One of the things I truly appreciate about my weird life is that I never have to compartmentalize it. None of by jobs and/or hobbies could in any way derail any of my other jobs and/or hobbies. I can go to a show at Oberon and when someone asks me if I'm Arabella Flynn from the internet, I don't have to go umm, err, well... and tell them my name is Jessica, which is what I usually do if I particularly want someone to fuck off and not be able to find me again. I've never had to get to the point of telling them my last name is Rabbit, but I expect if I ever do, they'll get the hint.

(True story. Someone recognized me at Cirque of the Dead! You have no idea how exciting this is. Intellectually, I know there are real humans who read this turkey, but I'm always startled to be reminded of it in person. I do answer to Arabella, Ari, Circe, and my legal name, if you happen to know that. I don't use pseudonyms because I want to keep people from associating my face with my work -- I use them mainly so that some of my crazier relatives won't find me by running a half-assed Google search on my real name, and hence will keep their noses out.

As a bonus, the lady who recognized me was also dressed as Jareth, the Goblin King. The jacket was handmade and fantastic.)

I just came back in, probably later than I ought to, from Geek Peek, because I wandered off to get dinner with a bunch of the performers and staff afterwards. I run into the Sirs in situations where I get to have actual conversations with them every few weeks, but it's taken me this long to get real names. I still don't have one of them, in fact, and I'm not going to ask for it. Most of the guys are pretty respectable when they're not wearing eye makeup and breakaway pants -- well, possibly not the philosopher-chemist; they're always mildly disreputable, probably something to do with years and years of inhaling organic solvents -- but they'd more likely get ribbed incessantly about their dancing than outright fired if their coworkers caught them at a show. That particular one, however, has a day job that would have a lot of objections if they found out exactly what kind of theater troupe he ran with at night.

More often than not, the burlesque dancers just don't want real names used while they're in a crowd of people who've just seen them take their kit off, which is fine, because then I can just holler one or more of their stage name(s) and they'll turn around. They generally book rehearsal space under their real names, and none of them ever have an issue with me recognizing them at the dance studio. There's one where I have to remember specifically to use her real name outside of the burlesque performances, though -- she's also my hookup for concert tickets, and I have a feeling that comedic stripteases are not normally the sort of thing one books at Symphony Hall.

My friends already know who I hang around with. I write about this stuff, after all. I am more than happy to inform people that I sell smut for a living, and I hand discount cards out to anyone who doesn't immediately run away. I tell them that I shoot art nudes, and if they inquire, I give them my hourly rates. I could get arrested for whipping my tits out smack in the middle of State Street, and absolutely nothing would happen to my marketing career. I mean, I'd have to explain to Cecilia where I was if I couldn't post bail in time for my normal office hours, but I guarantee that conversation would devolve into a discussion of First Amendment rights and how ridiculous it is that people still lose their minds over nipples.

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