Back in the day, as in 2007, Wall Street compensated its employees in a way that made them feel loved. In a way that made them feel special. In a way that made the long hours, the constant stress, the soaring highs and the crashing lows, the verbal and sometimes physical abuse bearable. Now, obviously, not so much. Combine that with suffocating regulation and you've got a bunch of financial services hacks who are saying "I want out." Some, like the Goldman partners who've already made enough money to not have to work again, are simply retiring. Others are waiting to get fired. Yet other are seeking out the warm embrace of hedge funds. A lesser number, though, are using the shift as an opportunity to finally leap for that dream, be it baking cupcakes or slapping bare asses with branches. But about your dream? You know the one. The one you've never shared with a soul. The one that's always in the back of your head. The one that keeps you up at night. The has you giving the side-eye to the dog-walkers you see your neighborhood-- because it's not fair. YOU should be the one wrangling the packs of pups, masterfully juggling dozens of leashes at a time that you'd never let get knotted.  Unfortunately, because this is the world we live in, no one would ever give you a chance. Something about being overqualified for the job, they said, looking you up and down in your dress pants and blue button-down, smirking, thinking "Like this guy can command the respect of a bunch of bitches." Plus, you had a lifestyle to maintain and the golden handcuffs were still a serious draw. Now though, you've been unshackled. And you know all those little plastic bags you've been subconsciously saving under the sink for years, waiting for your moment to come? It's here now.

Step 1: Come up with story idea, say, about how small businesses are being hurt due to the NBA lockout Step 2: Reach out to Twitter followers, ask them to corroborate said story Step 3: Wait. Step 4: Practice asking Kate Upton to be your Valentine. ["Will you, Kaaa" voice cracks. "Will you, Kate Upton.." No, that's stupid. "Kate I would be most honored if you.."] Step 5: Daydream about how you and "Katie" will tell your families you eloped. Step 6: Marvel at your good fortune when a guy, who in real life is a bored teenager but over the internet seems like a legit businessman, emails you to say that he runs an escort service in New York, "mostly for away team players after games but some Knicks and Nets too; they are high rollers and I'm not getting the constant business I that I need to stay running." Step 7: Double fist pump the air and shout "Yes, D-Rove, you got this!" Step 8: Breathe, tell yourself to calm down and reel it in. Step 9: Put on your reporter hat and ask "Henry James" some questions like, "How much money would say you're losing? What cut do you then get? What is the cheapest woman and what is the most expensive woman? I assume it's by the hour and what is the typical # of hours?" Step 10: Make no attempt to verify source is who he says he is, that his business exists, that you're not being taken for a ride. Step 11: Cut, print. How A Teenager With A Fake Escort Service Duped Darren Rovell And CNBC [Deadspin] Related: SI Swimsuit Model Doesn’t Have To Worry About Things Getting Weird With CNBC Reporter Because He’s Known Her Since She Was 17