Stoya: In porn, I don’t there really are any other goals. That’s what I want to do. Oh, my goal is to get through AVN—without getting the flu. There are like four people here who have the flu. And I’m like, “Oh, fuck you! Stay away!”  

AET: What was it like walking in here the first day? [Stoya has an overwhelmed, but smiling, facial expression] That look says it all.

Stoya: You can’t see the look, but it’s pretty fucked up.

AET: Give me your craziest fan story.

Stoya: there was this guy who gave me a painting. It was of me when I had blue hair. I was in like this warrior, snow bunny princess. It was really awesome. I was like, “How much time did you spend?” It was really good; the guy has talent. It used like five different media. The detail is phenomenal. It’s at my dad’s house.

Then, there are the fans who would follow me. But, that’s been going on since I was 18. They’d see me dance; then they’d find me on MySpace. They’d go to other places where I’d be working. Then, they’d see who comments [on her MySpace page] and figured out who I lived with. And then, they’d like buddy up with them and end up back at the house. I’d be like, “Who is that? They’re kinda creepy.” And they’d say, “I don’t know, they know you.” I’d say, “The don’t. They don’t know me. They need to go.” It was so bad. It might just be that people in Philadelphia are completely insane.

My best friend and I lived together for a couple of years. People would follow her out of work and they’d get on the bus and follow her on the bus. When she’d get off, they’d get off and switch buses [to continue following her] follow her down the street then up the street to our hose. We lived in the ghetto, but it was like a “watch other people’s backs” kinda ghetto. The ladies that lived across the street would hang out the window and yell, “Whatchoo think you’re doin’? I ain’t never seen you around here before! You just back away from that doorknob!”

AET: Did you guys have to do any CIA shit? You know, not taking the same route home twice?

Stoya: Well, the city has a grid pattern, and the buses only go certain ways. So, your kinda screwed.

AET: How the hell did you wind up in Philly?

Stoya: Well, my parents moved from North Carolina to Delaware. [Balloon pops in the background.] Oh you motherfuckers with your motherfucking balloons. [Middle fingers are up on both hands, and Stoya pumps them vigorously in the direction of the noice.] Save it for tomorrow. Isn’t this morning like the “we have audible interviews day”?

AET: So, you went through Delaware?

Stoya: Yeah, through Delaware. I graduated from high school when I was 15 because I was home-schooled. But, I didn’t have an actual diploma. Because of that, I couldn’t get a license. Because, you had to be in the school system to go through drivers ed. And you can’t get a license without driver’s ed[ucation] until you’re 18. So, I was screwed. I was working, being a productive member of society. I was out working, being a productive member of society, not sitting on my parents’ couch watching fucking …

AET: Springer?

Stoya: Yeah, but we didn’t have television. So, not sitting there like, “Yea! Taking up space on your couch eating potato chips all day.” So, I moved to Philadelphia because they have public transportation.

Yesterday, I was at the Circle Bar, and they wouldn’t serve me because there were so many people. I was waiting, and the bartender was looking right at me. So I pulled my top up, and my boobs were out. He’s gonna tell me to put these away, I thought, and I’ll get my fucking alcohol.

AET: So, did he tell you to put them away?

Stoya: Everyone at the bar was like, “Wow, those are real.” You don’t see boobs a lot in Vegas. Maybe with the nipple covered, but they’re illegal. The whole bar was really excited. I thought, surely the bartender will pay attention. I figured, he’d be like, “You. You, missy. Put those things away.”

AET: It’s that hard to get a fucking drink, right?

Stoya: I was like, “What do I have to do? Climb on the bar and take the bottle of Knob Creek and shove it up my ass? And dance around?

AET: Is that one of your other goals for the year?

Stoya: No. I might do it just for the hell of it. I just want to get through the week without getting the flu or without getting thrown out of Las Vegas.

AET: What’s it like being in Philly in this business.

Stoya: I don’t live there any more. I moved out to LA because I got tired of flying back and forth. I was like fuck it. And then two weeks later, I had a meeting and signed a contract [with Digital Playground]. I was like, good, it worked.

AET: But you were still in the biz when you were in Philly, right.

Stoya: well, not really, because for most people, just taking your clothes off and showing your vagina for pictures doesn’t count. I’d been doing adult work. I did a girl/girl scene for  a company that’s gone now. They’re gone. They don’t even exist any more. Then, they said, “How do you feel about boys?” and I said, “you’re awesome.”

AET: How did your neighbors react to your line of work.

Stoya: I lived in the 17^th District. In the first hundred days of the year, there were 100 gun murders, and they were all in the 17^th District. Every day. I had blue hair, and my roommate had orange hair. And we had these two boys with facial piercings. We’d get in the car with them from the old house when we moved. We sat on the front steps smoking cigarettes yelling, Hurry up! C’mon, you’re not done yet. Then we told them we needed milk crates full of bricks. “We need like 400 bricks to build the garden I the back yard.” We were like threatening them with the plastic spatulas, and the neighbors were like, “Goddamn! This is like a three-ring circus. It’s better than television.” They loved us. They were like, “What do you do little girl?” and I was like, “I’m in the naked lady business,” and they were like, “We know what that is…” The house we lived in used to be a strip club. It was illegal and got shut down. Somebody else bought it and barely renovated it. It was so phenomenal.

AET: Did it still have poles?

Stoya: No, there were no poles in the house, but it was laid out so strangely. It was bizarre. Every other house in Philly has the same floor plan. There’s the two-bedroom floor plan and the three-bedroom floor plan, and they’re all the same.

AET: You could se the bar and stages?

Stoya: well, the stages were gone too, but you could see where the bar was, in the kitchen. And the champagne room. It was phenomenal. There was a little room with a shower stall and nothing else. It’s not even a half-bath …

I don’t like stripping. I’m like, “I’m not going to accept your fucking dollar.” There’s thing called inflation. It’s not the 1960s, when minimum wage was two-something and the custom tip was a dollar. Now, minimum wage is like six-something, and in some cities, it’s up to eight dollars.

AET: Try living on that anyway.

Stoya: Most strippers make less than they would at a decent job now. Because of the dollars [dollar tips].” People would throw wadded up dollar bills at me, and I’m like, “I don’t want your wadded up dollar bills. Twenties and we’ll talk.” You’re not going to humiliate me for a dollar! No, I’m not going to get it up off the floor; I’m going to chuck it back at you. Fuckin’ piece of shit.

AET: What do you do when you through it back?