The blood, guts and glory of creativity.

December 12, 2010

Like Bob Dylan said, "Gotta Serve Somebody."


I've re-embraced the magic of serving as most artists will do when actively pursing their craft and although obsessively watching TRUE BLOOD has allowed me to feel more like Sookie Stackhouse and less like a regressing loser who will never make it, it's still unbelievably hard work.

 Last night, my feet cried through the night in protest - throbbing in pain. When are you going to get used to this? Seriously, it's been a month of pounding the pavement again, disregarding the old man drunk touch and smiling like I don't have a brain in my head (aka Prostitution level 1) and my feet are still being little whiny bitches? Seriously? I thought by now my delicate little paws would have crusted over into hooves to express my inner demon, but no.

In a strange twist of fate, my mother, Mama Jane, has come out to support stripping. During our last family dinner I was doing my usual shock-and-awe sarcasm and mentioned I was getting in shape to slide down a pole. My mother pipes in, "Hey, those girls are really athletic and make a lot of money. You have a dance background you know..." YEAH. I KNOW. It's just the whole (I actually Freudian misspelled this and I'm leaving it) Whoreography to some lame Top 40 Usher song that I can't get over.

But in the back of my mind I'm always thinking, maybe Diablo Cody is on to something... would I rather have perpetual sore feet that go numb periodically throughout the day (should I have that checked out?) OR have thigh burn from a pole and a shitload of money? Not to take out the boobie-tassels before the miracle happens - this woman I was serving a few nights ago took a liking to me and once she saw me re-do the chalk board with Pac Man and his little ghost buddies, she asked me, "So what do you really do?" Turns out she works for a magazine and wants to do an article on me as an up-incoming writer! So let this be my lesson: Don't think you're not working towards your goals while your ass is hustling for rent. And feet, I promise I will find you a slave to rub you all day once we sell something big, alright?
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