I was walking up a hill in LA’s Little Armenia, in 2006.
The very steep hill—described by Mitcz as 35 degrees—which I was scaling, while wearing bright orange patent leather ankle boots with 7 inch clear plastic spike heels and accompanying platforms. I got them at the stripper store on South Street in Philadelphia that had the good stuff but was appointment only and you had to beg to come in if you weren’t a Real Stripper and only did go-go. I’d affixed grip tape from the skate shop to the bottoms to make them more functional for the street.
I was also talking on my cell phone. Mitcz tried to interrupt to offer me an arm. I gave him the imperious finger of dismissal with the hand that was holding my cigarette. He said “You’re going to eat shit on this hill.” I scoffed, then tripped—as Mitcz had predicted. He caught me by the elbow and gave me a piggy back ride into the Music Plus studio. My first press experience, and of course I wanted to have sex with the show’s host.
The Reverend Mitcz—a Satanist, ordained by the Unitarian Church—hosted an internet streaming show on Music Plus TV, and had a standing invitation for any of the GodsGirls models to stop by every Thursday. GodsGirls was named, not after the deity in the sky, but a lyric from a song written by someone the website owner either dated or had a crush on. The website sold subscriptions to a library of nude photographs of alternative models, with “alternative” indicating that instead of little factoids about the models—which were probably composed by a copywriter—there were blogs, and forums where members could interact with us. This kind of interaction was a precursor to the direct-to-fans platforms like OnlyFans of today.
The previous year, I’d thought I wanted to pose for punk rock, female power branded SuicideGirls.com, whose models were the Queens of Myspace. They had a touring burlesque show. They did art books of selected photographs from the website. And all of the Girls showed off personalities that felt similar to the personalities of my friends—but cooler, and more mature, with better lighting. I’d mentioned as much to my roommate at the time in Philadelphia.