Desiree Day 3

It's been exactly a week since Day 3 of Desiree so I'll do my best to remember all the awesome panels from that day. I do know it was the loooongest day for me and didn't end until Sunday morning, thanks to one crazee wrap party...

The Day started with a panel by hosted by several male sex workers called "Male Sex Workers: How to Organize, Support & Advocate for Ourselves in the Movement." This was a treat for the Desiree organizers to have these guys present as apparently male sex workers had been few and far between at previous conferences. However, people were still sleeping in at this point and the panel started out very sparsely attended until people started trickling in slowly as the discussion progressed. The questions following the presentation came fast and furious...it seemed like everybody had something to ask these guys and there was no time to get to everyone. I had my hand up forever just to get to ask them how I, as a sex worker activist, could attract more men to our organization. I felt a little blown off when I was answered with "well, I think we already answered that question", but the key seems to be changing the imagery involved with organization materials, such as not using the high heels or female images we so often see on sex worker pamphlets. But really...how do I find these guys? Where are they? And why would they listen to me, whose experience as a sex worker has been so different from their own?

The good news was that two days after the conference ended, Roberto, an ex-worker who attended the first few days, called me to say that he was now motivated to start some kind of a monthly meet up for male workers in Chicago. However, he was also having the same problem as I was of actually finding these other male workers and how to reach out to them once he did. It's tricky. They're not as visible as women are and possibly look for more support in the GLBT community rather than the sex worker community.

Next up, I took in the panel on "Allies in the sex workers rights movement." This was great because allies are so, so important to us and in a lot of cases, end up doing the bulk of the work for the various sex work organizations. While a lot of sex worker activists are afraid to show their face in the course of their activism, many of the allies aren't, and don't have to protect their identity for fear of legal repercussions (at least in the nature of their work life). You allies are the ones who will come out to your events, volunteer when you need a hand, and get the word out about your cause. I don't know what we'd do without them. That said, I didn't take notes on this presentation, so I can't review much of what was discussed, but it was really something that was needed here. Shame on me.

During lunch, several of the New York activists talked about dealing with the fallout from Spitergate and their various experiences with the mainstream media, most of which were negative. People were misquoted, misrepresented, and even asked if "they were ever a whore" by so-called journalists at various media outlets. However, we can learn from their experiences about who to speak to, who not to, and how these predators (they really are) should be handled. A suggestion was made of gathering the names of good news sources vs. bad news sources and making it available to the various sex work organizations in the event a Spitzergate ever happens again, we can reference it if anybody chooses to speak to the mainstream media. I sure won't be one of those people....that's why I created my own media site.

The final conference presentation was on "Creating Sex Worker Run Direct Service Programs." I missed half of this one running around, doing hell-knows-what, and am kinda kicking myself in the ass for that. For those of you who don't know what the St. James Infirmary is, you should check it out. It's a clinic run by and for sex workers that offers free, yes free, health care services among other things. But what happens in San Fran, doesn't happen in the rest of the country and I'm not sure we'll see a St. James Infirmary opening here in Chicago anytime soon. But we do have Howard Brown, I guess. Not exactly the same, but better than what most people have, I suppose.

So the day ended very abruptly and I had to snag Ren from smoking a cigarette outside so I could grab an interview with her before we were all kicked out. I actually did several interviews during the course of the conference, which I will be posting up here and at RedLight in various intervals, once I get time to capture and edit.

Everyone was excited to get to the Red Light Masquerade that night, basically the wrap party for the conference that was also open to the public. We all needed read clothes, however, and their was a mad dash at certain clothing stores on Belmont by conference attendees to find appropriate garb for the evening's festivities. I managed to find a dress that fit me at the Pink Frog, though I suspect I may never actually wear it anywhere else again. Not just because it started falling apart on me almost the moment I put it on, but because it's really not a dress that I would normally wear. Ever. Luckily, it was on sale.

I spent about an hour trying to do my hair, but the humidity overpowered me and I had to keep it flat and straight, like always. Next time I will buy a wig to save myself the hassle. By the time we arrived, the bar was packed and I made a beeline for the outdoor patio, where smoking was still permitted, provided we stayed away from the door. Ren graciously gave me her bright red boa, which I wore all night in the event that my dress had a major wardrobe malfunction, which it was very close to doing. At one point someone asked me "are you just wearing the boa?" Man, next time I am just wearing jeans, like I always do.

Everybody at the party looked hot and once the patio closed and the party moved inside everybody literally was hot. I took some photos, said my final goodbyes, talked to some people I hadn't had time to during the conference. It was all happy and sad at the same time. At about 1AM, Miss Jasmine offered me a special "treat" (no comment) and I took to the dance floor for a bit of dancing, but my heels were way too high for that. I'm tall and I can't dance in high heels, let alone wear them. About an hour later, let's just things went downhill for me. I don't remember much about the rest of the night except that bar stools were knocked over, I was ushered out of the bar by David after an urgent plea for him "to get me out of here...now", and several phone calls were made that I don't remember making. I totally missed the after-party, too.

Stacey and Jasmine begged for me to come to City Suites, where the rest of the holdovers from the night before had set up camp in one room. By 5:30 Am, I had enough energy to make my way out of the apartment onto a lonely stretch of Lawrence Ave., where two guys verbally harassed me until I found one cab, on his way home, but willing to take one last fare. Outside the hotel were all six of them, waiting to see what my fate had been. My digital camera was missing and my red dress was now way inappropriate for the time of day. I looked and felt like shit. People were relaying the stories of their night, which included a car accident, a few acid trips, and some other stuff which I forget by now. At some point, I grabbed breakfast across the street, found my car still parked near the bar, and picked up my out-of-town guest, who had found a place to crash for the night. She was ready to go home...literally, and left several my house several hours later not to be heard from again. Hope she got home ok.

Yeah, it was a loooong day.