24th
Old Bottle Hookers don’t die…they get married
Or go behind the bar.
I’m not a tropy wife. Yet. So I’m bartending. Until I meet the BlaMex of my dreams. Kidding. Mostly.
I like bartending because I have a big wooden wall between me and customers. I don’t like it cause beers don’t cost 500 dollars with an automatic twenty percent gratuity added on, but mostly I like it. I’m still surrounded by house music and people from New Jersey, but I’m also still sober (almost six months!) Life’s good. My sponsor is an ex stripper. She gets it. I don’t know whether to identify as a “sex worker” per se. I’d say I’m half a stripper, half a faggot anyway.
My mom wants me to come up with a five year career plan and email it to her.
Here is what I have so far: Meet hot wealthy gallerist who is impressed with my prestigious if useless liberal arts degree, dark past and perky boobs. Get pregnant. Do not sign prenup. Live happily ever after…Apparently old habits die hard.
I think she wants something more like “nursing school.”
