The good Lady Rubelucia and I recently had a brilliant idea. Stripper party planners--the antidote to crappy bachelor parties everywhere. Imagine: leave the logistics of your bachelor party to a woman--the shepherds of hospitality--and not just any woman but a sexy non-future-wife who knows all the best clubs and who will strip on a whim. I think it's a brilliant scheme, but a (male) coworker recently expressed skepticism at my chest-pounding entrepreneurship, doubting that there are strippers savvy enough to run a successful business of this nature.
Which got me to thinking...I'd always thought of strippers as smarter than the average bear. Maybe I've just been exposed to a disproportionate share of sexy San Francisco feminists who smirk while happily making three times the salary of their patrons. Seems pretty smart to me, and yet they get a really negative wrap.
This is all a long-winded way of introducing a fun new blog I found, Pretty Dumb Things, which contains very smart writing by an ex-stripper named Chelsea G. Summers. She mostly writes about relationships and sex, but I like her irreverent approach to topics like her fake boobs as well as her total lack of sympathy for blue balls.
Check it out--and in the meantime I'll work on writing a real entry. I promise!
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