Even in a pretty petty affair, I’m aware that this could potentially seem beyond meaningless, but I’m going to put it out there: “Kristen,” the Emporer’s Club prostitute who helped Eliot Spitzer get rid of some extra money he had lying around, lied about her weight. According to her “employer’s” website, she was 5’5″ and weighed 105 pounds. There’s not a single photo on her MySpace page that supports that number. I am NOT condemning her for that, I’m actually glad that she is healthier than what she reported. The problem is that for all the other things you have to subject yourself to when you’re a prostitute (like high-ranking government officials who make you call them George and don’t want to use condoms), is it also a requirement to lie about your weight? Something about that left me feeling really deflated, like…damn.
Then I thought about the last time I was honest about my weight. That was a long, long time ago. I lie on medical forms, even though I’m usually moments from them putting me on a scale and discovering the truth. I even lie to gym equipment, telling it I’m one or two pounds lighter even as I fear that my mis-reporting will result in the machine projectiling me off of it or something. So, who am I kidding? If I had to fill a web page with enough info to get the top tier of money in my job as a paid-for-sex escort, I can’t imagine that would be the time for honesty about my weight. But after I saw photos of “Kristen,” I really wondered if any past customers had demanded money back. Because if you hit “select” on a woman who is underweight, are you pissed when someone who looks nourished shows up?
As I continue to dredge up old news for a new blog entry, I also can’t stop thinking about David Patterson, who as of today is officially my new governor. Why hasn’t anyone mentioned that he is not just the first Black and blind governor of New York but he is also, at least in my memory, the first bearded one? I am obsessed with his facial hair. It makes him look like a college professor who listens to a lot of jazz, not like the man who will decide how much I pay in state taxes. And it’s not shadow, it’s a beard. And I love it.