My Origin Story: How Unionized Sex Work, San Francisco, and Baseball created Siouxsie Q

Originally published under an alternative title on January 29th, 2014 in the San Francisco Weekly to kick off my (late, great) print column “The Whore Next Door” which ran for nearly four years.

During Game Five of the 2010 World Series, my dad and I sat side by side at a sushi bar in my Central Coast hometown. We ordered two scallop hand rolls and two sake bombs. The head rush of the wasabi and the calming heat of the sake dulled the anxiety of a day spent navigating ICU doctors and nursing assistants.

My mom was awaiting brain surgery. She had been diagnosed with a rare cranial bleed that had rapidly claimed her ability to walk, speak, eat, and breathe on her own. I dropped everything I had going on in San Francisco and drove down the Peninsula to be by her side. By the opening pitch of Game Five, I hadn’t been to work in more than a week. I had recently quit my horrible retail job at a stationery store in Pacific Heights and started dancing naked full time at the Lusty Lady Theater in North Beach. My dad didn’t know that yet, but tonight I was considering telling him. I feared he’d be upset or disappointed, and I’m sure he’d want to know why I’d chosen this new profession.

I’ve heard that your first year in San Francisco is the hardest, and I had absolutely found that to be true…