Going Off Half-Cocked

So, I have been thinking about this job thing.  I thought about my strengths.  People like to talk to me; I have a psych background; I am a writer and a performer with a very creative imagination.  I have a husky, sexy voice.  I LOVE sex, and I am not in anyway ready for a relationship right now.   I have a very specific skill set.  See where I’m going with this?

For the last ten years, I have thought on-and-off about being some kind of sex worker.  It’s mostly been a joke, but once in awhile, I couldn’t think of a real reason why I shouldn’t at least look into it.  Now, I’m too old and fat to be an expensive call-girl.  I’m not so sure I would want to do actual sex for money, anyway.  However, there are plenty of other job opportunities for a sex enthusiast.  I have a couple of reality shows floating through my mind (would have to go to cable for them).  I could open an online whorehouse with rooms for different fetishes.  But, realistically, I narrowed it down to two choices.

One, I could be a professional domme.  Mistress Minna.  Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?  I look good in black leather, and I can wield a mean whip.  Yes, I am a sub in real life, but I have switched before, and I am a very good top as well.  There is a dungeon in NYC owned by three women, and they have training sessions.  I saw a website of a local dominatrix, and it was so Minnesota-nice.  The whole idea of being a domme was interesting, but kinda tiring.  I mean, it’s a whole performance thing, and it would most likely give me an even more-skewed view of men.  In addition, I would have to actually meet these guys in person.  I’m really not a good people-person.  However, my house would be spotless, and I would get paid to make someone clean my house.  That, admittedly, is tempting.

However, in the end, it’s not enough.  Kel suggested phone sex operator, and I looked it up on teh Googley.  Love Google.  I read a few articles on how to become a phone sex operator, and I found two legit sites.  I am also toying with the idea of just doing it on my own.  I already have one friend expressing interest (ok, she probably was joking) in being one as well.  We could be start our own small business!

I know it sounds off-the-wall, but really, it would be a perfect job for me.  I can do it from home.  I don’t have to meet anybody face-to-face.  I can set my own hours.  I can make up stories to my little heart’s desire.  I can talk about sex.  I can still do the domme thing.  Mistress Minna still has a nice ring to it.  Or, Mistress Stiletto (h/t, Choolie).  It actually seems tailor-made for me.   I will keep you updated on the situation.

Switching topics, sort of, I had a meeting with my banker today.  He’s really fine, but he has one flaw.  The first time we met, he noted that he mispronounced my name, and I gave him the, “I was named after MN” spiel.  When he called and left me messages to set up an appointment, he mispronounced my name again.  I left him a message and pronounced my name correctly twice.  He left me a message and mispronounced my name AGAIN.  Now, I am used to people mispronouncing my name (Mee-na, which is actually the Asian pronunciation), and I normally don’t bother to correct them.  However, my banker specifically noted that he had mispronounced it and was eager to correct himself.

So, needless to say, I was irritated when I went into our meeting.  No matter how hot he is, his refusal to pronounce my name correctly was not very attractive.  Until I saw him.  Damn it, but he is fiiiiiiine.  I don’t want to date him–just fuck him.  I have decided that he can call me ‘baby’ in bed so we can dispense with names altogether.  Have I mentioned how fine he is?

I have had really bad dreams lately.  I mean, I have them most of the time, but they have been fast and furious as of late.  I hate sleep because I get more exhausted after.  Then, I need to sleep more, but that doesn’t help.  I almost got into an accident today, and it was completely my fault.  My judgment was shot as were my reflexes.  I am a danger on the roads, even more so than I normally am.

My mother:  She wants me to reply to her letter.  I haven’t done it yet.  I told her that I felt most of the issues should be dealt with when she comes back here (end of May).  She said, fine, but she would still like to hear my opinion now.  See a theme here?  Yeah.  “OK, Minna, but here’s what I want from you, regardless.”

One thing, though, my mom did get the message about the airplane tickets.  She apparently still had a little difficulty booking her flight online (even after getting the new flight information from her colleague), so she called my brother and asked him.  Ha.

I hate that I still feel like I have to jump to her beck and call.  I am still engaged with her, regardless of  my knowledge that I have to find a way to separate.  I think about what I will tell her if I actually do become a phone sex op, and then I quickly shove it to the back of my mind because I don’t want to deal with it.  The first thing I thought was, LIE!  It’s my first reaction to her.  Sad, but true.  I have a deal with a friend of mine that if I die before my parents do, she will come in and take all the sex-related stuff from the house–including all my writings.  Anything related to sex has got to go.  Sex toys, gone.  Erotica, gone.  Sexy clothes, gone.

I might rescind the pact because I’m a fucking grownup, damn it.  It’s about time I act like it.  I know, I know, I am supposed to be celibate because I am not married (so says my cousin), but my family knows that I have sex.  I am not that dissimulating about my life, though they do not know the extent of my sex life.  I don’t think they need to know all about it, but I also am realizing that I am tired of hiding myself from my family.  There is an unspoken agreement that I don’t say or do anything that will make anyone in my family uncomfortable in any way.  This underlines my feeling that who I am is shitty and worthless and should just shut the fuck up.

Kel talked in the comments on the last post about the veil slipping.  I’ve always thought of it as my mask.  I used to have it firmly affixed to my face.  It was staple-gunned to my face, and I had a hard time taking it off–even when I was home alone.

Now, though, it’s two-sizes too small.  Even when I try to slip it back on (such as for the infamous trip back to Taiwan), it doesn’t fit quite right.  Before, I put it on automatically and never even noticed it was there.  Now, I can’t put it on without it pinching me in all the wrong places.  I can’t do it any longer.  And yet, I don’t have anything to replace it with just yet, either.  I’m caught in the inbetween, and I fucking hate it.

It comes back to the faith thing my therapist and I talked about when I was waffling about moving to SF and getting my MA.  I kept saying I didn’t have faith that things would work out.  My therapist finally said, “You act first without knowing how it’ll work out.  That’s faith.”  In other words, act first and the faith will follow–not the other way around.  It was revolutionary to me, and it still resonates within.

I got an email from Glimmertrain announcing their upcoming contest.   I used to submit to them all the time back when I was in SF.  For the first time in a long time, I felt excited as I thought about submitting pieces.  That is going to be one of my goals.  Submitting one piece a month (I like to set my goals either insanely low so I can exceed them or insanely high so I can meet them).  That’s more than doable considering how many pieces I have written.  GT’s current contest is the fiction open, any theme, between 2,000 words and 20,000 words.  No novels.  I can do that.

The thing is, most of the literary mags I’ve read (and granted, this was many years ago) don’t care for explicit violence/sex in the writing.  I have lots of the latter and some of the former in most of my writing.  I have thought about writing pieces minus the sex and/or violence, but no.  It’s how I write.  I am not going to tailor my writings to fit the literary journals.  Not to that extent, anyway.  I once had a journal respond to my submission by saying, “The violence is disturbing.”  It should be.  Violence is disturbing; I don’t use it as simple entertainment.

The last thing is that I would like to get back into theatre.  However, I will have to tackle that another time as that is an entry in and of itself.

4 Responses to Going Off Half-Cocked

  1. “And yet, I don’t have anything to replace it with just yet, either.”

    Who says you have to? It’s about time you showed the real you, no veil, mask, or anything else. The people who truly love you don’t need the buffer, and we aren’t going to damage what we see, either. The people who do/will? Fuck them. Not worth it.

    As for being at your mother’s beck and call, so don’t. Don’t write back to her. When she asks you about it, talk around it. “Oh yeah, I meant to get to that and haven’t yet…” You aren’t lying, and you aren’t setting a date when you will reply, so there are no promises broken either. If you want to handle the issues on terra firma instead of he abstract realm of letters, then do it.

    Seriously. What’s the worst that could happen? She bitches at you when she calls? Oh yeah, like that doesn’t happen anyhow. She snipes to your father about you? Uh huh, same goes. She makes a cutting remark about how you failed in one of her expectations? Yeah, never happened before. Whatever. Your mother’s expectations aren’t going to change, even if you meet this one, Snowgirl. She says, “Jump” and you ask how high. Then when you do it, she raises the bar or sets out another hoop. So you “fail” on this one. So what?

    I could personally never be a phone sex operator. I would laugh myself stupid at a really inopportune moment, I just know it. “Oh, baby, I love it when you…wait, WHAT did you say? BWHWHAHAHAHHAHAH!!!!” Yeah, no. Just wrong. =) But see, you would rock at it. And hey, like I told you before, working from home is great for the environment and the conomy! =)

  2. Kel, I don’t mean I need another mask. I just mean that I don’t know how to proceed without all my various defenses. I am at a loss if I am not using my (admittedly not healthy) coping mechanisms.

    My mom: You are correct. It’s not as if she’s gonna do anything she hasn’t done before. It’s more an emotional impulse on my end to jump jump jump. I will send her the rudimentary letter that I drafted and nothing more.

    Phone sex op: Yeah. I can see me getting distracted, too, by the inanities, but fortunately, I can fake it. I am a performer, after all.

  3. I had a friend with a severe lisp who applied for a job as a phone-sex operator. She was crushed when she didn’t get it (maybe they thought customers wouldn’t want a woman saying “I have weally big bweasts…”)

  4. Oh god, Alex! Groan. Yeah, I doubt a man would want to have phone sex with someone who sounds like Elmer Fudd.