I came to Hollywood to pursue my acting career. They told me every year I needed new head shots, more training (frankly, studying performing arts in Germany I have better craft than Meryl Streep), and I needed to take casting director workshops. From black and white head shots to popping color head shots, from method acting to commercial acting classes, improvisation, to soap acting … the list never ended. Then they told me I had to write my own stuff. I became a writer. They ask me finally to produce my own stuff which I did. But they kept stringing me along, telling me to hang in there till I too finally lost my dream and became a stripper. I thought stripping in simple but now, as a stripper, you go to the skanky, overprices shoe store with a pair of made in America stilettos whose sole already peeled of three times and who are falling apart from minimal use. You’re asking them to repair your shoes, and the hairy Armenia sleazy salesman insist that your shoes are old and you need a new pair. So I say, “But I had already had to re-soled these shoes twice in a few months. How can they fall apart so quickly? You claim you make high quality shoes.” Him, “Well, that is like a brand new car. You are going to have to put new tires on it soon. I cannot guarantee your sole won’t come off on the new shoes in like three months but lets hope it lasts longer.” Me, “But I really like my old shoes. They are worn in and comfortable.” Him convincing, “You need some new shine. You’re going to look so pretty with these new shoes.” I am pissed because with my 30F breasts no one really cares how shiny my shoes are. But the Armo fucker won’t repair my old shoes instead he offers generously, “If you leave your old shoes here I will give you $10 off your new shoes.” So he basically admits my shoe is good enough to be recycled, and I will buy a “new,” shiny shoes that’s made out of some bitches old sweaty shoes she was forced to trade in for a new pair. But what choice do I have? I cannot dance barefoot and just like with all of my dreams this bastard is trying to make a buck off my desperation. I finally agree to the stupid pair of new shoes — which aren’t made as well as my old pair and don’t even fit right — and the Armo has the audacity to ask me, “Are you looking for something else today?” Me very to the point and annoyed with his question ,”No!” Him again, “But don’t you need a new outfit? You will look nice and shiny.” By now I have fume come out of my ears. I hate his cheap ass, plastic material, slut outfits and would never wear anything like this. He’s just another dream thief, and I want to rip his face off. But instead I pay for my new, overpriced pair of shoes. A pair of shoes that’s sold to me with the “generous” discount for $75 but it’s really worth $14.99 the most. Everybody is taking advantage of artists. It’s fucked up but it’s true.

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