Confessions of a Baby Stripper Vol. 2

What affordable Healthcare?

I spent hundreds of dollars every month to try and get treatment for chronic illness issues I had been having. The symptoms started June 29th 2016 and I am still suffering from them.

It was late Fall and I had been talking to my friend about her experience as stripper. She told me that she brought home $800.00 dollars a night. I imagined myself as her. I could visualize those hundreds in my hands and I imagined all the doctors appointments I would be able to afford. I imagined all the supplements. I imagined all the lab work. I imagined zero symptoms. I imagined a life where I got up in the morning feeling ready for the day. I fantasized about being a normal healthy 26 year old. 

 

Give Us Answers

stripperJacq The Stripper instagram [If you haven’t already, check out Jacq The Stripper. She is pure comedy. In fact she’s a comedian, as well as an author, blog writer, and makes hilariously accurate cartoons. The stripper character asks the horrible eye rolling and degrading questions that we get asked everyday at work, except in a different context. The character gives you a perspective on the way our industry is misunderstood by result of assumption.]

People have asked me why I started to strip. At first I felt like I had to answer.  I would tell them “Well what happened was I got sick and I couldn’t afford….”  I felt like I had to justify myself. However, medical stuff aside, I quickly became intrigued with the idea of getting naked in front of strangers. Expressing my sexuality was enticing. I talked about it with my friend who did burlesque. She had some insight and encouraged me to give it a shot. Since getting sober I have missed expressing my sexuality through moving my body. I used to fire spin, you know, do the whole festival naked circus freak thing. Although I didn’t realize it then, it was an outlet for me to express my sensuality. I missed my connection to my body.

A friend told me “I’m not judging you but I could never strip for various reasons. I get the money, this country’s health care is so fucked up but expressing your sexuality, yeah I don’t buy it. It was interesting to me how the money was more acceptable than the expressing my sexuality. To this day I still am confused as to why dancing seductively, getting naked and displaying your beautiful nude body isn’t a form of sexual expression. I am also confused as to what is wrong with making money off of the way I expose my body. This happens every day. Musicians in music videos, sexual descriptions in books, covers of magazines, movies, even a person at the park might catch your eye and you appreciate their body. Something about adding money into the mix makes people uncomfortable I guess. I’m at a loss why and frankly I don’t care to think about it too much because I’m having way too much fun being naked with a stack of money in my purse.. but I digress.

No one ever asked me what my motive behind my job was when I was a janitor, or a nanny, a barista, or when I worked in retail. I think it was obvious then…. my motive was money…. so what’s different about this? There’s this separation because they don’t take their clothes off for money which I have no problem with. Keep your clothes on and do your job, that’s awesome. So why do you have issues around me taking off my clothes for money. Why does that make you uncomfortable? 

Well let me tell you one thing honey, if I was cheap I sure as fuck wouldn’t be doing this for work. I could go back to working 60 hrs a week scrubbing toilets (a job which I absolutely loved by the way, my OCD + introversion loved making things clean and not having to talk to customers and being virtually invisible to all humans was amazing) to only barely scrape by and make my rent. I was by definition selling myself short.

I don’t say that because being a janitor wasn’t a respectable job, I say that because I was underpaid. I watched my coworkers do back breaking work, pushing 60-65 hours, getting only two days off only to return back on Monday and do it all over again. On the weekends I would catch up on sleep and errands and spend all my money on my bills with nothing extra at the end of the month. I don’t feel like that’s fair and it cheapens people’s worth on a vocational scale. Just sayin’!
money.jpg

What about your future?

Find a ‘real job’, finish school and get a career. Get the salary paid job with guaranteed income and a respectable badge to wear on your girl scout vest. First of all, I’m a writer and an artist. No one ever said financing your passion would be easy but it doesn’t have to be a soul killer either. Every writer I’ve met finds a way to make multiple incomes happen. Funny thing is, even if I finish school let’s look at what my income will look like.

Let’s break it down with statistics, fancy words, and visual aids shall we?

spring2017-the-simple-truth-figure-6

Now that’s just broken up by gender. Can you guess if we break up by gender and race? I’ll give you one guess who gets paid the least.spring2017-the-simple-truth-figure-7

Link to the: Gender and Race pay gap depending on how much schooling

So if you have the privilege of having an advanced degree in college the most that you’ll make as an African American woman is $1,115 a week? What about a bachelor’s degree? $877 a week. Most places to rent in Portland are more than $877 dollars a month. This statistic doesn’t include if these women are mothers. Doesn’t include what it is that they do or how many hours they have to work to earn that money.

I would fall in between the white woman and Asian American woman, so between $1200-1500 dollars a week. And do you know how much of that income would go toward paying off my student loans? What about the availability on jobs for fiction writers? Oh and how about all the strippers out that who have master’s degrees because their jobs do not pay them enough to support themselves? 

Strippers can make $1500 in one night.

One day I earned $75 dollars during one set on stage (on average it’s about 9 minutes per set) while dancing to three songs. That night I worked at my pizza delivery job and made $80 in tips for an 8 hour shift. $75 dollars in 9 minutes versus $80 in 8 hours. Not to mention I make my own schedule or that I get to be naked at my job and eat my lunch when I take a break. I decide when I take breaks. I decide who I talk to and for how long. If a customer is a fucking asshole I walk away or I call them an asshole or both. And I no longer go home smelling like pizza every night.

Titties and Doctor Bills

By December I took the plunge and starting to show strangers my butthole. And what do you know… people actually paid to see it! The other crazy thing… I actually enjoyed doing it. One titty at a time I made enough money to get seen by professionals for my health care. Kaiser doctors, get labs done, nautropaths, AK doctors, acupuncturists…. all paid for by the customers who have seen me naked.

I am grateful I have the job that I have and the income to keep myself healthy. I’m grateful I can take time off if I am sick without being in fear of losing my job. I can take days off without having to get a doctors note to prove I’m actually sick.

I have immense freedom. Being a stripper has made me feel more empowered because I’m in control. I call the shots. I’ve had guys tell me the shut the fuck up and immediately were kicked out. I’ve had guys give me a bad stare and a bad tip, also have had them kicked out. I am not in a vocation where for minimum wage I have to take your shit. Thus, I will continue to strip until I find another job that will pay me more and give me the same, if not more freedom.

xoxo,
Al

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Author:

I am a 26 year old Japanese American queer cis female who is from the bay area and currently lives in Portland, Oregon with her pitbull named Yuki. She is my pride and joy. I have been sober since 2014 and started to work in the sex industry in December 2016. We moved to Portland about 4 years ago in 2013 and have been learning how to thrive in this grey, wet, yet charming environment of Portland. Three things attracted me to this magic nook on the west coast. Tree tunnels (as I like to call them) that tower over roads swallowing you into a tube of nature, people’s tendency to look you in the eye and ask how you’re doing (with expectation of a genuine answer), and tea houses/coffee shops are a past time here. They say this is the city where 20 year olds come to retire or the city of refugee weirdos who just didn’t quite fit in. My diagnosis of Portland is the city that embraces those who love to isolate and be awkward so if hiding out in your room to geek out on your blog or simply drink tea in your room all day is your thing I suggest you check out what the fuss is about in Portlandia. Although Portland is whimsical in it’s own right it has a major amends to make to it’s citizens of color. It’s been here that I’ve learned the most about activism and politics unfortunately as a result of the city’s non acknowledgement of all of their citizens. The citizens here although progressive in it’s own way participates in it’s own subtle yet powerful microaggressions daily. The city is vanilla to put it lightly. When I am not day dreaming of sunnier days you can find me in a tea shop rambling in my journal about the romantic fantasy of hopping a train or living out of a van, admiring baby doll heads and crooked picture frames, watering my indoor plants desperately trying to learn how to have a green thumb, geeking out on astrology charts, obsessing over Michael Jackson and screaming all his songs, flooding my earphones with Princess Nokia to CocoRosie to Mac Dre to name my top favorites, going to strip clubs, crying, praying, attending pole dancing class and learning a variety of ways to make my beautiful backside bounce, holding hands, blowing bubbles, dismantling the patriarchy, writing a story, a poem or working on a zine. My blog has no rhyme or reason but you may find some of those influences as themes in within my posts. What I do hope to do with my blog is expose myself vulnerably if nothing else as an act of leaving behind a documented record of my human-ness but the truest hope, dream in fact, is to help someone out there to feel less alone. I hope that through my ability to candidly share my rawest sense of self I can help build an online community of witches, activists, freedom fighters, freaks, mermaids, pretty boys, studly girls, theys, and thems.

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