me a minute and then check your spam folder if it doesn't show

For the record, there are photos of me nude on my MM port. I have no idea why he couldn't see that. He has his own MM portfolio, so I am thinking he is aware how the site works.

Capt. Creep to me

Sep 28

I just saw that...thanks.  I'll take a look later since I am at work and can't access [] from here....they frown upon naked pictures of women at work :)

Capt. Creep to me

Sep 28

Yeah, they're pretty strict at my office and I can't get in to anything.

Oh, so you still tried to look at them at work anyway. That's a great idea. Nothing is better than trying to look at porn at work.

Capt. Creep to me

Sep 29

ok i was finally able to view some of the pics....very hot!  can't wait to shoot with you, it will be fun, and maybe you can even take a few of me! :)  (Don't worry...i do some modeling too, so I'm not too bad to look at) 

What? No! NO NO NO! I am a MODEL. YOU take photos of ME. I DON'T CARE WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE. I am not interested in taking pictures of you.

Capt. Creep to me

Oct 17 (6 days ago)

Can you do 9?  Also, with regards to location...I need to figure that out still, but it will be at a nice hotel in Center City.  I'm looking forward to it too...I'm finally meeting someone else that likes being nude as much as I do! :)

Uh... WTF? Are you planning on taking your pants off, because I will mace your ass. I do not "like" being nude. I don't dislike it, but the reason you are going to be in the room with me while I am naked is because you are HIRING ME to DO THAT. This is not a social gathering.

I have a feeling this will go totally wrong. And if it wasn't for the fact that I literally will not make my November rent without this $200 payment, I would cancel in a heartbeat as I am getting a BAD. VIBE.