To be fair, my career was segmented into four isolated incidents that I've chosen to lump together into what I'm remembering as a full vocation. I don't care if that counts, but it's my life and I'll edit memories together if I feel like it.
1. San Antonio, TX, 2008- My exboyfriend and I are in town for a wedding. We go to the local gay bar on our first night and his friends enter me in the Shake Your Ass Contest. I come in third place, and then I'm immediately stripped of my title and kicked out when the emcee notices my underage hand markings. I decide that since I've shown Texas my shirtless torso and have been rewarded with a forceful escort out of Bonham Exchange, that I'll never live in that fucked-up Hicktown called Texas. And my position still stands.
2. Baton Rouge, LA, 2007- I ditch the other Student Government deligates at dinner and head for George's Place. A group a girls from my favorite sorority are in town and need help navigating the Santa Gayby Christmas Party. Thirty minutes later, I'm up on the bar competing with a 50-something bear in a leather harness and Santa Claus hat for dollar bills. I'm so drunk that I have three girls help me down and usher me into the bathroom. I fish somewhere between 30 and 90 dollars out of my underwear and walk back to my haram. I feel a hand grab my collar and pull me through the crowd. It's my SGA President and he's pissed. He tells me on the ride home that my SGA polo was lost in the crowd and that he's not ordering me another. I feel bad so I make him pull into Jack In The Box where I buy everyone tacos and bacon cheeseburgers with my underwear money.
3. New Orleans, LA, 2010- I drunkenly compete with my boyfriend, Wit's End, and three other guys in a strip-off at Oz. Our relationship is awesomely fucked-up and I want to teach him a lesson about who wears the whorepants. I win the contest by a landslide for the sheer fact that I'm the only one wearing briefs and a backwards hat. As I exit the stage, I see my exboyfriend's best friend in the audience. I feel like I'm going to throw up. He's going to tell McBougie and then McBougie will have the post-break-up upper hand. I give the guy my first prize of some random ethnic porn DVD (because he's into that) and we bail. As predicted, McBougie calls five minutes later and says that I'm trashy. I tell him that he doesn't have parents so his point is invalid. He hangs up and I drive Wit's End home in stoney silence because I've forever ruined his ego. I smile at him and reach for his hand because I think that he's the cutest guy in the world. Even if a bar full of old queens thinks I'm cuter. Which they do. Because I won.
4. Playa Del Carmen, Mexico, 2009- It's our second night in Mexico and I've been drunk since breakfast. The five of us walk into the local gay bar and I head for the alcohol. I ask the bartender in Spanish if there will be any strippers this evening. He tells me that there's an Amy Winehouse-themed drag show, but no dancers, señor. I volunteer my services and tell him that I'll split my earnings with him. He agrees and pulls me onto the bar. I go to work for nearly three songs before I realize that everyone's staring, but no one is tipping. My friend, Jacque, flamboyantly slides pesos into my shorts, but the Wild Bunch isn't following suit. So, in a moment of Corona-soaked desperation, I decide to channel my inner Winehouse. I'm not going to go into detail, but I will say that I had a gorgeous purple bruise on my forehead the next morning from attempting something ballsy on the drag queen's swing. After my scream draws significant attention to our group, Joey and the other three forcibly remove me from the bar top while I shout for the bartender to save my underwear and serve me one more shot of tequila.
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