Some little girls dream of one day being a smiling, doting, filthy rich pop star who sucks industry dick behind the scenes to further her “career” as the artist of which she (and somehow the rest of America) considers herself to be.
Others dream of finding and marrying (and reproducing the seed of) her ideal prince charming, equipped with a beige mini van and Mercury, lifetime supply of Cutco knives, and enough stories about the kids and cocker-spaniel to last every meal FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.
Well ever since I first saw Pretty Woman at 4-years-old, I knew I’d wanna one day strut down Hollywood Blvd. in a pair of black thigh-high stiletto boots as guys whistled, drooled, and begged to fuck me (all I knew at 4 was that “fucking” consisted of adults hugging tightly while naked in bed with Michael Bolton or “Take My Breath Away” playing in the background…and it looked SENSATIONAL).
And ever since the first time I watched Playboy at 7 years old on my parents’ illegal black box every Friday night after 8, I knew that I would one day dedicate my life to sex on a global scale…even if it meant me fucking the world!!
And EVER SINCE I read Jenna Jameson’s “How To Make Love Like A Porn Star” and read about how she won award after award year after year for being the QUEEN of porn…I KNEW…that I would ONE DAY…someHOOOOW SOME WAY…make it to that very same award show myself (for reasons I wasn’t yet clear on considering I in no way shape or form ever wanted to fuck on camera…at least for the general public to see).
Well…today…my childhood dreams would come true.
My boss has tickets to the AVN awards…these are The Oscars for porn.
Except instead of the ladies adorning themselves in Versace and diamonds, the ladies of porn rock lace see-through dresses with sequin.
Instead of Best Actress in a Lead Role, they have Best Female in an Anal Scene.
So last night my boss called me to say he had the flu and might not be able to make it to the event himself:
Boss Man: Hey so I’m coming down with the flu and I feel like shit…I’m thinkin I might not make it tomorrow…would you wanna take my hotel and table with a bunch of guys from work?
Me: *not giving a shit about holding in my excitement* OH MY GOD YES YES YES!!!!!!! THAT WOULD BE A DREAM COME TRUEE!!!!!!!! *now jumping up and down while holding my chihuahua and shaking the living shit out of her* DON’T TOY WITH MY EMOTIONS BOSS MAN!!!!!!!
Boss Man: *unphased by my reacting like a 7-year-old who just saw Justin Bieber* Umm…right. Ok. I’m not sure yet how I’ll feel tomorrow but from the looks of it I won’t be making it…I’ll let ya know.
Sure enough, Boss Man bails this morning, and I take to rounding up the guys from work to let them know that “GUYS! We’re going to the AVN’S!”
Lube (37-year-old internet porn addict who speaks softly and robotically in conversation, has a preference for GILFS & MILFS, underwear foreplay, and burritos; has a full beard and looks much like the guy who would do your taxes and somehow have nude pictures of you at the same time; favorite conversation topic: vaginas): Oh…I have some moving to do today…hmm…ok fine. Yes I will come. I don’t want to drive though.
- My reply: YAAAAAY!!!! I can’t wait!
G.I Dumb (young, naive, 22-year-old marine vet who is scarily obsessed with our company, always desperately seeking approval from the big bosses while disgustingly addicted to one-upping EVERYONE in conversation; 5’10 with a typically shaven head and mini protruding beer belly; favorite conversation topic: himself and his apparent sexual conquests): SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!?!?!?! OMG SERIOUSLY!?!?!?!?!?! YES! OK whats the plan where are we staying how are we paying for things who has the tickets I’ll drive YOU ASK if we can use the company card they hate me OK I’LL ASK YESSSSSSS.
- My reply: Umm…YES!!!! Ok……ok.
Back Door Bitch (26-year-old Brooklyn born sassy man currently living in Hollywood, dons aviators daily and walks with a feminine gait; has a full beard and ear-length hair; is exactly how you picture a child molester to look; favorite conversation topic: how much he hates me and how ugly he thinks I am): *in one fluid monotonous sentence* Ugh…there’s only one way I’ll go and here are the requirements, ok bitch? Five thousand dollars cash for spending, first class air ticket, and an 8-ball of cocaine for MY USE only. Can’t make it happen? I’ll sit this one out then.
- My reply: Shit you just reminded me that I’m out of blow…do you have any? Dammit…fine whatever BYE.
The Great (20-year-old seemingly Indian but actually part-Mexican part-random-mix-of-European blend super emo boy with tattoo sleeves and an addiction to Twilight (he has two huskies named Edword and Bella); speaks in monotone and is notorious for hating everyone; favorite conversation topic: how much I disgust him and how I should definitely try harder if I wanna look hot): *the most excited I’ve ever heard him* OMG REALLY?! Wait will I be able to drink? What will I do there in Vegas if I can’t?! I wanna go!!! I wanna get wasted I’ve never been wasted. Should I go? I WANNA!!! I can’t stand any of you though…TELL ME WHAT TO DO JAYLA!!!!!!!!!!
- My reply: Dude…it’s me, Dumb, and Lube going…YOU HAVE TO COME DO NOT LEAVE ME ALONE IN A HOTEL ROOM WITH THEM!!!!!
I eventually convince The Great to come and promise to get him wasted for the first time in his life.
He gets into my house and immediately demands my weed, which I normally have no problem giving up considering I don’t smoke and I have it for my guests anyway.
I open my drug jar and realize I have miscellaneous drugs I’ve accumulated over the past year that I don’t even know what are (damn this sentence was hard to formulate).
Reaching inside, The Great demands, “Can you get me cocaine! I wanna do cocaine off a porn star’s butt tonight. Can you make that happen?! I’ve never done it before!”
My heart breaks for him as I picture him having never tasted the sweet glory of coke-drip down the back of his throat after sniffing it off a big set of fake bare tits.
One of my proudest moments in life.
I make it my mission to make this happen for The Great as well.
He rolls up a joint for the FIVE HOUR DRIVE and snatches up the rest of my drugs. I normally charge for things other than pot…but since I don’t even know what they are and me and my friends are too scared to try them…I let it slide.
G.I. Dumb and Lube pull up to my apartment in G.I’s convertible black Mustang. I immediately call shotgun.
The four of us take one look at each other, spark the joint, and head off, smiling and giggling at the situation we’re now in and the night that’s about to occur.
When we arrive in Vegas, we’ll have a half hour to get ready until we’re off.
AVN awards…here we fucking come.