By Steve Weinstein
By Devon Maloney
By Tessa Stuart
By Alison Flowers
By Albert Samaha
By Jesse Jarnow
By Eric Tsetsi
By Raillan Brooks
Still floating, I hit the same club, where an exotically handsome guy I once made out with takes out— everybody now—my schlong by the bathroom and gives it a festive greeting. By now, I know this act better than a seal jumping through a hoop to get an anchovy. "I've wanted you for five years," he says, drunkenly pulling pubes out of his mouth. "I've finally broken down your defenses." I'm stunned that once again my sheer lack of artifice has brought on some unexpected lovin'. But we've both got meetings in the morning, so we go home separately and vow to call. This popularity thing can be very bad for your ego.
By now, I'm confused, titillated, and repulsed—simultaneously proud and mortified. I won't even tell you about the dipso who told me I "elevate the discourse," while squeezing my crotch as if it were an empty tube of toothpaste, or the parade of other tipsy mixed-message givers dispensing both kisses and headlocks. Out of nowhere, Jackson calls to say he misses me more than candy. He's the real thing, not some wasted mess who simply needs a gonad to grab. If only that lil' sweetie lived here, all my problems would be solved, and we'd definitely be boyfriends. And I'd be cheating on him.
Update: Forget about any boyfriends—or even gropefests in the dark with the semi-conscious. Moments after writing this diary, my mojo simply rolled over and died like a dog that's been slipped cyanide. For reasons as mysterious as the ones that caused my Hollywood heat to erupt in the first place, I am no longer an appealing dish to anyone with a pulse and will clearly have to return to my fate as the ugly girl at the prom. Fine, maybe I can develop some character—or just go online.
But hold your piece once again! It's back! Just when you've given up and don't care anymore, that's when you once again start projecting something people want. In a period of just two weeks, a junkie, a fattie, a groper, a hottie, and a 21-year-old all threw themselves on me without any provocation whatsoever. I've been given one more chance to live out the horny adolescence I never had. Anyone got some easy-access Depends?One More Thing
If you're as fed up with hearing about my sleazy sex life as my poor mother must be and you're craving a return to trashy gossip about OTHER people, then click on the blog! Enjoy: La Daily Musto!