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Tuesday, August 22, 2006
My hair looks very pretty today.

Oprah today is about prostitution, and it unnerved me a little. I mean, now that my relationship seems to be inching ever so slowly and painfully towards its inevitable conclusion (moi? Bitter about relationships already? Tsk tsk), I've started reminiscing about my more hussy-ish days. Not that I particularly want to go back to that or anything, but watching the 'hos' stories made me wonder about my own sexual exploits. Like, a few times I'd get money for "a cab". Even though my house is walkable from the CBD, I'd always hit them up for at least fifty bucks. Why? Who knows? Because I could, I guess. And then in cruel light of the next morning I'd always get them to drive me home, because I couldn't be bothered walking! None of them really complained though, and they never did ask for their money back. I suppose it was just a little bit of a power trip. Like, how I always used to pinch something from a roots' apartment or whatever. Nothing particularly exciting, but like... a memento or something. Don't worry, it was nothing paedophile-y/creepy/JonBenet Ramsey-y like a chunk of hair or some bloodied panties (although once I did steal some rather nice underwear, but they weren't bloodied; I slid into him with hardly any resistance at all, hmmph). But something fairly innocuous would somehow end up in my shoe or stuffed down the back of my pants. So if you had sex with me and you were wondering where your CD/lip balm/magnet/jockstrap went, it's in safe company in one of my drawers, buried under my painting clothes.

I don't really think getting "paid" fifty bucks equates me with being a whore -- these girls on Oprah were shagging twenty men a night and earning like, 500-2000 bucks -- but I do find it a bit creepy. I was such a drunken asshole back then! And so cheap! Fifty bucks? My, have my tastes matured since then. So if I ever end up single again, I vow not to go back to my evil sexual self, and instead be all roses and kissing on the lips and asking before I dump my load on their face, etc.


Although I think I will keep pinching my little relics. Does this make me a kleptomaniac? Meh. I don't think I'll worry about it. I'm so far removed from any semblance of a "scene" that I'll probably never find anyone hot again. Especially as I've moved my discerning eye up to another echelon of faggery. My list of core "essentials" have stretched, and this time I am unwilling to settle, dammit!