That’s Mr. Dork To You…


So last night as I was gearing up to throw a scene for a patron and taking one last look in the mirror to make sure my “uniform” was right. Knee high motorcycle boots, polished to a mirror gloss? Check. Skin tight faded jeans? Check. Studded belt, freshly sharpened Kershaw knife, fingerless gloves tucked in back pocket? Check, check and check. Time to engage “bad ass” mode and thrash some sweet girl.

Of course it is hard to be fully serious when delivering a scene while wearing a shirt that boldly proclaims “Boy Sluts of America!”

Yeah, for as much as I love to play the big, bad wolf when I play truth is that deep down inside I’m a serious dork. Don’t believe me? Let me see… I’m obsessed with the Sgt Pepper’s album, like to the point I can point out all the bands that have tried to re-create the damn thing. (Panic at the Disco, anyone?)

Still don’t believe me?

Ok, up till I was probably in the 1st or 2nd grade I could not for the life of me figure out how to put my shoes on the proper feet. I blame my mom for making me wear hippy shoes as a child, but I always seemed to get the left shoe on the right and vice versa. Not wanting to think her child was “special” and march me off to the short bus, my enterprising mother came up with a rather brilliant idea to fix the problem. She took a fat red magic marker and drew a set of lips on inside edge of each shoe. When the lips matched up and my shoes were kissing each other, I knew I had it right.

Actually kinda pretty brilliant in hindsight?

So yes, while I delight in squaring my shoulders up and ripping into the eager flesh of pretty girls with sadistic delight…. Deep down I’m still that toe headed kid in tough skin jeans and the kissing sneakers.