Dear 26 year old Val,

Happy Birthday and welcome to Australia! In a few weeks you’ll land a job that will change the trajectory of your life. Lean in.

8 months after that you’ll be christened Valerie by a daytime DJ in a dank basement tittie bar in Times Square, New York. He will advise you that V names remind people of vagina hence translating to more cash in your hand. You, being inexperienced in marketing, figure why the hell not.

Several months later a local rapper in a Memphis tittie bar (yes, tittie bars become a major theme in your life) starts calling you Valerie Stunning and continues to do so every time he patronizes the club, which is often. He won’t spend much money but he’ll be generous with his bottle of Coconut Ciroc. You being inexperienced in business accept this as valid payment for a few minutes of your sparkle and time. Valerie Stunning will then go on to become your nom de guerre as an entrepreneur, writer and community organizer.

Over the next decade you will dream wildly, live freely, experience deep meaningful love, experience deep meaningful heartbreak, become a blond (you’ll look great, trust me), create with reckless abandon, dazzle thrill seeking audiences, live in several countries, learn a new language, unlearn a lifetime of patriarchal brainwashing, become present in your body, hone your intuition, start feeling your feelings (terrifying but worth it), provide your own seed money for an exciting start-up and meet countless women & femmes who will inspire you to become a better human.

You will also make many mistakes. Embarrassing, cringe-worthy, heart-wrenching mistakes. And you will be humbled time and time again by the startling revelation that you can not (gasp!) control everything. And that perfectionism is a moot fucking point.

If I could bestow a few pearls of wisdom, it would be this:

• Quit putting so much pressure on yourself.

• Prioritize your mental and spiritual health as much as you do your physical health.

• Take real days off and lean into actual rest.

• Drink less alcohol.

• Write more frequently.

• Learn vulnerability and practice it daily.

• Learn patience and practice it daily.

• Spend less time in the future.

• Spend more time in the present.

When you wake up in ten years, you will be stronger, wiser and more accomplished in ways you can’t even fathom. Which is saying a lot for your idealistic Aquarian-ass. Continue to stay open and curious for all of the wondrous things that will happen for you. AND KEEP SHOWING UP.

I’m proud of you every day!

Love,

Your 36 year old self.

PS. Yes, you of all people now have a dog.

T-shirt: @oldpropodcast

A Complete Twerk Around the Globe.

As the Universe would have it, exactly 9 years and 3 weeks after my very first shift, in Sydney Australia, I entertained my last clients in Las Vegas, Nevada.

Making my journey as a traveling Stripper, through 11 cities in 4 countries across 3 continents, a complete twerk around the globe.

The end of an era.

Since I last posted via my personal social media, I have run the gamut on feels about my pandemic induced retirement. And trust me it did not look like this.

In the depths of my grief, I found myself completely disconnected from my sparkle and the things that brought me joy. Some might say I had an existential crisis (or 3) and a resulting touch of the ol’ depression.

I even wore all black. Without irony and not a rhinestone or hint of gold in sight.

ME. WEARING ALL BLACK.

It only happened twice. But still.

As if the emotional and mental ick wasn’t enough. I had a serious injury rear it’s ugly head in my hip. Apparently working jobs that require you to stand for long periods of time on hard surfaces since you were 15 come at a cost to your joints. As does regularly throwing your booty in a circle for years on end.

You know, the moping and sadness I could sort of handle. It being 2020 and all.

But a debilitating injury? OH HELL NO.

(Indignantly mounts high horse…)

I’ve been doing push ups and lunges for years. Sometimes I even have abs. My friends call me Butch Barbie and guess what?! Butch Barbie does not have trouble bending over to shave her asshole (j/k it’s lasered) or pick up the fucking dog… Which is also a new development since we last caught up!

His name is Desi, he loves bold prints and dry humping fuzzy socks. He was a stray and now he’s mine forever. But more on him later.

THE POINT IS…

I have been working through some shit and in the process have had some significant breakthroughs. Hashtag therapy.

I’ve also relaunched my website where all of my full posts (i.e. anything I share on social media that is longer than a few sentences, excluding this post) in all of their glory can now be read. Let’s just say the new TOS lit a fire under my ass to be more thoughtful about where my content lives. Y’all are resourceful and I believe you’ll find your way to the link at the top of the page when you’re ready to continue reading.

That aaaand,

I started writing my book. It’s in it’s very beginning stages, but ya girl is writing every. single. day.

All this while growing Paradise City Creamery into it’s second year (hair flip, finger snap!) and carefully yoga-ing my hip back to it’s full power-twerk-potential. If only for pleasure now.

Shoutout to all of y’all who regularly show love, share resources and have been here for a hot minute! (I grew up in the 90’s and I’m keeping that one.)

Thank you so much for being here. Xxo, Val ❤️💦

Photo: Angie Ortaliza

Street Art: Felipe Pantone

Lap Dance Diatribe

A smug arms dealer in town for a trade show (balls deep in single malts & bad cocaine) once mansplained his theory on success as I dry humped the cost of my commercial ice cream machine to fruition. 

When he neared the end of his diatribe, he said: “If you make enough money no one will ever give a fuck about the world you come from.” 

Now. I have a thought, or five on that statement (but you can read more in my eventual memoir...) 

Though I will say this:

The world I come from is one, where many of us in it, are forced to hide what we do because it isn’t safe to be out. 

Our families disown us, our kids get taken away from us and should we choose to leave Sex Work, it’s impossible to put our job experience on a resume, making it impossible to gain respectable reentry to civilian jobs, if hired at all.

That and,

Goddess forbid we should ever need to depend on the law for protection-

Because the reality is just by working our jobs we are at higher risk to experience violence-

We are victim blamed and in far too many cases mistreated by the very “authorities” meant to protect & serve us. 

So as one of the privileged few who can be out,

Why on earth, after years of sacrifice-

Busting my ass, shouting my 2 cents and in turn getting uninvited to many tables (again, more on that in said memoir...) Would I ever see it as a perk to have people forget the world I came from? 

NAHHHH, FOOL. 

I’m here to honor ALL of the resilient Queens who’ve come before me, have been forgotten, work beside me and are yet to come.

I’m here to build monuments celebrating our culture and ALL it inspires.

In spite of the years of injustice and degradation I’ve witnessed... I’ve experienced. 

Because I reject the notion that Sex Work isn’t a valid contribution to our society. 

I reject that criminalized workers have to live in fear of their lives on a daily basis just for putting food on their table.

I reject that non-criminalized workers are grossly exploited, bullied and discriminated against by their employers. 

I reject that the world doesn’t give a fuck about us unless we make enough money.