I like my boobs. They aren't Hollywood caliber, but they're very nice. I ain't afraid to show 'em either. If you've ever seen me perform, you've probably seen one or both of them rubbed with glitter and jostling bra-less in some see-through thingie I've thrown on for the night. So when SuicideGirls.com (the much hyped, punk rock, soft-porn site on the verge of relocating to L.A. and becoming very very big) asked me to pose, I was flattered and all for it. Little did I know my B-cup boobies would become embroiled in a tangled web of sex, lies and chaos....

Because I'm no twenty-nothing hottie stripper or the usual tattooed beauty you find on SuicideGirls.com, I wanted to take a different approach to how I would be represented. I couldn't be just another girl on the site--I'm too old and too much of an egomaniac. So I informed one of their staffers that I would do a set for free (they had offered me money) if I was a featured artist on the site, i.e. pick my own photographer, content and have the set be accompanied by an interview and downloadable music. I was told that this would be fine... great, even.

After the photographer (Marne Lucas from Velour Productions) and I had already spent a couple hundred dollars on film, lights, studio space and peanut butter Clif Bars, we commenced this super-hot photo shoot that would be a part of my set. I asked the young lady at the S.G. headquarters if she would like to be part of the shoot, during which she could conduct the interview. "Great," was the E-mailed reply.

We had been shooting since 8pm and the S.G. rep arrived around 10:30pm. She couldn't find a tape recorder so she had brought her laptop and ticked a few notes on it while observing the shoot. When it was time for her part of the shoot we got into costume and snapped off about a roll and a half of film with her and me goin' at it. I was dressed as a man and she was in a filmy black nighty and leather boots. At 1am we were wrapping up, totally beat, when the young lady pouted and said, "No nudity?" I told her that there would be plenty of nudity and that this was only a part of the whole thing. I assured her she'd get to see more stuff when she was ready to do the interview. She was still pouting when I said goodnight to her so I promised to call her in the morning and we'd figure out a deadline for it all. Turns out I never had to call her.

She was desperately trying to reach me all the next morning, saying she was getting fired unless she could get some nudes of me right away. And if she couldn't get them, could I come over for a photo shoot that day? I was trying to wake up enough to understand what she was talking about and get ready for two intense rehearsals and a few of my own deadlines. I told her no. "Can I photograph you at rehearsal?"

"What....naked?" I said, half-joking.

"Maybe....um.... topless." She was obviously desperate. I wanted to help her out but wouldn't budge. Why, all of a sudden, was my nakedness so desperately needed? Did someone need proof I was really a girl? The Suicide Girls with all of their major press coverage couldn't possibly be wanting for content. Tons of girls from all over the world, umpteen times hotter than myself, had heard the hype and wanted in. I'm sure the S.G. e-mail was packed with young tight flesh in all colors and sizes. I was beginning to feel strangely... special. But I wasn't gonna give. This was not the deal we had discussed two weeks earlier. Straight up NO .

She was practically begging me, saying she was already in trouble and they were looking for someone to replace her. Why? It didn't make any sense at all. They weren't supposed to get anything of me until May and this was still the 1st week of April. I was starting to feel a little weird about a girl losing her job over having no naked pictures of me. OK, maybe I felt a little flattered. I offered to talk to her boss. She said no, that it would make no difference. I apologized again but had to get on with my day.

I was at rehearsal number one and my phone was off. During a break I checked my messages to find that SuicideGirls.com, the forward thinking, sex-positive, alt-life torchbearers, had called my employers to inform them that as long as I am an entertainer at their establishment, they, SuicideGirls.com, would do no business with them whatsoever. Hmmm. As a courtesy to my boss I called the manager of S.G.com to try and make sense of it all. The manager ended up being a shrill and pissy man who only confused me further.

He couldn't tell me what I had done to create such a catastrophe. I'm still thinking that they wanna see me naked, and I'm ready to swing by the office and moon or flash somebody if it'll help. All I hear is that the rep who spent two hours in the studio with me, late at night, had done so in lieu of doing some VERY IMPORTANT WORK for the site. And, since she hadn't done that VERY IMPORTANT WORK, they missed a deadline that cost them thousands of dollars. OK, so where is that my fault? I'm really trying to understand when he angrily informs me that not only would Suicidegirls have nothing to do with me,