In Vegas, The Great was only 20 and I must say the boy drunk did not suffice as an underage boy being able to get drunk in Vegas.

He merely giggled and smiled more than usual.

Not good enough in my book!

A week later, The Great is finally turning 21 and inadvertently invites me to his festivities:

The Great: *nonchallantly with no emotion while frying vegan bacon in the kitchen at work* Hey, Jayla, remember that ONE TIME you didn’t look absolutely AWFUL?  If you wanna come out for my birthday tonight you HAVE TO WEAR that EXACT outfit…cuz otherwise you’re not invited.

Me: *completely unphased by his more-of-a-back-hand-than-a-compliment and more excited than anything because nobody at work likes me or invites me anywhere* Really, Great?!  I’m so there!!

The Great: *raising his voice but still not looking up from his fakon (fake bacon DUH)* OK well you better look good don’t embarrass me by looking ugly like you usually do!

Me: *still somehow not offended by his tyrannically misogynistic comment* Ok ok you got it!!

Truth be told I’m more excited to see how an emo Mexican hybrid gets down for his 21st birthday.

The Great prides himself on not speaking to anyone and rarely showing excitement for anything.

I can’t imagine how a celebration in his honor would turn out.

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Boss Man wants me to recruit people to sell our products for an upcoming launch.

He says to me in our meeting, “Use whatEVER means, necessary.  You gotta talk to these guys like they’re a buncha horny idiot frat brothers…you catch my drift?”

I linger for a second with my default look of confusion, staring at him in complete disbelieve as I’m not sure if he’s saying what I THINK he’s saying.

Boss Man continues to reiterate my thoughts, “I’m saying DON’T be professional, DON’T be all soft and shit like you usually are, and DO NOT BACK DOWN if they say no at first!”

And there it is:  Boss Man has given the order.

I’m not quite sure what it is about him or our dynamic that makes me obey absolutely ANYTHING he tells me to do…and like the little asian woman that I am I seek to not only OBEY but to OBLITERATE any sense of a less than PERFECT delivery of results.

I nod in agreement and Boss Man nods back.

I get up to leave and with my back now turned to him, he screams from behind me, “Send Big Z a dirty pic too…he mails hard…and he’s into that.”

Without turning around and without hesitation, I throw my pointer finger in the air and scream back in reply, “DONE.”

What have I gotten myself into…?

Finally arriving inside The Joint of the Hardrock Hotel & Casino, I see a sea of beautiful, half-naked women giddily giggling and fondling each other “Hello.”

My heart melts as I finally realize my childhood dreams are now coming true:

I am amidst hundreds of porn stars.

G.I. Dumb immediately splits to go find Spartacus, the main porn star we work with at the Porno Cave, who also happens to be his main love and focus at work.

Lube, The Great, and I are speechless, as the three of us stand in complete disbelief and frozen arousal while we attempt to embrace everything we see in this moment, as moving might ruin the picture before us:

Women with see-through dresses exposing their freshly waxed vaginas, buff beautiful men in tuxedos grabbing their ladies by the wrists and telling them “WHAT’D I TELL YOU?!,” an empty stage desperate for displays of sex and victory, and empty tables and seats waiting for us to get hot and horny ALL OVER.

The scene of heaven.

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In the bathroom, Lube zips up my TOIT, black XXS spandex Bebe dress, as I tuck my right hand under my left tit, and then my left hand under my right to perk these babies UP.

“Oh MYYY!  You look absolutely BEAUTIFUL!  You could be a porn star!” I hear Lube say from behind me, his sincerity and boner both evident in his statement.

Lube sits next to me all day err day at work.  He knows exactly what to say to get a girl feeling nice and putting him in the friend zone.

He’s my heart and my warm-hearted hard-on over at the Porno Cave.

I smile back at him and lower my voice to say, “Well I’m very lucky to be accompanied by YOUR sexxxy ass” as I place my hand on his cheek and wink.

I love nothing more than to talk super dirty to Lube, as he giggles, blushes and begs me to stop, immediately covering his crotch to conceal his rising boner.

It’s so endearing to see, I tell ya.  He’s my daaaaaarling!

The smell of potent Sativa weed fills the hotel room as Lube and I then join G.I Dumb and The Great in the living room, the two of them each holding glasses of Jack Daniels, two extra glasses on the wooden desk against the wall next to them.

Reaching for my own glass, I pass on the joint going around as smoking usually makes me INSTANTLY pass out…and there will be no passing out tonight…not unless I’m passing out from being unable to take all the hot nasty SEX going on around me.

The 4 of us reach up our glasses and cheers.

7:55pm.

TIME TO GO.

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We finally arrive in Vegas after a 6-hour car ride of G.I. Dumb cockily discussing and instructing The Great to, “Oooh!  Lemme tell you about Vegas HA!  You’re gonna have a hard time havin fun kid!  It’s definitely not the place if you’re underage!”

Nothing pisses me off more than dumb ass mother fuckers talking with Big Dick Swag when they can’t even compete with my big toe (metaphorically speaking of course, I just like to compare anything and EVERYTHING to sex and sexual reproductive organs).

And G.I. Dumb was in no place to say something like this to The Great; G.I. Dumb is only 22 years old and has been to Vegas ONCE…and with his 40-year-old girlfriend no less to merely have his diaper changed in a standard Golden Nugget room.

For the first twenty minutes of the ride, I was adamant on telling G.I. to “GO FUCK YOURSELF you don’t know shit about anything DO YOU EVER GET TIRED OF ONE-UPPING PEOPLE OR TALKING ABOUT THINGS YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT?!  LIKE BEING COOL OR BEING INSIDE PUSSY?!”

Then I gave up and fell asleep.

Upon waking, the glittery lights of flashing billboards and reflections of twinkling crack pipes assault me into a gleeful panic…as I soon realize I’M HERE I’M HERE I’M IN VEGAS FOR THE PORN AWARDS!!!

We get to the Wynn and realize that they might give us shit for packing four of us into one room.  G.I, in his military state of mind, insists I follow his lead, as he and ONLY HE knows the PERFECT PLAN to getting us all successfully into this room.

The last thing I will ever do in my life is follow G.I.’s lead.

G.I. then instructs Lube and The Great to stand behind and get lost while the two of us check in (Boss Man put it under my name and G.I. needs to come cuz he’s putting it on the company card).

Walking up to the hotel clerk, G.I. begins his covert operation:

G.I: *in an obviously fake and overly friendly tone, airing a smell of fresh poo considering how badly G.I. kisses ass* HEY Ramon!  We’re just checking in tonight…me and my GIRL over here *winking to Ramon*

Me: *rolling my eyes and refusing to play along* Ramon, I’m not his girl.  I would never fucking be.  LOOK AT ME.  NOW LOOK AT HIM.  

G.I.: *shooting me a reprimanding glare while speaking to Ramon* HA!  Ramon!  She sure does love to bust my balls YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN MAN?!  HA…WOMEN right?! 

Ramon: *desperate to remain as friendly and courteous and not laugh in G.I.’s face* Well sir I can definitely tell there’s something special there…would you like a smoking or a non-smoking room?

G.I: *still sounding fake as fuck* Oh hmm…definitely non-smoking right honey?  I quit a couple years ago… *attempting to sound older and mature*

Me: *still REFUSING to put up with this shit* No DICKHEAD we brought weed REMEMBER?

G.I. & Ramon: *wide-eyed* Smoking it is.

G.I.: *still not understanding that it doesn’t fucking matter if we have a story or not because we’re gonna get the room regardless* Hey Ramon..I’m thinkin this’ll be the weekend when I *lowering his gaze and voice but still loud enough for me to hear* POP THE QUESTION.

Me: NO!  My answer’s no.  Never.  Fucking never.  ARE WE DONE HERE YET?!

G.I: *to Ramon* OH WAIT HONEY!  We need extra keys…aren’t your girlfriends coming later with the bridesmaids’ dresses?

Me: *sighing and finally giving up*  Yeah.  The girls…the keys.  We need keys.

We finally get the keys to the suite (after a sick upgrade that we actually ended up charging to G.I.’s card) and reconnect with The Great and Lube.

The Great: Did it work!?  Are we ok?!  Did you get four keys?!  Did they see us?!

G.I.:  YEAH!  I DID IT GUYS!  All thanks to me!  I had this SICK story you guys and the hotel clerk had NO IDEA!  He totally fell for it!

Considering how indicative this is of how the rest of my night will go, I make a point to text four other guys I know are currently in Vegas:

*Text: You + Me = BOOM BOOM TONIGHT*

I never know if I’ll need reserves.  And not the one I will be sharing a room with later.

We missed the red carpet already, so the four of us race upstairs to get dressed and drunk within the amount of time we have left.

We are now at T-minus 30 minutes til the AVN Awards…

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.

Me?

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!”

Their responses:

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.

This whole blog started because I fucked my next-door neighbor, M&M…and then got my heart fucked in the process.

It started from the pain, anguish, and poor coping skills that ensued from having been let down by this Adonis of a man that I revered as Mr. Perfect, Mr. Right, Mr. Only One For Me.

So goes heartache I guess.

I once heard that having your heart broken simply means that your expectations were not met.

And sadly I find great comfort in that.

I expected Mr. Perfect to fit perfectly into my life and I in his.

I expected my butterflies, sweaty palms, and bursts of excitement at the mere site of him to be reciprocated.

I expected a raging hard-on in his pants the second he saw me every time.

I expected a kiss on my forehead every night.

I expected rainbows and kittens and sunshine.

I guess I expected a lot…

It’s been a year since things crumbled uncontrollably from my grasp and I can only now say that things have finally ended as randomly and beautifully as they started.

I no longer live in that building.

Neither does he.

So, as much as it pains me to do, the plan from here on out is to continue to document my train-wreck-of-a-single life while dropping eggs of how the whore happened aka the story of what happened with my neighbor and me.

And then…

I’ll let you know how it all officially ended.

And THEN…

I will no longer blog about aforementioned escapades.

This…is the official beginning…of the END of…my days as a blogging whore.