Justine Jolie is giving me advice about world travel alone. She says if I meet a man in a club to only take him back to my room, and kick him out when I’m done. I feel like the bigger picture was passed over there, but I don’t want to interrupt because her stories are good. Shyla Stylez is screwing Tommy Gunn down the hall and Nina Hartley just fetched him a bagel. The make up artists are talking about new laws surrounding sensitivity in perfume and someone else wants a toilet seat that will program your TV, which they make in Japan and you can purchase for around $3,000 US.
So now I wait. And listen. And sometimes join in then go back to searching for a solid wifi signal.
I start a short-term class tomorrow during spring break- a full semester packed into one week. Then a live chat tonight on ClubKadyen and a call in radio interview on The Onion. I also have to find a kid somewhere. Yes, this sounds strange and creepy to me too. Let me make it worse—I have to find a kid to stare at for an hour, then I have to write about it for the child development class. It turns out every single person I know is childless though so the population at large is safe for now and I will probably fail the assignment.
As far as I know I have one responsibility today, and that is to do Justine. Or, more accurately, to be done by Justine. I hope to be eaten alive. She’s already asking for permission to face spank me, to degrade me, to flog me. With black leather and red hair I have a feeling she means it. I told her to go ahead, do her thing, Adam and Eve can edit out what they don’t like later. Me, I don’t have to shoot for the next week. If the teacher asks about my home life I’ll tell her I fell down the stairs.