22 January 2002 - 4:29 p.m.

Ok, I'll say it.

I miss my inner slut.

Yesterday, I had the following conversation while seated on my boyfriend's lap.

(Note that "Friday night" refers to the bitchin' ass partay I'm hosting this weekend. You're all invited, seriously.)

Favorite Ex-Boyfriend: Jenn, can I bring my roommate to your apartment Friday night?

Jenn: Peter's invited, I sent him the email.

FEB: Not him, Lorax*, the exchange student.

Jenn: Oh, the foreign one. Yeah, he's hot.

FEB: You think so?

Jenn: Didn't you hear me say that at the last party you brought him to? Hot boys are always welcome in my pad.

FEB: Now, Jenn, Lorax has a girlfriend in (whatever country he's from, I forget that too.)

Jenn: I'm not gonna do him! I was just saying he's cute. I do have a boyfriend I kinda like, remember.

And then it hit me. Just because I no longer embrace my inner slut, doesn't mean everyone else has stopped.

And why should they have? I'm hot, damnit!

And I haven't sat on a male other than Gus since the first half of the year 2000. Before then, I could have been an FDR cliche: "A chicken in every pot, and Jenn's ass in every lap."

I could go into more detail, but rather than effectively describe the kind of sweet and very flirtatious relationships I had with my male friends, I would probably just seem like the lone town whore after the fleet came in. So, you know, let's just leave it at that.

It's not that I'm having fidelity issues. It's just that I never really imagined my life would be this way. Which is better than prostitution, which is probably where my other trajectory would have led me.

So, yeah. Outer slut, meet your replacement, inner slut. Inner slut, I hope you're comfortable, because you'll be in there for a while.

*FEB does not actually share a flat with the Lorax. I forget the guy's real name. It does sound an awful lot like Lorax, though. Sorry, whatever-your-name-is.

What I'm wearing:

What I'm reading:

What I'm doing after this: