I moved to New York City.

I had to get out of Arizona. I hated it there, and I hated who I had become. (See previous posts.) The sole reason I moved out there meant jack shit to me (he is now fat and republican and has an overwhelmingly obnoxious tribal tattoo a la George Clooney in From Dusk Till Dawn) and let's be real - it was fucking hot. It was ridiculously, disgustingly, hot.

I moved out here to 1. write for a magazine, and 2. pursue a career in theatre. Okay - I will now pause for your guffaws, eye-rolling, and exclamations of disbelief. Yeah, yeah, now I must be fake, or a man, or a jaded slanderous stripper telling lies and defaming the face of sex worker blogging forever. Whatever. That is so two years ago. Anyway, I'm actually not kidding. (I know this all sounds totally random, but aren't you happy to be catching up?)

I've always loved writing. I spent every single college summer in New York, interning at different magazines. And in Arizona, I wrote for the big newspaper. (And then my cocaine addiction got bad and I stopped showing up. And then I was fired.)

Halfway through college, I changed my major from journalism to theatre. Again, the cocaine addiction was getting bad. And I found myself rushing to my evening acting classes after working the day shift. There I'd be, closing my eyes and deep breathing during pre-class meditation, distracted by how much my hair reeked of cigarettes and how badly my skin smelled like sweat, red bull, and shame. (And of course, Aquolina Pink Sugar perfume.)

I was about a semester away from graduating, but I dropped out. I threw out all of my stripper gear, packed my bags, and moved to New York City. I had an interview with one of my favorite women's magazines. Beauty writer. No sweat. My portfolio was killer. My references were top-notch. I knew I was I going to get the job.

After not hearing from them, the magazine eventually folded.

There was an open audition for an off-Broadway show. I stood outside in line with over a thousand people. And after callback after callback after callback, I was told that they loved me! That I would be a star! And that I would be perfect for a certain role - that they didn't need anyone for - at the moment. It wasn't bad news. It wasn't great news. And they would eventually call me. But not now.

Long story short, while anxiously awaiting my big New York City stage debut, I was broke. So I went to the West Village and bought a new pair of heels. I doubled up my long pearl necklace around my neck, and buckled on my velvet kitty collar - the one with the 'Lux' heart on it.

Did you really think I was going to throw those away? I knew there was a reason to keep them.

More later.