Preemptive Confession Time, I suppose. Thanks to Prisco’s review, I recently finished off Diablo Cody’s Candy Girl. For those of you not following the Cannonball Run, it’s basically a memoir of Cody’s years spent stripping. Not only is it hysterically funny, but it got me thinking. Considering that I’ve been working at my dead-end job to the tune of three years now, I’m starting to think that it may be time for a career.
If you asked me a few years ago if I would ever consider the whole stripping thing, I probably would have eye-balled you as if you were wearing a tinfoil hat. But now? Well...I’m a little more open to the idea. Considering all the well-adjusted sex-making people I’ve met this past year, I’m beginning to think that maybe it wouldn’t be the worst job in the world.
In order to better analyze the situation, I went through all the pros and cons that comes with stripping. Yes, I really am so over-analytical and neurotic that I will apply a scientific method to a possible career as a go-go boy. Shazbot.
Alright, on the Pro side of things, it would for shizz be a financial step up from my current paycheck, which couldn’t sink any lower if they handed me an IOU instead. Not to mention the fact that I’d be getting paid to take off my clothes, something I usually do for free. After all, why give away the milk for free when you can sell the cow? There’s also the matter of having co-workers that aren’t either old or brain dead, as well as the pretty bitchin’ benefit of possibly being able to drink on the job.
On the Con side, there’s the matter of hiding my new career from pretty much my entire family, which, I imagine, would probably be a bitch to pull off. It also doesn’t help that I’m not exactly sex on a bun. My Canadian-with-Irish-genes skin is so pale it borders on translucent, and I have all the grace, poise and rhythm of a shit-faced giraffe on stilts, so as you can imagine, I’m a pretty shit dancer. Plus, I’d probably have to do it to some bullshit house-electro-song-thing that sounds like a toaster having angry sex with a blender.
I’m not really sure whether the fact that I would be working alongside some pretty smoking guys counts as a pro or a con. I mean, on the pro side, there’s the fact that I get to work with eye candy, but on the con side, I disappear when I turn sideways, so putting me up next to them would be like putting a deli slice of roast beef up against a steak. So it’s a toss-up.
So the score so far:
• Mad bankage on my part
• A whole lotta fun
• I get paid to be naked
• I get to work with hot guys
• No crappy co-workers
• On the job boozin’! (Possibly)
• Explaining it to the family
• I’m pale and skinny; I am the anti-sexy
• I can’t dance either. Bummer.
• Toasters having sex with blenders
Next step I usually take is to try and figure out a way to remedy the cons. In this case:
• They’ll get over it
• That’s why Godtopus invented tanning salons and steroids
• Nope, I won’t ever be able to dance. But somehow, I doubt a bunch of horned up drunks will mind.
• If I go down on the DJ, I can probably convince him to play some Metric.
So then it’s more or less decided. I’ll give myself until March Break to bulk up and tan myself until I look like an overdone ham, then...Ummmm...beats the fuck outta me, really. I guess I can crash at my cousin’s place for a while whilst I figure out what sort of bullshit I can feed to my parents for now. Oh well, I missed out on my opportunity to be bad in high school. I have a lot of catching up to do. Although if anybody has some tips on how to not be a shitty dancer, that would be just fucking peachey.