(Part 1 of the Kara series)
We all have friends at some point in our lives that, let's face it -- are just trouble. A fun kind of trouble, but an often-embarrassing-to-be-with kind of fun trouble.
Kara was one of them.
I knew Kara from high school. Though we didn't go to the same school, we were involved in a writing program through our local newspaper that had a few students from every high school in the county. We didn't hang out much then, but we both ended up at the same college after graduation, Michigan State, where we ran into each other a lot and subsequently hung out quite a bit.
It was Kara who got me to try sushi for the first time, and Kara who was the first to find out (other than myself) how incredibly allergic I was to sushi, when I locked myself in the bathroom of the restaurant for an unnerving amount of time while dealing with my "issues." I've tried sushi a couple times since and have had similar experiences. I decided I'm not masochistic enough to ever eat sushi again.
Part-Time Jobs in College
When Kara and I were in our early undergrad years, I had a part-time job at the local record store, Tower Records (which also carried books and movies ... then on VHS tape). At Tower I quickly undertook responsibilities such as magazine manager, booked in-store musical performances, and then became book buyer and assistant video manager. I worked hard at that job and made next to nothing, but I enjoyed it for its perks such as concert tickets and working at local music festivals.
One day while hanging out at our usual coffee shop, Kara turned to me and said, "Hey, you wanna be a stripper?""Um, what?""A stripper. You know, dance around naked for money. They're having amateur night at Omar's Thursday. I'm thinking about it but I don't wanna go by myself," she explained."Kara," I said to her, "If you don't have the chutzpah to go in there and do that by yourself, how the hell do you expect to ACTUALLY BE A STRIPPER?!" "Good point," she said. She was quiet for a minute and said, "Are you sure you don't wanna come with me? It'll be good money, and look at you -- you could make a killing!""Kara," I replied, "There are two reasons I won't become a stripper. For one, I have very distinctive and memorable tattoos. I don't care how drunk those slimeballs are, I'd hate to be somewhere else, like on the beach, and suddenly be 'spotted,' ya know? And two - there's this thing called 'my dignity' I'd kinda like to retain.""Fine, suit yourself," she said. The subject was dropped.A week or so later I found out that she did, in fact, go to amateur night at the local strip joint, and apparently was now working there part-time. She came into the record store often to see me and update me on her latest ... adventures, for lack of better term.One day she invited me to the local gay bar because apparently she was partaking in a special fundraiser or something there. For what, I can't remember, but that's beside the point. "Come on," she coaxed me, "I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend so I don't get hit on.""Kara, who pretends to be your boyfriend so you don't get pawed at while dancing around naked for money at straight bars? That doesn't make any sense," I told her."I dunno, it's just ... different."I was quite the "fag hag" back then so it wasn't hard to convince a couple of my gay guy friends to come with me, so we went. I had never seen Kara "at work" before ... and it was ... awkward."Awkward" is perhaps the one word that could describe my entire friendship with Kara. Every memory I have of hanging out with her was ... awkward.It should be said that some months later, Kara bought herself a Harley Davidson Sportster with her stripper money, and I was insanely jealous. She let me drive it a couple times, and for the first time in my life I actually, seriously considered becoming a stripper. But it never happened, because if and when I do finally buy myself a bike, it's not going to be from being a whore.
Then she introduced me to Indian food.
You can find me at http://www.thatdamnredhead.net and http://about.me/stacy.lukasavitz for more information.