I Should’ve Been a Porn Star

It’s a slap in the face to be two months away from thirty, and realize, I had it all wrong.

All my life I was told that if I studied hard, paid attention in class, picked up another extra-curricular activity and managed to get myself into a decent college, I would be okay in life. Then in college, I was told if I keep an open mind, and took classes outside my comfort zone like Philosophy, Business Statistics, Accounting and others of the same tedious elk, I would be okay in life. Better than okay! I might be able to support myself, buy a house, have a kid, pay for their college tuition. Heck, I might be able to retire one day! The world could be my oyster, if only I followed the rules.

After college, I was told that I’d have to earn my job. Work at unpaid internships–sacrifice my nights and weekends, pound the pavement trying to sell gym memberships. Then at night, mix fancy cocktails for people in suits, that felt perfectly fine asking if I wouldn’t mind committing unspeakable sexual acts with them in public restrooms. Lucky me, they then refused to TIP after I refused to play (because how dare I refuse? Don’t I know that I’m a lowly bartender–and worse–a human that is NOT a male? How dare I?).

After New York, I thought that would all be behind me because now I had my own bar, and I was making my own sales, and realizing my own success–at last–after a lifetime of promises. Not so! Working for myself is the worst. I work harder, longer, and lose sleep at night because I actually CARE if the place burns down. I deal with the slackers, the idiots, the horrible government, the worthless police, the despicable JPS and of course, the annoying, drunkards who pay me.

Well guess what? All this time, I’ve been wasting my youth. Here I am, nearly thirty, and it’s finally become clear. I should’ve been a porn star. Think about it–my boobs are porn star size–34DDD. I spent years studying dance, so God knows I had the flexibility. And if I’d spent my twenties doing porn, I’d have enough money by now to buy a bunch of real estate and live off my investments. And think about it–it was my early twenties–wasn’t I having sex with inappropriate people anyway? Isn’t that the definition of being young???

So why didn’t I? Did I think by pursuing academia and working hard, I would actually be able to survive in this world? Everything my parents told me was a lie, so why was I so concerned about disappointing them? I assure you that, had I become a porn star, and dumped a bunch of cash on them, they would’ve gotten over it pretty quickly.

Shall we review all the lies that my parents (and society) have told me that I should’ve ignored?

1. Don’t you dare get pregnant while in high school (or in college), because it will ruin your life!

Not so! This was before the days of Mtv hit series, Sixteen and Pregnant, and Teen Mom. Now, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll try to get knocked up by the first loser who comes your way, and hit the send button on your application before the pee stick dries. Not only will you make money, you can parlay your good fortune into a lucrative porn career, like Backdoor Teen Mom sensation, Farrah Abrams. She grossed over a million American dollars for that smooth move!

2. Pull up your top, you’re showing too much cleavage! You don’t want to give men a reason to objectify you, do you?

I didn’t at the time, but boy, I should have!

Kendra from Girls Next Door, got her big introduction to Hugh Heffner, by waitressing a party at the Playboy Mansion wearing nothing but body paint. That’s far worse than showing too much cleavage–that’s showing too much vagina!–yet she became famous, overnight, and after starring in the hit show, “Girls Next Door”, met her husband, had her baby and ended up with her own spin-off series “Kendra”, as well as a book deal. Her book became a best seller on the New York Times Book Review. All because she ignored the rules of modesty when she was a perky nineteen year old.

3. Nobody wants to marry a slut!

Not true. In fact, now-a-days, nobody wants to marry a virgin! Sexual liberation has gone a far way in opening the minds of men, and I guarantee you, the more experienced you are in the bedroom, the better. Who wouldn’t want to marry a porn star? My husband–for one–would have no objections. So why in the world not earn your experience while earning a few dollars?

In conclusion, I did everything the right way, and what did it get me? I still have to work like a dog, in a thankless job, constantly cleaning up after people I despise, as they say unspeakable things to me, and tread on my very last nerve. Last week, I had the supreme pleasure of watching a mad man get in a physical alteration with HIMSELF, all because he spent three-hundred JAMAICAN DOLLARS to sit at my bar! I’ve had no end of CRAZY people and frankly, I am on the brink of a nervous break-down. I’d talk to a therapist about this, but who can afford to pay people to listen to their problems? That’s what people pay me for, and they get me for a bargain, the price of a glass of rum.

I still don’t have a clue how I’m going to afford everything I need to afford to get by from day to day. My husband and I, after examining our finances, can conclusively say that even if we wanted to have a kid–ONE KID–we absolutely could NOT afford it. You know what a blow that is? In Jamaica, you are better off living in the ghetto, stealing light, popping out fatherless child, after fatherless child, and waiting for someone in your community to die so you can get a free week’s worth of drinks from your area don–than doing what I do every day. Tonight my husband tried to report a fire only to find out that the number for the fire department (110) is out of service. When he called the police, they told him it wasn’t their problem, and hung up. This is a terrible country in which to be rich enough to avoid living in the ghetto, but too poor to have a child. Nobody gives a shiz about you!

Which brings me back to my original point, I should’ve been a F$&k-ing porn star!

And now that I’ve seen the light, it’s too late. I am too old and too soggy to ever dream of making anything more than an insulting pittance! Maybe I have a hope of being a stripper–in some backwoods town in Kentucky–but certainly nowhere that really pays.

Heed my warning young ladies of the world: don’t squander your youth, like I did. Take advantage of your perky boobs, and high metabolic rates, and jump on the finest brass pole in the city of New York. Take every opportunity to be an escort at $2,500 a hour! Film all the porn videos your orifices can mange, because what your parents have told you, is a lie. You aren’t worth more than your looks! So capitalize on them while you can.

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