Class Attracts Class

My mama, God rest her, used to say "Pretty is as pretty does and you are <em>always</em> judged by the persona you project and the company you keep." Now, if you were to look at me on any given day, you would assume that I was a a pretty tough bitch who kept company with some pretty rough customers (<em>so to speak</em>). I tend to wear my hair loose and unruly, and it's Lucille Ball on crack red with a Cruella deVille streak. My nose is pierced, my ears as well - a total of ten times. I lean toward water filled push up bras, skinny strapped tanks and tight, low-slung jeans (<em>despite my low-sling belly, lol</em>), the rattier the better. Thanks to my very high arches I walk very well in three inch spike heels.
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Dressing up on a Friday night means piling on every piece of tacky, bangly, dangly jewelry I have, the longest, sparkliest earrings I own and spraying enough product in my hair that I'm always a minute away from going up in flames ala Michael Jackeson in a Pepsi commercial. Add Alice Cooper rings around my eyes and just a bit of slick on my lips and there you have it.

I also swear like a sailor, with "cocksuckin' <strong>BITCH</strong>" being my favorite oath; on a good night I shoot stick better than most men, I snap gum roughly once a second and prefer my nails long and blood red or black with silver sparkles. I also have a very large back tattoo, as well as several others, all of which are <strong>VERY</strong> visibly placed on my body. I can honestly say I was one of the first women in this part of the state to have a tattoo on my forearm, when other woman preferred to have delicate, discreetly placed tattoos and it was <strong>LONG</strong> before Cher's decorated ass paraded across the deck of that aircraft carrier. Before my age caught up with me, I could wrestled a keg of beer up a basement steps and spend eight hours in the woods - in January - cutting and piling firewood. I can and have changed my own oil, rotated my own tires and I've installed an over the range hood from scratch.

If you're picturing a broad that would be perfectly at home in a crowd of long-haired bearded bikers, you'd be right on the money. Because that's who I <strong>AM</strong>.

However ...

I also designed and maintained a website for a local Christian based attorney for three years. Even though his offices were a little over six miles from my home, we did all business by phone and e-mail, so when we finally met at his office, just my delicate diamond nose stud and feminine rose tattoo kind of flustered him. He admitted to having a totally different picture of me in his mind.

For three years I did the nails of one of our local "ladies of distinction", you know the type: her husband has some cushy office job and is on the city board. She has her nails and hair done once a week, is tanned to perfection and does charity work instead of working a "real" job. She thought the stud and tattoos were "quirky and fun" and called me "odd, in a cute sort of way". I held her hands for an hour every week and she shared some of her deepest, darkest secrets with me. We ran into each other at a wedding several summers ago; the groom was a running buddy of ours and had grown up next to her and her husband. When she saw the <strong>REAL</strong> me, tight black jeans, pointy-toed spike boots, leather vest and the girls peering prettily over the top of a see-through lace bodysuit, her mouth <strong>LITERALLY</strong> fell open and she was struck speechless. It was several minutes before she could bring herself to speak to me, and I swear she <strong>NEVER</strong> brought it up at my job.

So ... I tell you those stories to tell you <strong>THIS</strong> story:

In the past month or so there has been a great deal of drama on a certain Internet advertising venue involving providers, clients, the law and in some places God himself. There are horror stories of stings being conducted by ladies and clients both, nights spent in jailcells, threats and promises of eternal damnation and the whole mess seems to be spiraling into bedlam, complete with name calling, nasty personal emails and panic in the streets, especially in the Chicago area.

I compare the whole situation to McDonald's and a really great local Italian restaurant. Both are offering the same thing, there are people who prefer one over the other and there's room enough for both of them; the guy who eats regularly at McD's will occasionally splurge for a full course meal at Luigi's, the gentleman who <strong>NEVER</strong> eats a meal at a table without a linen tablecloth and a good bottle of chianti will pass those Golden Arches and find himself craving a Big Mac. Then there's the guy who don't give a shit one way or another because his ol' lady makes the best fucking meatloaf in town.

Smell what I'm cooking here?

If you can't take the heat - literally - spend a little more <em>lira</em> and get out of the <em>cucina</em>.

Or like my dear departed mama said: You are judged by the company you keep.

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