Making Big Career Choices: Stripping vs. Writing



Things have been a little dark lately.  Ugh.  Girl you better turn it down on all them emotions and stuff!!  I completely agree.  So with that in mind, I’ve started to think a little about the life I’ve created for myself.  Yes, I did just get a Master’s degree but why should that limit my career choices?  The answer is that it shouldn’t.  It’s time I start broadening my horizons and considering other directions for myself.  For example, what about becoming a stripper?  Admittedly, I don’t currently have that 36-24-36 physique I know so many of you lovely gentlemen love.  But given how few men want to date me but definitely want to fuck me, I have to think that there are a lot more horribly awesome bros who dig this fatty (see what I did there?  you’re thinking is she talking about a huge sexy booty or a huge sexy body and you’ll never know!! – unless you’re internet-adept enough to find me on facebook and see for yourself [hint: it literally couldn’t be easier]).  Regardless, I hate the idea that I would make a career decision based on dudes so the following is a quick analysis of whether stripping (vs. writing) is write (you’re welcome for this witty wordplay) for me.


1.  Fitness

Stripper:  Paid cardio!!  I work well for cash incentives.  I’ve never lost more weight than the summer I decided to make losing weight my “job”.  So imagine if I could not only make losing weight my job but literally earn extra money doing it?  I’d be a size 12 (because let’s be realistic) in no time!

Writer:  Writing is mostly just a lot of crying, pacing, and self-doubt.  If you cry hard enough, it’s a workout.  Not to mention, if you’re already dead inside, you don’t need cardio (though I think this could probably apply to both being a writer and a stripper).


2.  Dating

Dating is not going well (I’m lucky if I can find a dude whose not trying to drive me up the mountain to murder me, long enough to have a discussion worthy of making me want him in my bedroom).  So, needless to say, all my best moves are going unused and unappreciated.

Stripper:  Who better to cherish my otherwise unused hump techniques than someone willing to slide some lucky loonies in this lady’s lingerie.  ♪♫ I’m your private dancer ♪♫ well…I mean…until the next guy asks for a private dance because this is a business bro, no hard feelings (except that cock poking into my thigh)

Writer:  Have you ever heard of a happy ending?  Do you know who made the story work out that way?  That’s right, it was the writer.  As a writer I could legitimately write myself a happy ending.  And that ain’t peanuts.



(or wait, maybe I need to say more.  I have a huge student loan…was that clear enough?)

Stripper:  I have to pay my HUGE student loan (HOW BIG IS IT?!?!  IT’S SO BIG EVEN I WOULDN’T FUCK IT! – I’m sorry, I’m the worst)  and the money earned stripping would really come in handy (speaking of handy’s do strippers give those or just sex workers?)  Either way, I’m super good at handy’s, just thought I’d mention that (kind of the way someone who used to work with floppy disks would bring it up at a job interview for coding)…no one really cares about the thing that I do well, which no one really wants anymore, but I haven’t got a lot of skills and/or pride so I have to casually mention it anyway.

Writer:  Abject poverty sounds great when you have the freedom to leave the country and your credit report behind but turns out you can’t file bankruptcy on student loans.  This means I actually have to earn the money, and while some people are really great writers – writing brilliantly and publishing prolifically – I’m tolerable at best and may need to rethink my money making strategies.  Perhaps a future writing erotic novels for prisoners?  Or, maybe writing technical manuals for children (somebody has to tell those minions how to put my NIKEs together)?  Or, what about writing hack jokes on cardboard signs in metro stations (which seems a likely progression of my financial plan)?  Regardless, writing sounds like a gas.  I’m super excited.


4.  Friends

Stripper:  In the scenario I’ve dreamed up, given that I’m in the upper eschalon of stripping, it’s probably pretty glamorous.  Old men wanting me to touch but not really touch their balls.  Women in boas crying into my boobs because they’re getting married tomorrow.  It’s basically a trip to the playboy mansion (which I can only assume is super fun given the pools of vag swimming around and old dudes galore).  But here’s the thing, it might be hard to make meaningful connections with people, the more that I see what the world is really made of (hint: it’s not cake batter).

Writer:  Writers don’t have friends, we have readers (jk, we often have neither, apparently someone has caught on to the fact that we’re total assholes).  But seriously, know that if you’re friends with a writer at some point they’ll probably say things like “workshopping” and “has your work earned this cliche?” and “can you lend me money I’m starving to death”, and you’ll have to stick by them because you’re friends – that’s just a part of the burden.  Learn to bear it.  Also, make sure you own a poncho because sometimes the constant crying will seem more like a torrential downpour.


5.  Family

Stripper:  People always say things like how disappointed their parents would be if they took their clothes off for money, and how sad and shame-filled it would be to make money off of your body.  But you know who does that?:  athletes, models, manual laborers, and I’m sure some other people too.  Sure, they mostly (see: models) do it with their clothes on but aren’t clothes really just the religious patriarchy trying to control women (as they have for centuries)?  You’re goddamn right it is.  That being said, you want to know what’s really shameful? (hint:  I’m going to bring up my student loan debt again).  Nothing says, “Vicki you’re a huge fucking disappointment” quite like imagining the only world in which you ever pay off your debt is the one in which your parents die and your inheritance goes straight to the government.  Oh thank god, finally a reprieve I can look forward to!

Writer:  Have you ever had a family member who was a writer?  If you can’t remember right away, ask yourself if you know anyone who has lived with their parents longer than normal?  Have they at any point in their life published a ‘zine?  Gross.  They’re a writer.  Back away before they can smell your high paying job.  The only loophole to this is the possibility that they are one of the few writers that can actually make a living doing this thing with the words and the page and the whatnot.  And then, honestly, still you should back away.  Best case scenario they end up super rich and invite you over for parties and have all the family gatherings at their Cali mansion, catered by some gourmet vegan celebrity chef.  But even then you should know that everything you say and do will always be up for grabs.  They will scrutinize, and judge, write down your conversations and then make them better (or worse, depending on whether or not they like you).  Every mistake you make could be fodder for their next big work.  But hey, have you tried the vegan cheesecake? maybe a little critique ain’t so bad.


6. Donuts

Donuts are an important part of everyone’s life.  No distinction should be made between strippers and writers when it comes to donuts.  Donuts are the great equalizer.  Never say no to donuts, I know I certainly don’ut.

10 Easy Ways to Get Over a Breakup

How to get over a breakup


Break-up got you down?

3 dates and he ditched?

Ego bruised and beaten?

Pride battered and fried?

Mmmm fried.


Here’s a couple easy ideas for when your love troubles have you putting on your ice-cream-eating-pants.


1.  Donate blood.  What?!?!  Who just became a super philanthropic amazing person that the whole world should worship for her selfless deeds???  You did!  Okay okay so you took 6 cookies and shoved them in your purse before asking for a second juice box but times are tough and since you no longer have a man to buy you dinners you’re going to have to get creative with your funds.  Nobody can blame you for being thrifty.


2.  Find a good cause to support.  And yes, getting a super high calorie coffee beverage and sitting outside your local firehouse to smile at the pretty fireman (and thus brightening their day) is totally supporting them.  It would obviously be best if you could raise some funds for burn victims or something but either way…we know you’re doing your best.  You’re practically Erin Brockovich!


3.  Go for a run.  And yes running from the cops definitely counts.  We get it.  You’re broke.  You’ve got nothing to lose.  And you were just joking when you told that bank teller to (and I quote) “Give me all your money lady!!!” (and pointed your fake gun at her)…how were you supposed to know she wouldn’t get your sarcasm.  It’s not your fault she handed over that big stack of 50s!  So go ahead and get your jog on…all that exercise will release some endorphins.  So will using that money to buy heroin but I would suggest using it for a gym membership instead.  Just a thought.  Run Forest Run!


4.  Make a voodoo doll.  Don’t freak out, it won’t actually work but handicrafts are a good use of your post-heartbreak time.  They build hand-eye coordination, give you something to focus on, and most importantly allow you to pretend you’re not all alone (what’s that debbie daisy doll?  no I don’t mean you…you are excellent company for me on a Saturday night…I love spending time with you…I just meant for this poor loser…she’ll need a doll…you and me are friends…you’re totally real)


5.  Bake a cake.  Obviously I mean BUY a cake.  Eat it.  Isn’t that delicious.  Mmmmm…now go throw it up because you won’t be able to do number 6 if you keep eating all these cakes, fatty.  Hahaha just kidding!! You’re beautiful just the way you are and you know who is going to appreciate that???  All the hot guys who want to sleep (I mean value) you. 


6.  Sleep with a hot guy.  Take pictures.  (As souvenirs, not to send to your ex, that would be pathetic and creepy).  If you can’t get a hot guy, sleep with a funny guy.  If you can’t get that, sleep with a moderately good looking guy with average intelligence.  Still can’t get one of those???  Okay well just try to fill one of the 4 major requirements.  Hot.  Funny.  Smart.  Rich.  Anything else and you’re just settling.  But that’s okay too.  Hurray for settling.  Is there any cake left???


7.  Find a wingchick.  They can be hotter or funnier than you but not both.  And make sure they can say….”haaaaavvvvvvveeeee you met *insert your name*?” convincingly and with pizzazz.  If they need training, make them watch videos of How I Met Your Mother over and over again with you until they get it.  Make her aware that she’s Barney and YOU’RE TED.  She can get laid on her own time!  If she’s funnier than you, drink only diet sodas and eat fruit.  If she’s hotter than you go ahead and eat chocolate.  It’ll level the playing field.  


8.  Join an online dating site.  Puh-leeeze!  As if you’re not already on one!  Everybody is on one these days.  And that’s as it fucking should be. Now start searching more specifically for your next date.  In the career field type in “counsellor” or “psychologist” or if you really want to shoot for the moon “psychiatrist” (they can prescribe the good drugs).  Either way you’ll now be able to both date and save money on therapy.  Additionally, if you ever pay for any of the dates you can put the expense under “health care” on your taxes.  That’s totally legit.  I swear.


9.  Cease all contact.  No stalking on facebook.  Don’t look at his Twitterfeed.  No googling.  No username searching.  Just.  Let.  Him.  Fade.  From.  Memory.  Sure the first day or two will be hard but before you know it you’ll be back to cruising the guy who sells hot dogs on the corner and asking for yours “extra plump” and Mr.what’s-his-face won’t even be a second thought…not even when you see those tiny little cocktail weenies being served at an office party.


10.  Read every single Something She Dated post all the way from the beginning.  I’m telling you…nothing says ‘your troubles ain’t so bad’ like reading about the time I dated a garbage man and he tried to talk about meat while we were making out.  Or that time I made out with a Trucker.  Who then had sore balls.  And then…well…I won’t spoil it for you.  But trust me.  I take the cake.  No seriously.  Gimme the fucking cake *points fake bank robbing gun at you* GIVE IT HERE BITCH!!!!

5 Things You Should Definitely Not Bother Doing

1.  Eat your weight in ice cream.  Look, I know right?!?!  Sounds fantastic eh?  But I bet there’s a few things you haven’t really thought through.  You’ll get fat.  But it’s so much more than that.  By deciding to do this you’ll be entering into some kind of never ending “eating your weight” snowballing-time-space-continuum where as your weight is ever increasing from eating the ice cream, you’ll subsequently have to consume more and more ice cream in order to make it match your weight, which is continuously increasing.  You see?  Do you see?  It’s madness I tell you, madness.  Sugary delicious cold smooth and creamy heaven like madness, but madness nonetheless.  It’s essentially suicide.  So, you are welcome.  I basically just saved your life.  No worries though, you can pay me back by taking me out for ice cream.


2.  Start a rock band.  Let’s face it.  This is just stupid.  You can’t play any instruments, you can’t sing…and to be completely honest you don’t have any friends.  Better just stick to singing along to rockband by yourself…what’s that song that you love again…I’m a creeeeeep.


3.  Learn to shoot a bow and arrow.  I don’t know.  Maybe it was that Lord of the Rings marathon you had over Christmas holidays that Legolas sure is fox in tights if ever there was one.  Or maybe it was that one bizarre night when you got super drunk and dialed your crazy ex…went over to his house…had sad pathetic mistake sex and he has since promised to keep his distance only watching you from afar though he defines afar as through your bedroom window and on surveillance cameras that he installed when you went out shopping a few days ago.  Whatever it was, you got it into your head that becoming an Archer was one of your ‘must do’ activities of 2013.  Not to worry though, I’m here to stop this nonsense and save you from yourself.  Before you know it you’ll have spent $300 on a specialty bow and arrow set that will only get used once because when you wake up the next day to take stock of the injuries inflicted you shot your neighbor in the arm while he was out mowing his lawn, forearm bow-string burn, numerous paper cuts from taking down and putting up your target, you basically almost died! you’ll never touch it again.  Plus, paper cuts really hurt, yo.  Use your head.


4.  Stop stalking your crush.  Now I know what you’re thinking (huh?).  You’re confused (what?).  You’re unsure (uhhh?).  Am I really advising you to continue stalking your crush??  I sure as fuck am!!  I mean, you’re almost there.  I can practically feel her caving from here.  I’m telling you, it’s working.  If it’s not the excessive telephone calling followed by hangups or the endless texting of What Dooin? that wins her heart, it’ll be the way you regularly drive by her house or respond to everything she ever tweets on twitter (and I mean everything…even the jokes that require no reply).  I’m getting all ooey-gooey just thinking about the romance of it all.  Swoon.  I’ll be eagerly waiting for my invitation to the wedding.  I’ll want to have the chicken not the fish, just sayin’.


5.  Find a career that makes you happy.  I mean, sure, in theory this is a great idea.  But can we be realistic for a minute here? What with having to update your skills on your resume and having to take an hour to brainstorm all the possible career paths that might be compatible with your specific skill set like extensive knowledge of She-Ra comics, the ability to eat an entire pot roast in one sitting and an affinity for not wanting to touch coins because they’re just dirty and cold, I mean honestly, you really just don’t have that kind of time.  Plus, if you were to get a job where you were happy, it might lead to having the energy to finally use that gym membership (that you pay heavily for every month), you wouldn’t need to drink constantly and thus you’d probably bankrupt the liquor industry and those people have families too ya know.  I mean Think of the children!!!  Plus what about all the ex-girlfriends/boyfriends that will feel unloved if you were to stop getting almost blackout drunk on weeknights and drexting them gems like whaaaaat r u oing now? and I loooooooooooooooooooooove you and fuck you i dun lov you anyway and my favorite of them all alkdjf duqlen oin;as; me.  So, be responsible, be a good person, and be miserable for the sake of this world.


‘Twas The Night Before Christmas: A “Something” She Dated Christmas Carol


‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through house
Not a “something” was likely, def not a spouse
The sexting had happened because of the wall
In the hopes that a “something” would show me a ball
SSDated was nestled all snug in her bed
While visions of throwdown danced in her head
The Nick Name had been, so busy and sick
ThePhD though smart, seemed a bit of a dick
When over the phone arose such good chatter
The Nick Name, his cancelling appeared not to matter
Away to the window I flew like a flash
Closing the shutters and tying the sash
When what to my wondering ears should appear
But a boy indicating things should be clear
I should not worry, grown ups after all
If I wanted to talk, all I had to do was call
He thought I was awesome, so lively and quick
I knew in a moment he must be St. Nick(Name)
More rapid than eagles the talking it came
And he whistled, and panted, and called me by name
“Now, Sexy!, now Baby! just like that and more!
On, hottie! on awesome! my dirty little whore! 
Because of the window!  Because of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all” (hopes of dating me)
So onto the blog, my stories they grew
With an Xmas full of boys, and St. Nick(Name) too
And then, in a twinkling, I heard in his voice
What I thought was excitement but perhaps another choice?
As I hung up the phone and was turning around
Down the chimney, a new “something” came with a bound
He was dressed in nice clothes so far I could tell
And like an advert for axe, so good did he smell
A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back (so I didn’t judge)
That he looked like a peddler just opening his pack
His smile– how it beamed!  his humor how funny!
His muscles were bulging, his demeanor how sunny!
His stance it was good, so confident and sure
And no beard on his face, his skin baby pure
He wasn’t a smoker, you could tell by his teeth
Exactly the man, I’d want to be underneath
He had a broad face and not a hint of a belly
Which made mine more special, shaking like jelly
I was chubby and plump, he had ears like an elf
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head
Had me ready and willing to jump into bed
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work
Took care of his baby; then turned with a jerk
And laying his finger aside of his nose
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose
He sprang to his truck and revved it up loud
Driving away like a kid with an A+, so proud
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight
“Damn that chick’s hot, and man-alive is she bright.”