Seemingly Awesome Jobs That I Do Not Want
Comic book writer
Vasquez. Dirge. Valentino. Sfar. Ohba. Rugg and Maruca. Mizuno. I love graphic novels and comics of all varieties, but especially the ones for pouty teenagers who wear all black and spend their allowances at Hot Topic. (My inner child writes angry poetry, carries a metal lunchbox, and wears her Tool tee-shirt every day.) Why not apply my interest to my career? After all, I do have a minor in dramatic writing.
Because I don’t want to be broke, that‘s why. Most comic book writers get paid $500 for a script by small companies. $500 for a twenty-two page script would mean that I’d need to have six guaranteed deals a month in order to simply pay my bills and break even (without eating shopping or sangria)
Where I grew up, being a stripper was easy money. A few of my friends made a decent living at it, and actually seemed to enjoy what they did. They were able to afford regular manicures, they had funny stories to tell when out to lunch, and they looked forward to going to work, which, to me, is the most important part of any career. I figure that I like music, and I like dancing, and I like being naked. Getting a job as a stripper seems like a no-brainer.
Except most exotic dancers retire at 28 and I get sleepy after midnight. When I’m sleepy I’m also cranky, and often say things like, “I‘m gonna eat your dick.” Dancing two or three three-hour long shifts, coupled with having to act as though I like strangers, topped off by the fact that ever since I started dating the current boy I’ve had some severe difficulty when it comes to acting interested in anyone but him…well, I probably wouldn’t make it past the audition stage anyway. For one thing, I have the rhythm of a half-Jewish white girl who likes synthpop.
I must warn you, even if you don’t want to be an exotic dancer, if you check out Stripper FAQ you will lose half of your day to reading. Yes, reading the articles. Swear. The author, Kiko Wu, is a decent writer with a lot to share. Um. Yeah, that’s pretty much as expertly as I can put that.
We can start with a role call:
Even if I enjoy wearing my lingerie outside of my clothes, giving strangers the finger, and “expressing myself,” my lack of musical skills and enjoyment of things like cooking paella and reading Martha Stewart Living render this career option null and void.
I would gladly be Maynard James Keenan’s assistant, though. It’s close enough, I have the credentials, and he’d probably laugh at my vag jokes. Everybody wins.