Personal Statement

Sorry y'all! I've disappeared the last couple months, focusing my energy into getting this law school underway, but it's all coming together now and I thought I would publicly share my personal statement. This is probably my second to last draft, so I anticipate feedback!  

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              As an undergraduate history student at San Francisco State University, I was always drawn to stories of labor action, progressive social change and communities flourishing despite facing seemingly insurmountable adversity. Stories of people actively shaping and reshaping the world in which they live to provide a better future for themselves and their families ingrained themselves into my psyche more so than the important survey knowledge of dates and locations, a crux for any serious history student. Since graduation, my interest in stories of change has only grown and I am hoping to earn a law degree to not only continue learning from these kinds of stories, but to also add myself to them, taking strides to make positive changes in the world around me, especially in the realm of labor and the sex industry.

While doing research in the campus Labor Archives my junior year of college, I happened across stacks of articles about the radical unionization of the Lusty Lady peepshow theater in 1997 and their momentous move to become a co-operative business in 2003, changing my unforeseeable future. That summer I became a dancer at the Lusty Lady, the world’s only unionized and worker-owned adult entertainment facility, consistently working until 3am, when needed, throughout my graduating year. As soon as I passed my probationary period I became an active member of both the SEIU local 1021 and the co-operative, filling some of the most crucial administrative positions.

In my mere two-and-a-half-years as a sex-worker, working for some of the safest, most independent, and feminist-minded places, I have still personally experienced and witnessed others grapple with social and judicial challenges I would not wish upon anyone. As a sex-worker, stigmatization from friends, family members, potential employers, school administrators, landlords and social workers is a constant reminder that sex-work, even in its most legal forms, is not seen as a moral or legitimate profession, resulting in fear, isolation, lost jobs, lost children, closed doors and fewer opportunities. In my experience, the psychological and, unfortunately sometimes, physical harm, would not be so pervasive if the work were seen as equal to that of a retail clerk, banker or another professional, like a lawyer.

Six months ago, I started working with the Bay Area chapter of SWOP (Sex Worker Outreach Project), a national social justice network dedicated to the end of sex industry stigma, harm and inequality through peer support, education and advocacy. With SWOP, I have learned to work on a team to reach out to others in need of health services, legal resources and, sometimes most importantly, a simple friendly ally to a sex-worker, former sex-worker or family member of someone in the business. I have had the honor of speaking on panels, representing sex-workers in school lecture halls and creating public events that bring the voices of sex-workers to academics, other activists and each other. With them I have realized that change, however small, can be accomplished with passion and dedication to hard work.

As my disgruntled grandma likes to remind me, getting into this line of work has been completely my choice and, according to her, delving into sex-work activism is a “nice thing to do,” but relegated to “those people,” unworthy of my or anyone else’s attention. Part of what my grandma says is true: though I grew up in a lower-middle class family, I am fortunate enough to have an education and enough work experience that I can do anything to pay my expenses. However, I cannot disagree more with her insistence of tolerance for the existing social conditions. As I have learned from studying the trajectory of other movements in this country, including civil rights, gay rights, feminist and labor, modification of and innovation upon the status quo only occurs when people from all walks of life, marginalized and privileged, come together and act for equality, not only in their own interest, but in that of others’ as well.

             

Dear High School Drama Teacher

Dear Mr. Mills (my high school's drama teacher):

You always knew I was never drama geek material, but I'm thankful you never gave up trying to force it down my throat. Tricks for line memorization, improv, costume, and serious role play, though ineffectual at the time, have seemed to have reestablish themselves into my person and are actually revealing to be quite useful. As an adult entertainer, these things are more than necessary.

Yes, playing Juliet in our class's contmporary version of "Romeo and Juliet" was a complete failure, having forgotten (ie not actually memorized) most of the lines in my scene, awkwardly sputtering out "Oh happy dagger, here's thy sheath. There rest and let me die," peaking at you through half-closed eyelids while trying to appear dead. Who knew that this would only be the beginning?

At the time I know I thought your idea of using the dramatic arts as a means to stimulate creativity in problem solving, to inspire kinesthetic and empathetic understanding of other people and environments, and to make us all team players was a bunch of hogwash that my anti-social self just didn't want to acclimate to. Well sir, now I am ever so grateful and I wish I could take back all the times I chose to build sets instead of auditioning for the lead. You must be so disappointed so many of your leading ladies and gentlemen have left the theater and turned to more 'stable' jobs, foregoing song and dance, homemade bustles and pompadours for suits and ties and regular paychecks (and not the small one's given to high school drama teachers.)

I hope that my renewed interest in the dramatic arts will make you proud. Without you and your overwhelming dedication to the stage I never would have been able to become a convincing adult baby girl, believable bi-curious college co-ed, hypnotic bratty princess, or overbearing MILF. Ok, you might be a little disappointed that these are porn personas, but hey, they're legitimate paid gigs and a hell of a lot more interesting than most of your most dedicated students careers.

I'd direct you to my work so you can see proof of my utilization of theatrical elements, but, for reasons that should be obvious, I think that would be highly inappropriate. With that you'll just have to take the results of your good efforts at my word and my gratitude from afar.

Sincerely,
Sandy Bottoms

(Dear readers I won't hide things from you! I'll post links to my newest porn adventures as soon as I can!)

Law School Saga

The law school saga continues...

Tomorrow I get the results of the LSATs and I can start plugging away information into all the online electric application forms, a suprisingly tedious and momentous task. According to LSAC graphs and charts my high GPA and, what I hope to be, a high LSAT score still isn't going to cut it for the competitive Bay Area law schools. As I stand now I am average. Boring. Easily passable for other, more groomed applicants, people who have had the idea of "law school" drilled into their heads even before leaving the womb and professional guidance ever since.

Though lacking the grooming other applicants have certainly had, I think I can make up for it, or rather, I NEED to make up for my unexceptional academic prep by writing a kick ass personal statement. Banking on my experiences as a sex-worker and sex-work advocate, I am providing full discloser of my work history, painting a full picture of what I hope to accomplish with a law degree. I understand that this move can totally work to my disadvantage, ensuring that I don't get accepted into top notch schools whose application review panel may be loaded with topnotch, conservative law professors. If it does indeed turn out to be the case that I am barred because of my politics then my response is simply this: I don't want to go to your school anyway (and you WILL know me as someone who forces a change in your standards later :) ).

Now the sticky part of the application process is gathering letters of recommendation. Like anyone who is returning to school after having been out of the academic loop for a while it takes some finagling to get the appropriate content. Schools recommend getting applications by reconnecting with old professors and hitting up employers, which brings up two problems: the first being I was a Middle Eastern history major. "Hello Muslim/Iranian professor whose politics, I'm pretty sure, are super conservative when it comes to sex-work. I need you to write me a letter praising what I have been doing for the past 2 years." I just don't think it's going to happen. The second is I've been in lead administrative positions at the Lusty and we are a cooperative. Who exactly is going to be a "legitimate" reference?

As frustrated and scared that I am I do have faith that it will all come together in the end and I will be able to get into at least one of my preferred schools. Until then I am just going to keep plugging along and will keep interested parties posted!

Writing It Up for SF Weekly

Guess what guys! I've been invited to start writing for SF Weekly's Exhibitionist blog and my first post came out this morning! Since it's been a super hectic week my Exhibitionist post is going to take the place of my regular post, but I pinkie promise I'll post more real soon.

Want to check it out?

International Fisting Day: Courtney Trouble Says Put Your Dukes Up (and IN!) Against Censorship

And, even more importantly, happy International Fisting Day everybody! I can't stress enough how into the hard work Courtney Trouble, Jiz Lee, and all other bloggers/tweeters/porn-lovers/porn-consumers have put into making Fisting Day the phenomenon it is. Jeeze Louise, who wouldn't want to celebrate? You know I will.

Lusty Lady schedule for the week of October 24th

Tuesday 10/25: In Private Pleasures 9 to 1045 am, on stage (and available for VIP) until 3pm.

Friday 10/28: In Private Pleasures 11am to 1245pm, on stage (and available for VIP) until 3pm.

Bye-Bye Braces

My orthodontist recently told me that my juvenile looking braces should be ready to come off sometime around Thanksgiving. As embarrassed as I am to be an adult with braces, being the only person over age 16 in the Disney-themed office fit with bubblegum flavored gloves and wooden nickels as rewards for a good brushing regimen (to be cashed in for such awesome prizes like Gameboy games and toys, no less), getting repeatedly asked at bars and movie theaters for my identification, keeping my mouth shut for photos during my college graduation, I am actually kind of sad to have them go. Instead of being excited about all the candied apples and beef jerky I will now be able to consume without breaking brackets I am having an identity crisis; who is Sandy Bottoms without her braces?

The 'Sandy Bottoms' persona's existance, running parallel to that of the braces, has been good to me. If you scroll through adult entertainers ads you find that there are a lot of girls that match my description: white, curvy, dark hair and eyes, "girl-next-door" kind of look. As accessories these pain's in the gums have set me apart (aren't I witty, friends?). Braces, being unmovable props for "youth" fantasies, have helped me bring out a naive, giddy, and girly sexual projection of my real self that probably would not have come out otherwise. They've made me different. Without them, I feel I lose the novelty of my character and get lost in the crowd.

So now what? I'm too partial to 'Sandy' to give her up, but she's going to have to go through some sort of chick-flick style make-over. Pin-up goddess? Too high maintenance. Goth vamp? I don't think anyone would take that seriously. Barbie as opposed to Skipper? Maybe. I suppose the montage of possibilities is endless.

Predictably this crisis is extending itself into the real world as I reshape my goals and priorities, seeking a clearer sense of self and roles in the larger picture. Drastic changes in my romantic and familial relationships, Lusty Lady positions, involvement in different kinds of sex-worker activism, and a head-first dive into my career is all happening at the same time. Utterly overwhelming and taxing, yet exhilerating. The braces are coming off and everything is going to be straight, shiny, and new.

Grounding Exercise

Sometimes I forget I have interests beyond sex-work and that I am indeed a dynamic human being that doesn't have to be serious all the time. This is my 5 year old selves's grounding exercise. Apologies for sharing with you.

My name is *Sandy*. I have a pet tortoise names Tuga, enough dresses to clothe a drag football team, and brown eyes. My favorite foods are lasagna and pickles. And if I'm in a Thai restaurant I only order one thing: pad see ew with tofu.

I can't go anywhere near a pole - vertical water pipe, overhang support - without forgetting where I am, clinging to it, and dancing like I'm at work. Inappropriate, I know.

My partner is a math major and I can never decipher the complicated squiggles on his white board. Regardless of my lack of understanding I like to show off his work to anyone that comes to my apartment. Visitors have learned to tolerate this proud partner tendency.

I like to make crap out of other crap and I have more DIY craft sites saved in my bookmarks than anything else. Gluten-free baking sites are a close second.

These boob cakes were not gluten-free:

But these cupcakes were:

When I am not working I am reading: when my partner leaves my side to go to the bathroom, during movie previews, and sometimes even while walking. Its a terrible habit I've had since the tender age of 4.

I've come to grips with the fact that playing dress-up is not something I do just to make money or an indulgence for important holidays like Halloween and Rosh Hashanah, but is truly a way of life. (Enter cheese-ball claims about how looking good makes me feel good etc etc.) Coordinating a hiking costume or "studying at the cafe" outfit, complete with sweater-vest and red think-rimmed non-prescription glasses, has become my reality.

When I was a child I collected rocks, Barbies, and stamps. As an adult I've moved onto scary-looking antique medical supplies, vintage hats, and sex-toys. Tom-Ay-toe - Tom-ahh-toe.

I used to have favorite colors, but I've learned over the years its rude to be discriminatory.

Grievances

Some may call me a sexual health hypochondriac. Others may label me paranoid as every single bump in the night leads to me frantically calling the nurse's hotline in the morning and running to my local gyno office. I, however, think of it as necessary maintenance for my lifestyles as both a proud slut and sex-worker. My doctors, products of a private health care system, don't quite know what to do with an anomaly such as me.

Some of the time I get helpful, genuine responses from nurses and physicians. Most of the time my candidness about my sexual status is responded to with facts and care dished with a side of awkwardness (apparently they don't prepare interns to actually hear the truth about their patients in med school.) Every now and then I confront a medical professional who goes above and beyond their duty to answer medical questions and to treat ailments, choosing to (obviously) let their personal opinions creep into my health care.

The last chapter in this saga was just last week (this may very well be tmi. By all means skip ahead if you'd like to not hear about the health of my cooch.) when I called the Kaiser Permanente advice nurse to ask about a prescription for a normal bacterial or yeast infection, things most women regardless of profession and relationship status get all the time. At first she was friendly and patient then (thinking, like always, it is best to divulge as much information about myself so I can get the best health care I can) I told her my sexual history (including the fact that I use condoms and gloves regularly) and got erratic, unsettling behavior. She swore I had herpes and probably some other STIs too and that I was jeopardizing the health of my future babies by my actions, making me an appointment for my gyno the next morning.

(Let me pause here: this is ANOTHER big thing that is crappy about dealing with health care providers. They assume since I have a uterus I want and will have children. Big news for you KP: I don't want any, nor do I plan on having any so you can please take your patriarchal head out of my ovaries.)

I went to my appointment a nervous wreck, knowing that I had been treated poorly, but actually convinced that I needed to seek medical attention. My doctor took a quick look between my legs and said no one in their right mind would have diagnosed me as having herpes or any other STI, though she did a full screening just to pacify my still worried and confused expressions. Owning my original concerns to regular female biochemistry (what I had thought in the first place!) she inferred again that had the advice nurse actually listened to me the night before the appointment and my night of worrying about my life choices would have been avoided entirely.

In the past I have swept such negative interactions under the rug, whining and woe-ing to friends and co-workers about the BS sex-workers and sluts have to go through dealing with doctors and nurses while never actually doing anything about it. I'm tired of whining to the choir and listening to others preach about how they've had terrible experiences with their doctors and their nurses too. This time I'm going to do more than whine -- I'm going to encourage others to whine too. AND to whine loudly.

Do you have stories to share? Please do!

Do you have resources for others to submit grievances and feedback to health care providers? Please share!