Apparently this is something that my coworkers at my loathsome real job are aware of. In an effort to get out of the valley before the end of the year, I’ve been considering career options that range from morally reprehensible to outright illegal. Since my plan to be famous in 365 days or less has failed miserably and jobs involving my degree are scarce, I’m determined to get involved in some sort of money making venture so I can stop pretending that I like doing things like getting gas twenty dollars at a time and going to matinees at 10:35 in the morning.
After considering human trafficking (I’m not okay with selling children, adults maybe…), stripping (I am not built like Jennifer Beals in Flashdance, or even her friend who could skate, but not that well), dealing some sort of illegal drugs (anyone who knows me can tell you that I would get caught immediately), and smuggling immigrants across the border (my Spanish eh, not so good), I’ve decided that becoming a go-go dancer is the logical choice. Why is that, you ask? Not only have I cornered the heroin-chic-look-without-doing-heroin market, I’m a pretty decent dancer. Not a great enough dancer to put dancing on my acting resume, or great enough to audition for one of those corny tales of urban youth achieving their way out of the ‘hood, but good enough that were I four inches taller and equipped with a good lacefront wig and a miracle bra, I might actually book a music video.
The first time I went to a Hollywood club and saw go-go dancers I laughed out loud, rolled my eyes and thought this dumb bitch… I mean who dances in lingerie, or spandex depending on where you are, around a pole but not on the pole and doesn’t actually strip? In my mind go-go dancing was the biggest tease and waste of time because it’s like the junior college of stripping before you can get your hoe Ph.D and become a full-fledged hooker or something. Anywho, after a year of not getting booked for anything with my clothes on, I started to justify… they don’t take all of their clothes off, I thought.
And somewhere in the back of my mind I was secretly hoping that if I embarked upon this questionable career path, one day I would be climbing off a stage, counting sweaty ones that some douchey USC grad had shoved into some part of the unfortunate and scant costume that I would no doubt be wearing, and would run into a kindhearted development exec who would look me in the eye and just know, that behind the unsanitary handprints on my boobs and my smeared mascara lies a great writer who should be taken seriously. Then this exec would not try to sleep with me, but instead set up a general and option 1 or 3 of my scripts. Okay so I’ve watched Pretty Woman too much, but I swear there is a Richard Gere type of guy out there and I am going to find him!
In case you’re wondering, I have yet to audition for one of these gigs because I just fear that it wouldn’t end well, but also because I shared this plan with my previously mentioned coworkers and they seemed to think it was a bad idea. One said that go-go dancing would lead to me becoming a cokehead once the hours started to get to me. Or I could just drink a Red Bull maybe, but what do I know? Another looked at me and said “You don’t have it in you. I can look at a girl and tell how slutty she is and I just don’t think you can do it.” Uh, thanks? In defense of go-go dancers everywhere, the ones at Drai’s were actually pretty clothed and they weren’t gyrating with sleazy “producers.” FYI, reading a book and wanting to maybe hire someone to adapt it does not automatically make you a producer, Mr.-Dude- in-your-40s-Leasing-an-S-Class- Living-Off-the-Glory-Days- When-You-Were- a-2nd AD-for-a-Disney-Channel-Movie. Still, I’d like to have a career that couldn’t so accurately and euphemistically be described as smarmy. Sigh.
While there is no go-go dancing in my immediate future, I can’t promise that it won’t happen someday and for that I apologize in advance. I only ask that if you should run into me and I am writhing on a stage with 75 percent of my body exposed that you not laugh, and no I will not give you change.