Thursday, December 18, 2008

B is for Baby Prostitute

I just read over my last post and sheezus, am I gay for new york. I can't get enough.

I'm baby stepping, right now. instead of pounding the bottle of champagne in the fridge, I'm relaxing in my room with a cup of sleepytime tea.

onward, to the letter b of the cell phone prodge. (I'm going to finish it, someday. someday when I'm using a walker and have purple hair instead of pink.)

BAP- (801)

BAP is short for Brittney Ava Presley, and also for a bad 90's comedy starring halle berry called black american princesses about opening the world's first soul food restaurant/hair salon. (netflix, anyone?) born brittney stronge, the BAP, as I came to call her for short, mysteriously went by the name she chose for herself, ava, to all but her family, and when she was stripping, she called herself presley in homage to the king. the BAP was born to an unwed mother in '86 who gave her up for adoption and she was welcomed into a strict mormon home by a family of 3. she grew up in a small town in utah with a solid network of family ties whose strong values were prevalent in her rearing, even having her choice not to practice their faith met with respect and understanding. by the time she was 15 she was stripping and doing a combination of drugs that would make keith richards cringe, at 16 came the neck tattoo, at 17 she was lying about her age to be a suicide girl, and when she was 18 I crossed paths with her in san francisco by way of her high school best friend, lindsay.

the day I met her at a pizza place in the 'loin she looked like sex on a stick, with her painted on jeans slung obscenely low and her cropped black hair haphazardly pulled out of her eyes with plastic baby barrettes of the drug store variety. she had just woken up one morning and thought to herself, "oh, what the hell. I'll move to san francisco today." and hopped a bus to california, stopped into a hostel to shower and then performed at amateur night at the century club down the block to make enough money to pay for the next day's lodging. hearing this from anyone else may have horrified me, but somehow I was ensnared by the sordid tale of the exotic dancing ex-mormon lolita who blew into town with the intent of bringing her particular brand of unconventional teenaged sorcery to the city it had taken me two decades to get to from a farm 45 miles away.

the bap had an air of mysticism about her that she seemed to manifest for herself, as if simply believing that extraordinary things would present themselves to her in the path of least resistance on a day to day basis would make it a reality. it's the first time I've ever seen such an attitude prove so effective, and it really did seem that she was genuinely happy, truly unafraid of foraging into the unknown armed only with red lipstick, sequined pasties and bus fare. she was intriguing and fun to be around, and I silently admired her tattoos and lip rings and the fact that fate seemed perpetually in her favor despite her flippant approach to consequences. she found worrying to be innocuous and unnecessary, and used the adjectives "magical" and "amazing" at least one hundred times in a day. and that was part of her spell- as long as you could keep up with her, things usually were.

after a 6 month stint of nonstop adventure, it's hard to say whether BAP fled san francisco or if she was indeed the one who deemed the jig to be up. she is kind but not built for being part of reciprocal relationships, she is a fabled drifter, a nomad, a unicorn stripper. nowadays she is based out of utah but works for american airlines, and finally found the perfect employment for her insatiable wanderlust. now, the BAP gets to fly for real, every day.

last we spoke I asked her if she was still dancing in her downtime and she confessed that yes, much to her boyfriend's chagrin, she did a weekly drive up to wyoming to shimmy on a pole. I asked her why she still continued despite the fact that her salary is more than comfortable, and she said that she wants the extra money for cheap plane tickets that are available to her as part of her benefits.

"it's like, two booty claps and bam, I'm in france. it's magical."

"it's amazing, actually." I replied.


the night I met the BAP: 9-11-04

from left, BAP, lindsay, the joelercoaster, me

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