Lusty Ladies

My name is Natalie, and I am a peep-show janitor at the Lusty Lady. One of the girls I work with showed us janitors your column [“Good-bye Girl (I Mean It—Go!),” Feb. 9], and we could not believe what you wrote. I know that you were talking about guys, but I still take personal offense. Your viewpoint that my girlfriend and my co-workers’ girlfriends should be mortified for dating us just because of our job is extremely offensive and immature. Where do you get off saying such crap? You don’t even know us. The guys I work with are some of the nicest guys I have ever met. Any girl would be lucky to date one of them.

You put us in the same category with lazy guys that still live with their moms. Well, none of us live with our moms. Some of the guys I work with are in college full time, and three more of us start this fall. Most of us are in bands, some of us in more than one (by the way, not all musicians are chronic cheaters), and I am a camera operator on films and music videos. We are not lazy in any way.

Are you really so superficial that you think someone’s character can be judged by their occupation? We work hard, make an honest living, pay our taxes, and have meaningful, interesting lives outside of work. Your characterization of us was unfair and incorrect, and you owe us an apology.


Natalie is speaking specifically of a line I wrote that read, “Whereas if, say, the guy who mops up the spooge at the peep show broke your heart, you’d not only be mortified that you dated him in the first place, but you’d be incensed that he dumped you. . . . “

Natalie, you are right, I was wrong. Not only wrong, but small-minded and ignorant as well. I apologize. But wait, there’s more:

I enjoy your column and read it faithfully, but I must call bullshit on one of your recent remarks.

Really, is a peep-show janitor the best synonym for “loser” that you could come up with? C’mon. Your mailbox is full of letters from wankers, and you think your job takes patience and humor? I beg you to consider the folks on the front line, to whom you owe an apology. I am enclosing a series of current Lusty Lady janitor pinups.

If they break your heart, it’s ’cause they’re so easy on the eyes!


Whereas Natalie’s letter made me feel like a big fat jackass, Erika’s letter (but mostly the scandalous photos she kindly sent along with it!) compelled me to smack myself repeatedly in the head with a shoe. The support staff at the Lusty Lady are some of the most photogenic near-nekkid gents I’ve come across since the last issue of Sweet Action—meow!

Regardless of how insanely cute those boys are, it was wrong of me to denigrate anyone for their profession—unless they’re in a bad-karma occupation like an undercover narcotics officer, performance artist, or bikini waxer (that shit’s just wrong!). In fact, the nastiest, most losered-out, dad’s-basement-living dirtbag I ever dated worked in finance and wore a tie every day. So I don’t know what I was thinking.

And it’s not like I’ve had such an illustrious career. I’ve worked in kitchens, delivered auto parts, and most horrifying of all, had a brief turn as a fact checker at Allure magazine. I’d spend my days phoning lipstick manufacturers to double-check that their new flavor was called “Red Menace,” not “Redd Mentalcase,” and watch as my IQ dropped precipitously in the process. God forbid I got a shade wrong or neglected to double-check top notes in the new Ralph Lauren fragrance—there’d be hell to pay. And let me tell you what: Few things are more humiliating than being reprimanded in front of a gaggle of well-dressed, hypergroomed, smirking stick figures.

I don’t mean this to read all condescending like, “Oh, I’ve had crappy jobs, too,” either. What I mean is that it’s hard enough to make an honest living; where do I get off casting aspersions on anyone’s livelihood.

So ladies, please accept my most sincere apologies.

Don’t be lazy: Write Dategirl at or c/o Seattle Weekly, 1008 Western Ave., Ste. 300, Seattle, WA 98104.