I plan to tell you a bit about me and how I came to be a professional hooker. Yes most folks bestow pity upon those who must sell themselves for money. And I would like you to feel sorry for me. I have a disease called ‘some managers don't like me’ syndrome. I’m not sure where I caught it or who gave it to me. If I could find the fucker I’d give them a really dirty look. My life would be so much easier were I able to submit to the demands of others regardless of how unreasonable. Alas, I cannot. ***Note- to all the people I have worked for and with who I adore, this isn't about you*** :)
I was born in New Haven, Connecticut in the 70‘s and sometimes I think that’s exactly when my problems began. For those unfamiliar with the city it is basically a suburb of NYC (not really, but it would’ve been if the engineers of I-95 had designed a straight line instead of a Formula One track connecting the two cities).
New Haven is also home to an institution almost as legendary as myself known as Yale University. I used to work there. But that’s a tale too boring to talk about. Point being I have been surrounded by greatness for most of my life (minus the stint in Port Charlotte, Florida where I was surrounded by death and golf). So it only stands to reason that I should end up depressed when I realized that greatness doesn’t actually follow me everywhere.
In fact, there is some seriously un-great shit out there which I step in regularly. And as someone who radiates ‘legend’ to all those who I meet, the un-great shit really can’t stand me. Now, I’m not saying some of the people I've known have been un-great. No, they’ve also been un-cool, un-smart, un-creative (wait, is that a real word? Hmm...), un-generous and un-able (there’s another one) to believe that I might have some great ideas. They were probably thinking, ‘This gal is far too great. She may be competition for me in the greatness stakes. I know I have no chance as I am so un-great and un-smart and un-pretty, but I REALLY have no chance if this legend from New Haven is around. So I must immediately demoralize her.’
And boy did their scheme work. As you may imagine I am no shrinking violet. I fought and scraped and took many of the evil bastards down with me. I often wonder if they’re homeless and hungry now. And while I wish that filled me with some regret it actually makes me twirl my fake evil mustache (I bought it off Etsy).
Where am I going with all this? Oh yes, how I became a professional hooker. Picture it, North Carolina 2009. I quit my hard work, low pay director position at a branch of an internationally known non-profit. I wasn’t sure where I was going or what I was doing, but I knew I had some time to figure it out. And if all else failed, I knew I could crochet blankets for my family with which to keep warm should we have to start sleeping in our car.
I decided to throw myself wholeheartedly into making my own money. Answering to no one but me (and my mother). I looked forward to being able to drop my daughter off at school, and be creative in my pajamas. A star was born.
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