Archive for the 'stripper' Category


What Goes Around Comes Around

In the last month or more since I wrote my last blog, I am finally blessed with a come up of my previous luck of the summer.  I don’t love the work like I used to as times are a changing, but at least I am not hating every single thing that I have to do for it and there are steadier calls and some better clientele who aren’t trying to fuck me over at every turn.  I know when it is down down down that the pendulum swings and it will soon come back up, but it had been a long summer of bad, economic recession and vultures flying low and clicking their teeth in anticipation of me slipping. I am still working on transition, but I am not naive to think that this is going to be a quick process.  I have made steps toward re-integrating myself into the working world, paid for my own criminal background check so that I could make sure that my misdemeanor charge was showing as dismissed as I had fought for.  The funny thing about expunging your record is that even though you may have gotten any of your previous charges dismissed, the person reading your background check still gets to read what the original charges were alongside the original sentences which are usually set extreme to scare you out of thinking you have any chance of getting off easy.  My original charges read  “7 days of jail, 18 months of probation, HIV test report and stay off Craigslist erotic services section.”  WOW.  Try applying for a teaching job with that even though the final lines say clearly “probation terminated on good behavior and case dismissed.”  Starting this process indeed made me teary eyed, but I feel similar to the process of representing myself pro per (as my own lawyer) in court and fighting for the dismissal would be an interesting exercise in seeing exactly how hard re-integration can be for someone like me who is supposed to have a wealth of so called choices.

I hate the word CHOICE.  Hate it. Fuck choices when it comes to work.  Choice is a continuum.  And for me, so is sexual assault.  I have been violated so many times I stopped counting because it would just be disturbing.  I have been violated so many times that I have accepted that I am a permanent warrior enlisted in the gender violence war.  And that is not my choice. But ‘Choice’ is the dominant paradigm that sits in opposition to FORCE.  forced sex work.  forced prostitution.  sex trafficking.  slavery.  Choice is also a word thrown around in the PRO-CHOICE movement.  This same pro-choice camp also so often fails to notice the lack of choices available to poor, marginalized women of color in regards to reproductive options and sex work is a part of that.   They are all for women being pro-choice with their bodies except when it comes to “choosing” to do sex work.  We sex worker rights folks are aware of the FALSE DICHOTOMY between force and choice.  But still sex workers talk about choosing sex work because it sounds good.  Connecting sexual abuse, drug use/addiction and sexual assault to prostitution sounds awful, pathological, typical.  How can we make these connections without these attributes?  Those sex workers may believe that they have the choice to do sex work just as simply as they choose to eat candy in the morning (or not) or fast food at night (or not).  Perhaps I feel like it is not a choice because so many times I have had to go to WORK and suck up my feelings time and time again and it was far from what I would have chosen to do with my time.  The nature of the SERVICE INDUSTRY particularly ones with BOSSES or SUPERIORS is that when you don’t want to do it, it will always feel like slavery.  This is true of housekeeping, childcare, farmwork, garment work, office work or anything that has a naturally submissive aspect to it in order to earn gratuity above minimum wage.  For me, it started when I was a stripper hating the repetetive monotony of my job.  I had just gone through my first major breakup of my 20s with a guy I was in love with and going to work to be chipper and sexually entertaining to the world and other men was the most difficult thing ever.  It was at this point when I started to medicate with marijuana on a daily basis in order to create a positive facade over the hatred I had for the job.  In the beginning of the healing I would dance on stage and go in the private rooms to cry.  13 years later I still medicate depression and anxiety with marijuana on the daily but now I don’t feel so bad about it.  Using weed is not just a result of being a sex worker, nor is my depression or anxiety but I definitely can be fond of eating a half of a pot cookie, smoking a bong (in the past, I vaporize now) or heating up a vaporizer to deal with anything in my life that I have to go out and do that takes strength.  This included going to grad school, student teaching and regular teaching.  Marijuana allows me to reach a level of seratonin balance that life doesn’t.  I have a deep and intimate relationship with MaryJane.  She is my mothers nipple to nurture my cries in an empty apartment at times when I am bawling hopelessly on the floor.  She is also just a way for me to push out the negative voices and replace them with positive affirmations about the big picture: the beautiful sunny Los Angeles day, the awesome music, the delicious food, the fact that I have many talents, that I am an intelligent analytical being, a writer, a singer, a funny joking child like spirit that deserves to live life to the fullest.  Maybe I choose weed over heroin, alcohol or speed or other substances that close down emotions and thought or maybe I am just choosing to live.  Is that a choice?  I don’t even know anymore.  I think so.  I mean, I know I have potential that is greater than being a junkie or commiting suicide or even relegating myself to a full time “normal” job.   The word has been used in so many negative connotations (mostly in my choosing to do sex work) that I don’t even use it anymore except as a necessary part of sentences.  Let’s just say I don’t use it fervently.  I don’t believe that work is a choice in America or anywhere in the world.

Mostly because I truly believe that I have been attracted to sex work and have stayed in sex work for as long as I have to unravel and discover my power struggle with sexism, rape culture and patriarchy that was NEVER my CHOICE.

My first sexual assault was a date rape on the beach at 17.  A naive teenager is getting drunk at a youth hostel with backpackers in the their 20s.  One of them asks me to go to the liquor store to get more drinks for the rest but instead I found myself laying in the dark at a secluded beach in Honolulu, Hawaii the sight of my first taste of what it meant to not understand the intentions of men.  As Tribe Called Quest would sing,”Classic example of..a date rape.” It wasn’t physically violent so [all my]  perpetrator[s] probably thought it was consensual.  I don’t remember who he was, only that he was some white surfer dude and that I knew exactly at the moment of penetration that this was not my choice.  There were many more after that.  The worst was from the first boy I ever fell in love with at 16, my best friends brother.  This assault would tear my best friend and I apart for many years and create a rift in our relationship that was only fully healed when at his funeral when he died (heart disease at only 26)  I had to face his brother again for the first time since the assault and be cordial. It worked out. We hugged and I was able to forgive him. David helped me from heaven or wherever he was. Then, another backpacking incident in Northern Australia, a vulture asks me to come to his room to get a massage and naive 21 year old adventurous me thinks that he has innocent and therapeutic intentions. NOT.  Because of that incident is the reason I attribute to why I feel I get so much out of the sensual massages that I give men.  Sensual and consensual they come so easily in my hands.  It is more than them ejaculating.  It is like the power blood gives vampires.  A refill of my power supply that had been depleted by trauma.  A refill of my power supply that had been depleted from the sexism of that day walking down the street before I came into my power or dealing with the privilege of men of that given time in my school, in my dating life, etc etc.  Melissa Farley and her clan love to hear stories like this.  It makes them hard, gets them funded, makes them look smart, makes them feel that I fit the stereotype.  The big difference is that I am empowered in the end.  More so than not.  Otherwise I would not be in it for as long as I have.

“Everytime a client comes an angel [hooker] gets her wings…”

Some sex workers are in denial of this connection.  I’m not.  I see it everywhere I turn.  I saw it especially when I was working with street workers in Skid Row.  So many of those girls find street work and prostitution satisfying because it is a gritty hustle.  Because their Uncle used to take for free continuously now they can not only not be around that abuse but get paid for the same desires that their pervy Uncle once had. And yes, it IS more empowering than being returned home or going back to a foster home at times.  I get it.  Do you?  I like craigslist/LA Weekly/Backpage clients for the same reason.  I attain high class clients occasionally through these outlets, but mostly I deal with working class, younger, drug using guys that I can yell at (if they act up) and never see again.  And they call me for the same reason and I DARE them to try to disrespect me.   Workers can be mean and strict with their tricks and get paid for it.  We prey on their shame of what they are doing.  We get paid for their racism.  PAYBACK in the short term, but in the long term perhaps more damaging.

NOT ALL MY CLIENTS ARE DICKHEADS THAT WANT TO RAPE ME.  Lots of them, most of them are great and fine, average guys that I heal myself and them simultaneously by surviving our transaction with ease and bliss.

In my acknowledgement that I am in the tail end of my sex work career, I acknowledge that I have attained enough of the positive and the negative to move on.  I have pissed in the mouths of men and slapped them around with their own dicks (practically).  I have watched them destroy themselves with drugs throw their money at me in effort to seem manly and as a result their manliness has disintegrated before me.  They’re not nearly as strong as I thought they were before I first started dancing at 22.  From my first day at the stripclub, I wore my 4″ stilettos and was suddenly able to look them in their eyes and see them for what they really were: vulnerable.  lonely.  compassionate.

It was the prostitution world that really helped me see this, as well as being a dominant.  I didn’t finish the journey in the stripclub, as all the stripclubs in America are ruled by pimps that exploit their workers at least to some degree and in the worst case scenarios they mirror the sexism that the mafia has with their harem of girls that one has become familiar seeing in movies.  (“Tell her to go upstairs and see the boss if she doesn’t have her stage fee..”) I have defiantly held my ground in verbal altercations and watched them back down.  Sometimes I have lost and a screaming cussing dude has chased me into my car after I have refunded him his money back.  So,  I have also lost and retraumatized myself in this effort.  Prostitution was the only thing that could have done this.  Stripclub stripping is legal, somewhat safer.  I could have not gotten arrested in a Craigslist sting, nor robbed or ripped off in ways that I had as an escort by staying the stripclub.  It was all a part of my beautiful struggle, my journey that I am still on.

Today is the first week of my 2011 marijuana cleanse.  I try to do it once a year.  Last year it was because my asthma had gotten so bad that I could barely breath without coughing like an old man every morning.  I abandoned my bong for 50 days and then broke down and went back to it without condemning myself.  I have since switched from smoking to vaporizing and have eliminated smoking anything from my life.  This also eliminates most of the social rituals of being a stoner because most people don’t vaporize.  I can’t believe it’s been a year already.  I used to love my bongs so much, now the taste of smoke sickens me.  I caught a cold Occupying LA and going to rallies in front of city hall.  It was the first major rainstorm of LA’s autumn/winter cold.  This rally was also the first activist event that I had really believed could make a difference somehow.  I hadn’t been to a march or rally in over a year, maybe two.  I thought often about supporting Oscar Grant’s case, but I just knew what the outcome would be whether I took the time to wake up in the morning to support his cause or not.  I was right.

Whenever I am sick, I don’t feel like using marijuana because clouding my head with what would normally be euphoria just ends up feeling like I’m just clouding my brain with smog.  So sickness often is a blessing in disguise for me to take a break from a medicine that I am usually mentally dependent on.  I have since kicked my dependence on asthma steroids.  I weaned myself off of them slowly using a herb called Lobelia which I would drop into water and drink to help relieve some of the symptoms.  It was working.  This was a relief to me as the ashtma medication that seemed to work on me the best cost $200 for a months supply.  I knew that this was just a sham from big pharma.  The doctors prescription said I NEEDED it twice a day everyday when because of finanncial constraints I started to use it once a day and then once every 3 days and then..only as really needed. (in addition to Lobelia tinctures).  I was proud of kicking this dependence.  Medical expenses are no fun.  I still owe my asthma doctor $350.  A visit to that clinic was the same cost to me as I charged my clients ($300/hr) yet, it never seemed to even out, it was never easy to pay the bills and buy the needed medicine and I still have a tab with them.  Today I am proud of the fact that I have found St.Johns Wort to help with my depression, Passion Flower extract to deal with my anxiety and I have only used marijuana ONCE in 7 days.  The cold allowed me to not crave and the herbs help to alleviate the symptoms that I often use marijuana for.  I use marijuana as a pain reliever for chemical imbalances AND emotional pain.  When I face difficult situations with people I am often running to my weed supply, driving straight to a dispensary to feel better and be cradled by my familiar nurturer who sings an internal lullaby and tells me softly “Do not worry about what they are saying.  Do not worry about what they do.  This, too shall pass.”  It is like an herbal teddy bear, I cuddle it and it helps me sleep better at night.  Judge me if you will but you aren’t the one who is holding me or offering to come over when I am depressed, you are the one who doesn’t want to hear my bullshit, who can’t hear my bullshit because it inconveniences you, because it triggers you.  So keep on talking your shit, and I will keep using my weed.  I want to have a baby in the next five years and join the ranks of all the wonderful sex working mamas that I know who have succeeded in defying society’s stigma.  This year’s cleanse is not for the asthma, its for the future baby.  Twice already this week tough times have come and gone, I have cried in depression without crawling to my usual supply of painkiller and survived.  I am super proud of myself for this.  Every little obstacle that I overcome I give myself a gold star because you won’t.  and it’s quite alright.


Before you get vomited out, you must first pass through the belly of the beast

it’s official.  i hate sex work right now.  and i think i have for quite a while now.

but i am not trying to “get a job” either.  I am working hard on my art, submitting proposals, actively seeking new opportunities on a full time basis, doing the work to become the artist I want to be, as Gandi would say.  I wish that I wasn’t such an idealist, i am so suprised it hasn’t been burnt out of me.  I remember this feeling of nausea, of hatred of each day…of the impatience at the same shit on a different day.

2 bum calls and one Black guy who had such scary energy I was super glad I got out of there when I did and not a second sooner.  He was the kind of man who looked like he wanted to kill me but couldn’t find a reason to.  I shined all my golden light into him but he never received me.  He was evasive and didn’t want to answer my questions and he had the death look in his eyes.  This death look is what you see when you think someone could kill you.  You may have seen this gaze in a lover or a partner’s eyes before.  I’ve seen it before.  Nothing that I could say, me the master of de-escalating myself out of violence over and over again, was going to make this guy WARM UP to me.  And that was what made me nervous.  I did not want to have sex with him.  I upsold the sex so he wouldn’t do it.  The truth was I was sick to my stomach of Asiaphile Black dudes with their Asian fetishes and varying annoying personalities.  I did a hand job/body rub with one and then actually turned down his money because I just would not allow myself to sit through a situation where I would feel molested for money again.  At least not in such a short period.  Is it their racist imperialism?  Or is that I can’t stomach faking it more than once.  I’ve concluded that that was part of it.  I actually kind of HATE regulars.  And the guys that I am actually attracted to, I just end up trying to date or discount and so it doesn’t really last long either way.  But fucking the same dude that I didn’t like the first time gets super hard for me pretty quickly.  I remember doing mushrooms with one of my sugar daddies who insisted saying “I love you” to me all the time and I literally started vomiting.  It was a great way to get out of having to be close to him or have sex with him.  I chose to hang out with my best friends instead of make $1500 a day.  They thought I was crazy.  They were worth more to me though.  I know more than ever since doing so much sex work what in this life is PRICELESS and what is not.  I knew i couldn’t stomach him anymore is why.  Throwing up was the last resource I had.  I used that money well.  But it’s gone now.  I launched my solo theatre show with it and funded a cabaret.

This Black guy wanted me to be his personal travel assistant, around the world rubbing his shoulders, Thailand, Japan.  Bleah.  That would be my equivalent to sex slavery.  I can barely work a regular job with a boss., let alone be a sugar baby for longer than a week.  My true colors shine through and I throw off their patriarchal (they usually can’t help it, they’re in their 50s) shackles and usually walk out with my last donation liberated and relieved.

I drove to this tweaker’s house 30 minutes away and the way he talked to me was so cold.  He did not care that he had wasted my time.  He didn’t have weed, or a beer to offer me, nor gas money for my time.  He wasn’t going to give me shit.  just a bongful of shit.  Bleah.  No thank you.  I just gave that up for the last time, nasty horrible fucking shit.  I won’t even try it for kicks like I used to.  Sometimes I would do it just to see if it would do anything for me.  I would take it in a few hits and marvel about how I felt nothing, compared to a few hits of smoking a bong of weed.  I was boggled by how much power it had over so many people!  I use it as a tool of hopeless self injury when I have done it, not in the ways of how many tweakers use it.   I tried to understand the mind of a tweaker but I could never do it.  I am too strong and healthy.   Never again.  The vultures they call you to partake, they have no intention in paying you.  Just getting you high and fucking you to death.  I’m so sick of all the toxic drug addicts.  I am no longer content to just take their money and exploit their addictions, because this becomes my addiction too.  It’s a form of codependency that I have…and I am trying to kick it…Because the nature of SEX WORK includes dependence on money, it a really hard addiction to kick, especially in my personal economy when love and money are in constant need.

When you are doing sex work with a partner that you despise and you hate every second that they are intimate with you, it feels like you are being molested.  (I have only been date raped so I can only imagine this is what it feels like).  Me, the survivor is always trying to push myself to the limit, to the edge….I have pushed myself for nearly 5 years now and now I would like to be done.  I have danced with the devil and burned in the belly of the beast, fought off its invitations, corruptions, and henchmen.  I have seen my potential and realized some of my dreams with this work.  I have fought hard to create normalcy and justice for myself, for other sex workers who hated me, for those that never knew.  I’m done.  But i’m just done in my head, because as you know this transition can take months or years.  I did almost transition in 2009 when I was on probation, I quit one of my agencies and had a hard time of going indy and faced the famine which led to the nearest I have ever come to suicide in my life.  I have NOT truly considered it since but i often use it as a reference point so it concerns people sometimes. I was on probation, had just lost my teaching rights and just ended a horrible relationship and quit swop-la the first time.

My facebook friend Wendy Babcock recently died.  They said she committed suicide but I don’t believe it.  She was alive and well when I was “talking” to her through her facebook posts. She was actively writing, being interviewed, doing activism and reaching out to me.  Not the kind of person who is hopeless, depressed or suicidal.  Perhaps we don’t really know what suicidal really looks like then.  It scares me.  She was born on May 29.  We have the same birthday.  When she died, a part of me died too.  She was a valiant sex worker activist in Toronto, Canada.  She and I had just connected on how negative I felt about sex work and she was a thread of hope and support for me in this time when I do need it and continue to need it.

I am trying to date men and women on various internet dating sites with very little luck.  I am experimenting with telling them I am a sex worker on the second date.  I don’t blast it in my profile.  I used to just say, fuck you, i am a sex worker, love me or leave me!!! but the kind of men I attracted were just losers and abusers so I thought I’d try a different approach…

last nite someone stood me up and I knew it was NOT about me but it just bummed me out hard because I have been working so hard on creating these loopholes, revising my profile, trying to ease someone into the idea of dating a sex worker, testing the boundaries by talking about porn, hiding the true details, accentuating the minor into major to cover up the sex work…

there are still good days and good clients.   great clients and good times to ease the pain.  thank the universe for that.   Unlike my stripper days, I am older and wiser and I know how to take good care of myself better…but it is still hard.  I am single and dealing with this on my own.  It is sort of unfair to bring a new romantic date into my chaotic mix because I am really negative and emotional…it’s hard not to just unload on someone that I want to just hold me…

I think my reverse escorting days are done too.  I tried to make it work time and time again, but in the end, it never did.  It was just a long, drawn out, unpaid or low paid session.  I was never their girl.  Never qualified and they let me know it.  In Gun Hill Road, the trans woman character (who is not a sex worker) has a lover that just fucks her but won’t take her out to restaurants or movies.  Sadly, I could identify with my last lover that I would find myself gushing wetness under every month.  twice a month at most. I knew it was abusive.  But more self abusive though.  I was complacent in going over there and indulging in what he was offering.  I do not blame myself at all because I WAS better off than alone.

I still stay in their arms if they’re decent and willing and we are exchanging good energy.  I ended my 9 month unhealthy affair with the above mentioned former client turned lover who was really just a PnP addiction.  It was just a little bit of money, lots or orgasms, affection, and a little bit of drugs.  I trained him to go from 0 to hero in 3 sessions.  I used to hate having him go down on me and soon i begged for it.  9 orgasms was the most I’d had in perhaps ten years!  Do you blame me?  In my 30s, the combo of sex love magic stays in my body and warms my spirit for a good 24 hours afterwards.  I don’t remember being that conscious of it in my 20s of even having the kind of relationship I have to body and energy as aI do at 35.

Gay boys and hookers PnP for the same reason.  Toxic people, mutual loneliness, trying to live up to beauty and sex machine standards, remnants of past trauma and the emotional deficit collide.  he didn’t call me for the last time and I wanted to injest him for the last time until he cut through my veins and caused every muscle in my body to hurt and tense up in soreness for over a week.  And then I blocked him from being able to call me (My wireless carrier allows you to do that now! I wished they had this service when the crazy white trash girlfriend was texting me cussng insults once she found out i was fucking her man).

I did a cathartic sort of Amy Winehouse-esque memorial ritual the weekend she was found dead and I learned that I was stronger than letting your addictions kill you.  stronger than drug addiction.  stronger than sex work.  stronger than rape. robbery. arrest.  racism. conspiracy theories.  mental illness.  rape culture.  pimps.  I’ve learned my lessons and it is time to move to a different chapter.


People’s Choice Award and The Power of Self Competition

I recently entered my self identity art pieces from my visual art collection from 2000 to present in a NYC based juried art competition that cost about $70 to enter.  Times were still hard back then but now they are even tougher.  If you win this contest, they say, they will pay for “one year of your life.” (this includes my weed, right?)  How that gets interpreted is kind of a laughable prospect but I like the way it sounds, especially recently.

What would one year of my life look like at its very basic?  It would look very similar to how it looks now, EXCEPT I would probably not being doing sex work to pay for everything in my life, including my art projects, musicians and solo show director.  I’d throw out a few select ads and price my rate extremely high like many of the other girls in the VIP section of  (they rate themselves at $6-800/hr! Do they get any clients I wonder?)  I would do sex work because I enjoyed it, because I wanted to, not because it paid my rent or put food on the table. My art and music would do that. I would be paid for my artistic talents adequately to support myself.

I MUST say however, that I have had some amazing sex this month!! whew. I fell infatuated with one of my new clients, and converted another into a lover who offered me solace in recovery from PTSD moments after the martial arts incident…Reverse escorting has proved to be easier and better than adultfriendfinder. Most of the aff guys I met and/or fucked were sooooo lame. broke, boring, too religious, too cocky, ugly, LAME.

One of my new hot clients called me at 3am on a rainy Saturday and turned out to be an account manager for Adam Sandler’s film studio and was actually able to say that he played basketball with him in between shoots and would get yelled at by Happy Gillmore himself on a regular basis! sigh, my dream job with my ex-future husband from high school…I LOOOOVED ME SOME ADAM SANDLER for a good decade or more. I dreamt of a man that would be as dorky, charming and retarded as me! We had fucking amazing gushing multi-orgasmic sex on his amazing expensive mattress. I reverse escorted him almost instantly and made a home in his cuddle, sleeping over without asking after our second round. He had a nice home, nice car of course. A single man who loved yoga but didn’t look like a vegan hippie. I wished for a day or two that I could really date a guy like him, that he would even want to date a girl like me in his “real life”. Cinderella from South Central LA. It’s weird moments like these that I am ashamed of my class and what I do. What happened when he and I graduated from our prestigious colleges that deemed that he would have money and success and I would have strive and struggle? Would I give up my life of adventure for a real job of creative management status like he had, a job that all your relatives, even your distant ones would be bragging that you did…

If I didn’t have to do sex work, I would be able to have the privilege of turning off my phone to cuddle and have sex and play WWF wrestling imitations on my bed without feeling guilty!  I would be able to take showers and baths with my lovers WITHOUT my two phones next to us….THIS IS ONE OF THE REASONS WHY I AM STILL ESCORTING AND STRUGGLING, pushing and hoping that a big break, a small break, even a medium break of any kind will come my way and I will be able to float for a little longer.  Anti-prostitution feminists are always asking us,”if you could do anything else right now, what would it be?” or “If you didn’t have to do sex work, what would you be doing?”  I think of those questions as inane as “What would world peace look like?” or “What would it look like to not use cannabis everyday?”  IMPOSSIBLE!  Sex work is what I do to make money because i choose to be an artist.  I do not choose to be an unpaid or barely compensated artist and musician.  That is not my choice.  The universe has really crafted this path for me, and it is a path in which the main way for me to pay for my existence is by being an urban geisha and personal companion for those men that are as emotionally starved and lonely as me!  But real jobs are lonely, being in your cubicle alone, overhearing the watercooler conversations, office politics are all lonely.  the grass is always greener. When I am in production for a big show, like the premiere of my solo show Modern Day ASian Sex Slavery: the musical, I was not able to do anything but write, memorize, revise, think about the show, make set pieces, prepare, memorize constantly…no social life. My escort phone would ring and I would just ignore it. I didn’t even think about it. I would figure it out later. I knew a check that would cover the rent was on it’s way and I would worry about the rest after February 8th. I turned down a pile of money, cocaine and an overnight rate with a client because I had a rehearsal the next day and I didn’t want to seem too fucked up for rehearsal with my director in a few hours. The 3 hour show that we did was one of the few clients that I saw during this prep period. Somehow it all worked out. seamlessly. It feels great to pay your rent on time without fear of your bitch ass manager calling you with a 3 day notice.

A dude I was trying to date recently (not a coverted client!)  once said,”Why don’t you get a good job with your Master’s Degree so you can have something to do during the day?” As you can only imagine, he just erased himself out of my phone with that comment.  I could have kept him around, but I was so bored with his acceptance of everything that he didn’t even understand.   You DO NOT need a Masters in Fine Art (MFA) to understand art, to understand performance art or conceptual art.  WWF wrestling, Michael Moore and The Yes men are all conceptual artists and once I explain it to the non art educated fan, they can get other types of conceptual art projects and happenings and gain a new appreciation of all of it.   Some people, however, will never get ANY OF IT.  In moments of pure acceptance of my path, I can say with confidence, “this is my day job.  This is what I was meant to do.  I’m doing it.  I’ve been doing it.  I will continue to do it.  For the rest of my life. I can’t get a day job, because I HAVE ONE ALREADY. I can’t teach or tutor or work at Radio Shack because then I would be cutting out of my art and music making time. But we all need to pay bills and rent. When I add up my monthly income it seems consistent and decent, like I shouldn’t be struggling but I seem to always have trouble. 4 days at the agency was great for me, although it was definitely exhausting. I had a great situation with that boss lady. I was able to save up and travel, come back to LA stack chips and soon go off to travel somewhere else. But, that work came with its costs as well.

I am currently broke and struggling again and it always seems more hopeless than it is so I try to keep the faith.  I am looking in all the different job sections of Craigslist and freaking out about the future because I remember canvasing for donations in the parking lot of Trader Joes and trying to make ends meet in that way without agency sex work and how devastatingly hard it all was.  I spent the whole day today applying to different agencies but two of them already turned me away because I was an independent escort.  I used to work with an agency that didn’t care what I did on my own time as long as I kept running calls for them.  This is the way an AGENT should work.  AROUND YOU.  Not vice versa.  But they aren’t really agencies.  They’re pimps and bosses at best. I tried to explain this to one of the agent guys I applied for a job with an he hung up on me in 10 seconds.  I told the boss lady that sent me on the call where I had to get my stun gun out with a guy who grabbed my butt to “call me” and she didn’t.  I really wish my former agency was still running although I complained about it all, it was really nice to have them to fall back on when there was any kind of emergency.

If I was somehow privileged enough to not do sex work, I wouldn’t have to recover from job related PTSD.  I would only have to recover from OTHER non work related trauma.  (which recently happened via an instructor at my martial arts gym).   For the entire span of my professional art career (since graduating from college with an Art degree) I have focused on using my self identity as a performance character and a canvas for the themes in my art and politics.  My work has always talked about the very things that are inseparable from my experience: my race, gender, sexual orientation, beauty and weight standards, occupation, heritage and sexuality….I was first captivated by Cindy Sherman’s untitled film stills series and all of its Black and White grainy bold 60s feminism and I’ve since used it as an undercurrent for justifying using my self as an object, subject, narrator, seller and storyteller in my own series of artifacts.  I have had the great fortune of collaborating with amazing artists and photographers along the 13 year journey.

Modeling in my own photomedia has always been a way for me to generate my own untitled film stills, sometimes owning them as my own stories or projecting a made up or over dramatized version of a story I may have dreamt.  Although dressing up like a hooker and going to the Japanese Tea Gardens in San Francisco in 1999 seemed like something an exhibitionist would do, it came to be my modus operandi in which i was able to become a prostitute performance artist creating a safer and more accessible version of my own reality to the public. I don’t do it for attention, I do it for self exploration and some form of therapy is found in performing and giving life to concepts, archiving them in images.  I wanted to be a fashion model since I was 16 and though I only grew to be 5’1, high heels and the sex industry gave me the same sense of satisfaction, power, and even money that the Barbizon type modeling schools tried to promise me in exchange for $1500 (in 1992??) in runway and make up classes.  After I became a stripper, I became a model, an art director, a make up artist, a fashion photographer, a producer, a singer and all those job titles that little girls want to be when they grow up. I was not too short, or too fat, I was in erotic spreads with the sexiest men and women…(ones that i have only had hot implied sex with!)
 Except, in order to pay for those expensive dreams that COST money to pursue and did not PROFIT, even after years and years of investing time and energy into them I continued to do sex work, mainly escorting.  After my “retirement” from stripclub stripping at 25 I ventured off as a free agent, working for agencies, entities, houses and myself for whoah, the last 10 years now.  When I first got word of this competition, I was like, this is totally MINE.   but lately, it’s so hard to keep the faith, when I haven’t had decent income in almost 3 weeks and the rent is late AGAIN.  87 octane gas is $4.15 a gallon and I have burned up so much of it going to no shows and prank calls around LA that when times are tough, I am forced to stay home. Save gas.  I am having a bad run.  The tide will turn soon.  Power of Self.

Help me out won’t you?  Click on the link below and VOTE on your favorite images!

power of self portfolio


a call to the community..answered?

I have a new roommate.  She recently turned 18 and ran away to my house.  4 years ago she was in my 9th grade classroom and since I have remained in touch with those kids who have remained in touch with me, P and I were able to support each other in this time of mutual crisis.  She just left a 1 BR apartment shared with 2 families and 3 or 4 kids under 13.  Being in a living room all to herself is probably a luxury.  She has 2 jobs (that actually PAY the rent) and a high school diploma which is already worlds ahead of what my ex-boyfriend came into the equation with.  I have kept in touch with her peripherally through text message updates and perhaps annual outings.  She and I had a connection since she was a 9th grader because within a week of meeting me, she told me she was bisexual and that she wanted to be a stripper.  I NEVER told her that I was a sex worker, or that I had spent 3 years as a stripper and never revealed to her or any of my students that I had done sex work.  I gave her a book.
Lily Burana’s  “Strip City” books_feature-11413because it was comprehensive rights based, realistic and entertaining, and, my dad had given it to me, so it seemed appropriate.  Knowledge is power for everyone, especially those that have the intention of getting into the sex industry at a young age.  She never did become a teen prostitute, or an unwed mother or chola gangstress.  She was always  a leader, a cheerleader, a model undocumented student citizen who would probably never on her own be able to afford college as long as she would have to pay International student tuition for her college educaiton and have no access to Federal Student Aid…

We are not romantically involved in any way.  In fact, it’s been quite interesting for me all this week.  In the same week that I had re-entered the high school classroom, this time as an unpaid volunteer and tutored a few students she called me wanting to move out of her house.  Since I am on the verge of not paying my rent next month, it could NOT have come at a better time.  It would be refreshing to live here and have the other person PAY RENT for once.  Really Refreshing.


Mommy Fiercest, Nina Hartley and me! 3 generations of sex worker leadership (okay, me and Mommy are only 5 years apart, but I think I aged like 20 years running SWOP-LA

In the week of my big meltdown, another Phoenix rose from the ashes that was SWOP-LA.  She goes by Mommy Fiercest and I met her doing outreach in Mexico City at the AIDS International madness conference.  I don’t remember of course, because that conference would bring EASILY 100 individuals to your booth EACH DAY.  She joined SWOP-LA and has slowly been participating in various events with me as I drove myself to burn out..The handover was simple and beautiful.  Like a president changing office.  Ha.  Almost.  But it’s really been quite smooth and i am so relieved to hand over the keys.  It will be a true measure of my success if she takes it makes it bigger than I did.  Or if we get some grant money to pay people to make it bigger and more present than I ever could self funding it with my prostitution.

I am back to unplugging the laptop and webcamming with callers in private in my room.   P shows no interest in sex work and in the last 4 years that I have known her has tamed down quite a bit as far as her outward sexuality as she has gotten older.  You would think that that would be the first place that the average undocumented female worker would go.  But I guess that’s my warped perception.  So how do you change over from being a open whore in your face artist back to a reserved responsible adult role model trying to educate a young person.  You don’t.  Why?  Because she is 18 now and she’s not my student, she’s my roomate!

We have a very pure relationship actually.  I tried to be very compartmentalized while I was a teacher.  I was very serious about my work.  I ran a Gay-Straight Alliance in a South Central and it went over fine for the most part, no fear.  I never would imagine being attracted to my students nor did I talk to them in detail about my personal life.  That was the golden boundary for most teachers to stay sane: your personal life, especially sex life is to be ignored as if it did not exist.  You don’t need to go there with them.  period.  Just smile and say you are a virgin.  and leave it at that.  In fact, when I was teaching, I politically chose to identify as GAY and be the GAY TEACHER because I wanted to appear somewhat off limits, and “asexual” to most students, especially the young men I was trying to teach about sexism, homophobia and misogyny.   I didn’t even like the word BISEXUAL because it had the word SEXUAL in it every time you uttered it, and that, suprisingly is NOT my main objective every moment with everybody, despite the whore that I know that I am.  When teaching high school, I felt and perhaps still feel that the more ASEXUAL you are the MORE POWER YOU HAVE.  Not like creepy or like the asexual chemistry teacher who was too unattractive and unkempt even to hire a provider type of way, but asexual in a secret file but still there way, like with most politicians, but not as hypocritical.   Because unlike with adult men, SEXUALITY is NOT a bargaining chip that wins you access or privileges.  With your young male students, its the other way around and I wasn’t interested in abusing my power with anyone in ways that it had been abused with me.   With young male students, the power dynamic of sexual advantage is very much there for them already with the girls that they are actually or just talking about “deflowering” or making babies with.  As a female adult in their lives, I had the thankful advantage of being exempt from that realm of teen sex drama, because I had already gone through it once, thank you.

I brought a student in to the office for repeatedly calling me “sexy” instead of my name and used his harassment, and other student’s essays about homophobia and date rape as the basis of my Master’s inquiry paper.  In some strange way, escorting has just been this ongoing and continuous exploration of male privilege and where the seeds of that first begin to grow.  It is something that I have probably been exploring my whole healing life…

So living with P these days, being an all out urban geisha and web cam mistress during the day in my home office, it’s been interesting.  I have to learn to recompartmentalize again.  I am fortunate that I have found amazing women to help me in my struggle, to answer the call to lead without having to be nagged or pushed to do so.  I am old enough to be her parent, who would have had her when I was 17 and was now struggling to support us with my dying sex work jobs.  But instead she is helping me.  In ways that my partner could not even do after 2 years.  Crazy isn’t it?  And this happens to me because I am that overcaring mentor and open door give you my cell phone number type of teacher sometimes.  It paid off this time.

A university singing/speaking gig was cancelled in new york.  That would have given me a $1000 to pay rent AND travel and visit friends I haven’t seen, have some paid art R&R inspiration alone time…but NO.  CANCELLED.  So I started to work on generating new material to send all the other campuses that I haven’t even started to talk to yet.  I got that gig from this blog, I think.  I haven’t even really begun any publicity on myself as a touring artist.  I guess running SWOP and being in the relationship for the last 2 years were more than enough for me to deal with.  But I guess I had to do all that.  I’ve been thinking so much about my life process lately…

I have been finding hope and value working in the adult school classroom because students are motivated, diligent, QUIET, and there is no lesson planning.  You are proctoring, mentoring, managing and motivating.  That’s the job.  Lots of correcting and filing.  It’s everything that being a day school teacher is minus the hard parts.  It even pays more.  So I’ve been excited to report to my therapist taht things are looking up.  I even showed up on time for the first time in 5 weeks today.


Barbie Jeeps, Blow, Blunts and Bitches: Falling Apart Has Never Been So EZ

A Barbie Jeep AND a stripper pole..WHAT!
A Barbie Jeep AND a stripper pole..WHAT!

I walked in the door and saw a PINK Barbie Jeep and stripper pole and I nearly DIED.  Things were looking up every day.  I really and truly did not believe that it was going to change at ALL.

I’m not sure if things were meant to get better because “the Secret” to life had started to reveal itself to me, or my chants and prayers were finally answered.  I was able to hold out and wait until someone better came along, and indeed this was much much much better.  And I used it to heal me.  to benefit me and give me AND him what I felt we both needed.  It got kind of hard at the end, because when I have anxiety and someone has already made you vulnerable by shining a light into your heart unexpectedly…

“You’re Falling Apart, Aren’t You?” he said.

Was it the coke and the anxiety that results from when I do more than my usual try to stick to limit of 3 lines before the anxiety attacks come on..

but either I must REALLY REALLY be a mess or this guy is fucking deep and introspective as hell.  He was really an amazing client to have ended up with.  I met him at the VIP after hours stripper party.   I wanted and craved this experience.  I needed it.  Escape in a shameless night of drugs and sex.  And I knew that it would only be a few days before it would come my way, it just had to be with right person.  Definitely not the sneaky tweaker anal avenger type.. Not a vulture who would just prey on my weaknesses.  It is a controlled binge, not super self destructive and actually I couldn’t have asked for it to be better except that I woud not have been to sketched out to sleep in his arms all night.  I tried to make it seem like a real date.  Like untimed companionship, until I started to lick his cock and I tasted his pre cum in my mouth.  I pulled back, paranoid.  I realized it had been a long time since I’ve given an unprotected blow job.  Even with my ex-boy we used flavored condoms.  I felt sketched out because of the drugs and the fact that I really wasn’t ready to do raw head with someone yet.   It bothered him a bit, but he totally understood.  He was a really really sweet guy.  This is why sex work has been so much a part of my life for so long, because there are gems like this man that you can be with and give your gifts and they will give back, and it is compensated.  and there is not danger.  no drama.  I paid the rent in person to my downstairs property manger this morning.  It felt like SUCH a relief.  I’ve borrowed money from 5 different friends and family members.  I need to figure out a way to make this work cuz I can’t do this next month.    Things are looking up.  I didn’t think I was going to make it there.  I was unwell.  sick.  like a junkie who NEEDS her next fix.  My fix is money.  Money = survival.  Stabilty.  “You look like a totally different person tonight than you did last night,” he said.  That’s because I have $600 more tonight than I did last night. I thought silently. It makes all the difference in the world whether I have money or not to pay the vital bills like rent and car payment.

“I know.” is what I said out loud.

My landlady is dying to evict me.  I’m not sure why.  I’m guessing because she doesn’t agree with my lifestyle.  As if she really knows or should have a say over it.  The apartment next to mine has been empty for 2 months like so so many apartments, business, storefronts in LA.  Welcome to the land for FOR LEASE signs.  What a great time to seize a great deal, if you managed to survive the holocaust and have some savings for a down payment.  This was how I got my live work snazzy San Francisco loft after the dot com era.  My oji-san died and left all of us ten grand.  Arigato Gozaimasu, Oji-san! But that is all just a distant memory, a goal for my future to attain the status i ONCE had when I was 25.  younger than this guy.  but i have barely that right now.  i have a big apartment with a great rental price that I finally reclaimed as my own.  bad credit and no savings.  i NEED to stay where I am at.


I made the pot cookie guy my little ass slut today for a few hours and he gave me a big big tuperware of the most amazing and potent anti-depressants known to self medicating pot patients in LA.  I picked up another side gig, which I have been all about lately.  I have been so broke, that I’ve had to settle smoking low grade crappy weed that I could afford and cut ONE of his $8 cookie in half each day for the last 2 weeks in order to medicate..(all my broke patients reading this throw your hands up!)

I WAS indeed falling apart on drugs in front of my client.  But I was in good hands.  Part of why I as falling apart, was because I was in the house of a 27 year old Mexican American family restaurant business owner, home owner, MAN with a daughter that he didn’t see too much, but that had an ADULT sense of decoration and style that I have not seen in anyone since my ex boy for the last 2 years.  I looked at him in envy as well because here I was 33 and struggling to hold on to a simple bohemian South Central flat.  “Why do you always have to compare yourself to other people” he said (as if he had known me for that long).  and it kept going like that for 5 hours.  We talked about my break up, my meltdown, my stepdown from my organization, my exboyfriend of course, relationships, even talked about MY MOTHER.

I tried to have sex with him escort style, but after he had opened up my emtions like that I found it so hard to even get into sucking his dick.  He says he no problem getting gorgeous women, and he shows me their photos in his phone, indeed they are hot chicas.  I understand it as I am just SO impressed what I see, because I have for so long been trapped in a place where I had to accept 2nd best.  Because I had ever seen an example of an adult around me who had their shit together more than I did that was younger than me and not a sex worker.    And I was also impressed because here I was 5 years older than him and struggling to hold on to less than what I believed he had.  Women fall head over heels for that because there are so many fucking deadbeat losers with criminal records!  There are SO MANY too many of us supporting our baby men and enabling them to destroy us with our permission..Here are the keys to my car honey.  Go crash it, okay?  I love you too.”

I was in Starbucks in the Valley today and in my 10 minute conversation with the cute barista with an edgy look, he tells me he just got out of prison and he’s working as a Bartista to feed his daughter.  he’s so cute and sincere.  Bad boy with a baby face.  and a record.  my favorite, i thought.  “I better stop talking to you before you become my next ex-boyfriend.” I laughed.  I was medicated on cookies.  I felt like my game was on for some reason.  I could feel an incredible sexual attraction between us, that I couldn’t deny but had to tear myself away from.  I am considering driving back there just to have an exciting one nighter with the usual.  And if it is the usual, then it will end up in another 2 year codependent nightmare relationship before the iced grande soy lattes are finished.  He’ll quit Starbucks and soon I’ll be supporting him and his daughter.

Lately I am extremly vulnerable.  Drugs intensify this by 100. But I wanted this.  Coke would be way less self destructive than crystal meth, heroin, oxy or anything else I could try to get my hands on at this point.  The next person who gifts me drugs is going to be my new best friend.  And predictably it was coke, the most common drug of the sex underworld.

photo by Llednor Nadirehs 2009

photo by Llednor Nadirehs 2009

Last nights client said when he saw me last night, “You looked mean”. He said. “Tough”.
“I didn’t want to [get a lap]dance with you cuz I thought u were gonna beat me up!”he laughed, naked in his bed with me on top of him.  We were erotic, drugged up, relaxing,releasing..but not fucking.  Exactly what I wanted to do for the last few hundred dollars I needed to meet my crucial goal to keep my house and pay for my car payment right around the corner of that deadline..

“Really?” I said.”Tough? I said.  “I see that as a compliment.. Escorting in LA makes you tough. U gotta be tough to do what I was doing. But, I can beat you up if that’s what you’re into..shit,” I laughed “I do it all..”

I talked to him for about 6 hours doing lines, drinking El jimador tequila mixed with Squirt, having a drug induced heart to heart in his gorgeous California King Bed with Orthopedic Memory Foam mattress or something like that… The coke was pretty good, I couldn’t hide my pain, especially since he was stripping away the thingly held veil holding my ego together.  He was easily winning me over, because as he spoke to me, I realized that I had not had a mature conversation in bed with a 27 year old man for almost 2 years.

I knew that I was going to indulge in drugs to escape my problems for a day or two..It was just a matter of which drugs, where I would get them, what kind of consequences would arise as a result, and whether or not I even gave a shit about those consequences at all.

In the end I knew that it would only be a matter of days, before drugs would be provided to me on a platter,and I would be paid to do them..

The opportunity came along in no time. I knew it would.  It would either be the next call that went through whenever that was going to happen or probably no later than the call after that. There was once a time when free coke was offered to me twice a week. I wonder why people feel like being so generous really. When I score it I don’t usually share it with’s like buying them dinner with each snort! Too expensive to give for free to me…but I am never one to turn down free drugs (and this has gotten me in trouble sometimes as well).

milk_6I couldn’t do anything but talk and spill my gutts to him as he asked questions and revealed his predictions about me.  and I ate it up.  i think it was because I felt like no one really gave a shit about what was really going on with me.  CERTAINLY NEVER ANY CLIENT I HAVE EVER HAD IN 12 YEARS IN THIS INDUSTRY.  Or maybe because it is so rare when I WILL ALLOW A CLIENT TO TELL ME WHAT I AM FEELING.  Because they usually don’t know. Or they say they care and they really don’t.  Or, like my ex-boyfriend, they can’t at this point in their development, understand.

Barbie Jeeps, Strippers Poles, Blow, Blunts and Bitches.  Falling Apart has Never been so EZ.


Sex, Survival and Sacrifice

It was about this time exactly last year that I was feeling this frantic and hopeless.  So I try to tell myself that when I think that it is something that I cannot survive.  Last year, I broke up with the same boyfriend, kicked him out from living with me without paying rent and subletted my apartment (to 3 crazies who ended up trashing it in less than one month) and decided that going to the brothel in Nevada would be the solution to the lack of income in LA.  A true migrant sex worker.  Migrating to the legal side of the fence for supposed safety and maybe some fortune, but none of which came to fruition..

Well.  The same thing is happening this year.  I was hoping that my life wouldn’t repeat itself exactly and that by one year later I would have been in a better place with my music or art career, but none of that has come to fruition really.  It has to do mostly with the fact that I am the unpaid director of a non profit that does too much with its non existent or minimal budget.  My latest project has me mentoring elderly street workers who are using crystal meth.  Me being as open as I am with helping people I have drained myself with the trauma that is the daily reality of these women.  One of them calls me nearly every two days with some emergency.  “Some group of guys is doing drive by paintball and pellet gun shootings of the transgender workers in Skid Row and my girls keep getting assaulted”. One of them calls me in crisis every week, sometimes every night.  I’ve had to stop answering my phone, but she still calls.  She’s in the depths of a crystal meth induced psychosis so doesn’t always make sense.  Her voice is going in and out because she’s done so much that she’s lost her voice.   She has told me that she’s been raped at least twice in one month.  “I’m out here working without condoms!  I need you to come here and bring the girls condoms!!!” she says trying to manipulate me to care for her like so many others have done to me…but I won’t budge this time.  I can’t.  I am overwhelmed like a peace worker in war torn Africa trying to get a grip.  I feel that Skid Row, sanity and self care are on the verge of being lost and that I could quickly become her.  She is a ghost of who I could become if I just allow myself to give up or get engulfed in the flames further.  I am the napalm drenched child screaming and crying about her burns running from the fire bombed jungle in Vietnam…

But I just asserted my boundaries with my codependent boyfriend and I am just burnt out on what I can do to help people.  All I can do is refer people to other services.  I am not a life saver.  I am not an ambulance.  I am NOT even a rape crisis counselor or a trained mental health worker even…but she wants me to play all of those roles and I can’t.   I give her phone numbers and referrals and she doesn’t do anything with them.  She only wants to keep banging on my door.  This is the same thing that the ex-boyfriend did when I wouldn’t let him back in the house.  He and the street worker that blows up my phone have the same mental ILLNESS called dependency disorder.  I learned its traits at the conference and when it was totally laid out to me it made me feel so much better!  I have cut both of them off, but they are still circling me like vultures on fire, still calling, still knocking…still crying for their mothers that abandon them.

A different member is a narcissist and has been abusing me unconsciously since we met.  In her passive agressive snidy remarks she reveals to me (and the other genetic girl in SWOP-LA)  that she feels that I have all this privilege as a genetic female and because I don’t know what its like to be kicked out of my house at 11 or chased around the house with a butcher knife by my stepfather who pimped me out  as a boy that I could never understand her pain (neglecting whatever pain we may have felt or are feeling as sex workers, as children, as queers, etc.  To her, the true narcissist, it is never releveant).  She demanded that I pay her $80 parking ticket that  she got when she came over my house to “plan” our last minute presentation, because her parking tickets are my responsibility because I asked her to present.  We didn’t really plan anything.  She did come over at 12:30am the night before our presenation and try to seduce me instead of plan for the presentation which didn’t work.  When I opened the door at 12:30am, she did DEMAND that I park her car, as if I were some valet or something.  She did almost sleep in on purpose and HIDE MY CELL PHONE ALARM  so that we would be late for our presentation..She did say a load of insulting things to me as I also told her, like my ex boyfriend who asked me for money that I don’t have; money that I supposedly owe them to “get the fuck out of my house..” and she said,”I am NEVER doing anything for YOU or SWOP-LA again!  That’s why you don’t have anyone helping you!”  and that was the end.  For her…and for me.  I realized in that breath of hers something that I never would have noticed had she not been a bitch to me like that.  Many many times because of rejection from pushing forward with SWOP’s agenda in LA I have felt suicidal because I felt unappreciated and trampled on, misunderstood and oppressed and usually after some other sex worker bitches me out of the blue I would feel that way again, but I stopped myself and finally noticed it was really and truly THEM and not me and that it was time for me to move on.  I realized a lot at this conference that we went to…I was one of the planning members but I left that committee because of group planning marginalization issues and when I got to the website of the event, every single one of the planning organizations was hyperlinked, except SWOP-LA.  I was not imagining marginalization, it was a fact.  The white woman that planned the conferenece that had so effectively alpha femaled me out the door drove off in her $60,000 black Mercedes Benz with tinted windows.  I wasn’t imagining that she was acting like a pill popping uppity privileged BEOTCH.  She was.  It stared me in the face and I asked myself why I was fighting so hard, and asked myself what it would take for me to not always have to fight everyone…and the answer became clear.  I don’t have to fight everyone. I don’t have to pick the most unpopular cause and wonder why everyone hates me all the time…I don’t have to work for free any longer.  I don’t have to take your abuses.  I don’t need to be your therapist, your mother, your pimp…I don’t even think I want to be your whore for a while.

If you would like to make a donation, and you can please send a check or money order to: 5042 Wilshire Blvd #202, LA, 90036  you can still write a check to SWOP-LA as the bank account is still active, but the funding will go to helping me get my neccessities of life together as I have done all these years for so many others in the community…If YOU are reading this and can help me, please do.

I am barely surviving on a day to day basis.  It is not safe for me to leave the house at this time because I have no money in the bank, no money in my wallet and half a tank of gas in my car.  I also don’t have insurance right now.  I need $150 to get that.  My phone is on the verge of getting cancelled and there would go the internet. I thought at the last entry that I had lost internet, but apparently they don’t cut that off til they cut off the phone I found out.  I also need new contact lenses but I can’t get them because I also don’t have money.  I looked into getting a cheaper apartment which is 1/3 of the size of what I have now but the rental office said that they (like everyone) does a credit check AND a criminal background check that even having misdemeanors disqualifies you.  I  gave back the application and decided that the BEST and only thing for me to do at this point was to fight to stay where I am because I will never find a place like I have let alone any place because of my lack of credit and regular job.  My property manager is down my throat because I am always late..but the apartment next door has had a FOR RENT sign in the window for 2 months now..

(2 days ago)

Today I woke up trying to think up of ways to bring income into my life…i had been signed up to be on “webcams gone wild” by my neighbor’s daughter who is almost my age.  I had never really wanted to do webcam work for some reason, but now my only choice for money is to go back to agency escorting which I tried with all my might and will to leave.  It seemed like I should be able to stop something that was bringing ill will and danger to my life.  Kind of like kicking my boyfriend out.  again.  I believe that I SHOULD be able to find prosperity doing SOMETHING else besides agency work.  And in my quest to find a “REAL” job, I decided that directing my organization IS a real job, and it is one of the only things that I can do right now with my background check as it is.  I wonder if “escorting without a license” is truly better than prostitution at the end of the day..Sigh.  I spend ALL damn day trolling the internet for money.  There used to Craigslist as a last ditch effort for quick money, but now in their crack down they have blocked all my accounts, my credit card and my ads never get approved.  It is impossible to advertise there.  My self esteem goes down when things are slow and I have all these ads out.  Well, not ads.  just ad.  i spent the little $80 I had on one internet advertising source and it didn’t produce even a return on my investment.  I spent $125 on a different internet website and the same thing happened (Fuck Eros!) .  I start to feel ugly.  I start to feel fat.  People call me fat and pregnant on the web chat.  I quit working with webcams gone wild after 4 hours.  It was like being in a peepshow with Beavis and Butthead.
It reminded me of my stripclub days.  I have NO patiece for jack ass fucks anymore, especially when I took their money as a R.O.B agency bitch.  I just can’t go back to taking all their abuse without getting paid very well.  I can’t.  I was online chatting with idiots for NOTHING.  At least with escorting, you show up and you get paid, even if it’s just $20 that you have to be a bitch to collect, you usually get paid something “for your troubles.”  But stripping and webcam is just like being meat on a stick rotating around (literally in my swivel chair) for them to pick at and then not compensate…

Niteflirt is much much better than anything else.  They take a huge part of what we make and tax us for everything but it is very very sex positive for me.   I get paid to watch porn and masturbate!  How fun.  Masturbation has helped to bring joy into my life where there is none.   It is really the only thing keeping me alive spiritually and finnancially even if that is only $60 a day…People are calling me from my real pictures, seeing me on webcam with my stomach rolls out and all and they usually love it!  I’m having lots of fun with it.  Much different than the webcams gone wild site, which by it’s name is NO WONDER that I didn’t last. (I hate GGW and the entire concept of free titty flashing for horny Spring Break frat guys for free)  I know what I like in sex work now and I know what I won’t  tolerate for any longer than I have to.  And that is primarily what this transition is about.  When you are fed up with your working conditions, do you have the “privilege” to “just say NO?” to them?  Last year, when I got kicked out of the brothel, I decided that I did.  I went back to agency escorting work..gladly.  That was a year ago, almost exactly.

I am a sex worker in transition..Living on less than $40 a day.  Webcam money trickling in and nothing gets deposited on the weekends.  I refuse to go back to agency work, have considered going back into a stripclub, but I can’t seem to think of options fast enough.  I just applied for what I thought was the ideal job recruiting students for this art college in SF and they already responded with a rejection.  I am on the verge of being kicked of my apartment…on the verge of being homeless.  on the verge of losing everything that I worked for.  Today my conservative sister suggested that I not quit agency escorting cold turkey if that was my main was just so she could not “enable” me in letting me borrow rent money. LOL.  Dear Corporate Asian Democrat Suburban Moms…help your sister out!

I stepped down as director of Sex Workers Outreach Project-LA, the chapter that I founded.  SWOP-LA was made possible because I worked 3x a week til the crack of dawn as an agency girl in LA hustling and being an outlaw cowgirl in the Wild West of LA..but because of all the trauma that I have experienced throughout because of being an agency girl AND all the residual trauma of holding the PTSD and the personality disorder abuse of all the sex workers that I have “mentored” over the 2.5 years that I ran SWOP-LA for no pay has finally gotten to me.  If I don’t do agency escort work, I cannot run SWOP-LA because I am counting coins in a jar so that I can buy toilet paper for my house.  Therefore, I am just as bad off as some of the girls on Skid Row: my immediate survival needs are the most prominent before activism and before any other screaming crying sex worker that is NOT myself.  The girls I mentor have their groceries delivered every week and they have $800 in SSI to pay their rent.  I don’t.

I AM SO BURNT TO CRISP OUT that I think I don’t want to get into a helping profession for at least 6 months…It’s hard not to be so hopeless but there you have it..I’m not sure why life has to be so fucking hard.  Yes, this blog will become a book.  I just have to get out of this mess first.

in these hard times of survival sex dim sum is the only thing keeping me sane

I Facebooked about dim sum as my only comfort food when I haven’t been able to leave the house unless I make money, not being able to buy the necessities of life like prescription contact lenses and toilet paper…  Making $250 on the only call that you’ve had in over 7 days doesn’t really leave you a disposable income to buy dim sum but I need to do it anyway.  It’s the one thing that is keeping me sane I believe: medical marijuana and comfort foods which hurt my survival budget but are also part of it.  To the girls on the Row, it has to do with buying crystal meth so they can get well enough to “have the guts” to work on the streets.  When I was 23 I swallowed a rock of meth in the desert and sent myself to the Emergency Room dehydrated and psychotic.  They had to hold me down to put IV needles in my neck because my veins were too restricted..After working with so many drug users, I can see how easy it was for them to get the way they did, and I can see how much easier it is for them to stay where they are because the fight to stay alive and well has become so so much harder.  There is a tempation to go there, but I’m not sure that I can.  If I REALLY wanted to lose everything FAST, I’d just start heading to Skid Row and buying drugs to waste my life and sorrows away.  How many people in any given city are doing that right now?  Heroin addiction takes 3 days apparently..but like the women that I work with who both do not have teeth because of decades of crystal meth use, some drugs can tie you down for what seems like ever.  I feel that agency sex work/sex work income is my current drug addiction and I am shaking and withdrawing hoping something will come along to ease my pain.

In the wake of my burnout, I realize that I have created oppressions by being a whore revolutionary activist (not that I will ever stop as an activist, just as a non profit director).  I chose to work with THE most marginalized sex work population in LA and in a way I took on their plight, but the sad things is no other healthy human has the capability to truly do that because some of these women and men need professional help, and because their boundaries have been violated so many times they only know how to violate the boundaries of others in order for them to stay dependent and keep that healthy person attached, until they too become ill and are dragged to the gutter alongside them.  And believe me folks, I am in NO WAY SAYING I AM healthy all the time!  I have PTSD just  like them, and in fact am signing up for FREE therapy at the local Rape Crisis Center (the advice that I gave to the one that actually got raped, I ended up taking) so I can deal with the triggering that is happening to me as a survivor myself dealing with all the trauma of all the other survivors in my community.  I decided to flee the burning house.  But I am burned and in pain still.

I have been here before, on the verge of transition.  I knew what this would be like before I did it because transitioning out of stripclub stripping was the same way.  I just never wanted it to come.  I might never have quit my boyfriend, SWOP-LA or agency escorting if I didn’t make the “choice” to not do things that will kill me anymore.  Does God support those choices that I made?  I wonder if more doors don’t open for me like these people who are so jealous of all that they think I have..This other sex worker writes on my wall that I can’t possibly be doing survival sex work and eat dim sum.  But she has NO IDEA how hard it gets for me to sometimes balance survival and sanity. No Idea.  She brags about her social work experience and argues with ANOTHER sex worker activist about whether or not I can use the word survival sex to describe my experience because SHE has WORKED WITH SURVIVAL SEX WORKERS.  I replied that what we think of as survival is sometimes more stable than [we] “privileged, educated so called middle class” workers with cars and internet access.  But I do not have steady income and the neccesities of life (groceries, toilet paper, medication) covered so, in this case, cutting off my Skid Row girls because they were demanding of me more time and resources than I had because they regularly exhaust their own was not happening for me any longer.  I can’t believe this social worker hadn’t learned that it is the most appropriate to let the person USE THE WORDS THAT THEY USE TO DESCRIBE THEIR OWN EXPERIENCE AND HONOR THAT.  Whether they say that they are “trading sex for drugs or shelter” or doing “sex work.”  Sex work doesn’t describe their experience, she says like she knows best which is sort of her type A personality that I have grown to know in activism through our years together in it.   Only someone like her would write this on someone else’s Facebook wall.  I even pulled the white privilege card to fend them off.  [White]Ladies, [White]Ladies, [White]Ladies…When you are done deconstructing what words I can use to describe my experience, look up and give me a nod, okay..?

But truly because of the work I did with SWOP-LA have completely reconsidered certain notions of class and privilege because DRUG ADDICTION, POVERTY and AIDS can strip all of that away quicker than a white man in Skid Row can pick up a shiny quarter that dropped in a puddle of Hep C infected blood on the ground…

What are you afraid of?“says my therapist.

“That all these choices that everyone says that I have don’t exist.” I said.


WHORE-A PALOOZA 2009 footage!

I am so proud of how this show came out!

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