A floozy of a career choice
I’m thinking about becoming a prostitute.Seriously. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately and I think it’s the best option for me at this point. I need a fast-cash business that’s underground so I don’t have to pay taxes (did I just say that out loud?).It’s just that I’m tired of being poor. Sure it was fun for a while, crawling around the floor of my dirty Jeep scrounging for enough change to buy a small cup of coffee (bye bye, double soy lattes). Or putting $5 of gas in my car – just enough to get me to town from the ABC and back. But I’m kind of over it. I’ve been buying drug store shampoo for crying out loud – serious split ends. My roots are coming in and I desperately need a beach cruiser, either a pink Electra with white wall tires or that teal blue Del Sol I saw in Redstone with the quilted white leather seat). Today I hit rock bottom and bought Western Family dog food for Psycho Paws (though I did buy a half dozen eggs to dress it up a bit). The next thing you know, he’s going to have bad hair too. It’s time to do something about it.Listen, I’m just trying to be practical and realistic here. Just hear me out. It’s sort of a process of elimination thing.For starters, I’m too naive to sell drugs. I’d for sure get caught. Also, from what I know about drug dealers, they do a lot of drugs. Despite my best efforts I’ve never been very good at it. I get too scared or too emotional, and don’t really seem to have the brain chemistry for it. Every once in a while I get a wild hair – usually because I’m with some bad boy I like and pretending I can actually handle it. But I’ve never been able to make it a regular thing. I guess I’m pretty lucky like that. I can go to those dark places but I usually know when it’s time to walk away. (That doesn’t mean I’ll actually leave, but that’s another story). Let me tell you, being painfully aware comes in handy during therapy sessions. I’ve kept many a shrink well entertained, which is why I stopped going to therapy. I always felt like I should be the one getting paid. And with all the laughter in the room it was like, who is actually depressed here?But I digress.The stripper thing is out of the question too. Do we even have strip clubs in Aspen? I’m pretty sure we don’t and even so, my boobs are too small. So we’re looking at major start-up costs for the boob job. I don’t have the money and I certainly don’t have the time. I hear the recovery is very painful and would most likely keep me from doing yoga, which we all know I love soooo much. (Had to get at least one mention of yoga in there for all my fans! Love you!)I’m sure it would be pretty easy to be a thief since the only ones breaking and entering around here seem to be the bears. But my mom always said I left a trail a mile wide. I’m pretty sure the only reason she knew what I was up to because she was reading my diary on a regular basis, but whatever. I could never be a thief. I’m not very detail-oriented and my mom is probably right. I’d probably forget my right glove or grab a pair of yoga shorts thinking it was the black ski hat or get pulled over for speeding driving going 30 miles an hour down Main Street in the getaway van.But prostitution I could do. My friend Mark always says, “Alison, stick with what you know.” At the risk of sounding like a total slut, I do know a thing or two about it.But that’s my whole point. Now that I’ve become a self-realized yogi, I understand my value. I figure it’s somewhere in the neighborhood of $500 a pop.I’ve given this a lot of thought. I mean, isn’t that what we’re basically doing anyway, at least to some degree? The way I see it, the guys are getting off easy, so to speak. They get what they want and they don’t actually have to do anything in return. It’s not like the old days when they had to earn it, or god forbid, marry us first (although I’m pretty sure that’s a Catholic thing. Jews don’t really seem to have any issues with sex. Or if they do, no one told me about it). The feminists did a great job of turning that whole paradigm on its ear. No, we don’t need you to support us. We don’t need you to be the head of the household and we certainly don’t need you to be a gentleman. Let’s all just be equal so the girls can cruise around pretending we’re not going to get emotional about sex, just like the guys.Well, it’s not really working out so well, is it.So I have a brilliant plan. From now on, I think women should get what we really deserve: money! Hello, this is Aspen, right? Where the odds are good and the goods are odd? Where commitment phobia is as common as, well, the common cold? Where people are just looking for excuses to spend obscene amounts of money?Ladies, don’t underestimate your value. No low-balling! Just follow my lead and soon Aspen will be a gold mine once again.The Princess can’t answer any questions without her lawyer present. Send your loving e-mail to firstname.lastname@example.org.