The Whore Store, Industry Parties, and Date Rape.

I wanted to go to work last night. I ran 7 miles. I went home. I'd gone shopping with Jo on Monday at the whorestore to get her a starter kit and myself some new stockings and shoes since my gorgeous glittering asphalt tufli were becoming a deathwish. And I ended up getting this new mesh top deal and some ridiculous sportshorts. I liked the look and the shoes fit like... well they fit like shoes, and I was all rearin' to go.

But I got invited to a fancy industry party with a fancy guy, and I figured it was in my best interest to go, though my blood was boiling more and more violently with every passing minute of getting ready, as I reali3ed I had nothing to wear and no money with which to buy anything to wear to this crap, and that I'd rather be working so I could earn the aforementioned.

So I'm at this fancy party in an old speakeasy, downing fancy Martinique rums, neat, that were costing my fancy date about 20 bucks a pop, and again, thanks to my hard-drinking lineage, feeling nothing but a bit tipsy after 8 or so generous pours in a matter of a couple of hours, talking to some famous British actor who looked like Hugh Laurie but who definitely wasn't Hugh Laurie, and whose number I have in my phone with only a first name so I can't even google him and figure out why he's famous, and I had to pretend I had any clue, but I didn't, because I live under a rock.

And then my fancy date was starting to get antsy, and said he wanted to leave, and then the group collectively decided to get some blow, and I said I don't do blow, so they whittled on down to pot, and I said I don't do drugs, so my date suggested Vicodin and Valium, and I said Okay fine, and before I know it the man whips out a proper mortar and pestle, and proceeds to crush up the pills. And I said I don't snort things. So he said okay take it orally it'll still hit you faster. So I poured it into my 16th Martinique rum and gu33led.

Next thing I know I'm asleep at his apartment. I vaguely recall giving a striptease without removing any of my (secondhand bargain basement strait-from-the-crate) clothes and making out with him, even though, I like him, but he wrote a damn horrendous song on the piano, and I'm not really all that attracted to him. And then as the bits and pieces came back to me I recalled him wanting to have sex and beginning to unbuckle his pants and then getting really annoyed because I passed out mid-fondle, and then, he puts on a condom and thrusts in for some terrible sex anyway. While I was half-conscious. And then told me, like it were just hilarious, that I fell asleep.

I wish I'd gone to work at the club. People there have fucking morals.