Last Saturday night, I went out with my business partner, Mame, to some artsy gallery launch. It was only when I already had my foot out of the door that I realised how two-bit whore skanky I must have looked in my micro mini and see-thru off-shoulder top and leopard print five-inchers. The makeup was no help either. It was thicker than usual.

Eww. Haha :D

Anyways, my only justifications were that it was a Saturday night and I had The Fever ™; making yourself up looking like a 300-rupiah prostitute sometimes make you feel apocryphal-ly liberated in a very skanked cum-in-eye kinda way (haha); I have too much makeup not being used up in time for the next itching bouts for new ones or my sister decided to dump more on me coz she thinks I would love this or that (I got some real cool Dior and Chanel crap from her just because I am so cute to her and she knows my weakness for those).

Standing by on the dark nooks hiding under shadows of anointed shame whilst fantasizing about being a real time sex worker, I lit up my choice stick of cancer for full effect. And hiked up my skirt. :P Then, I started checking out for passers-by and cars through my half-closed eyes half-blinded by puffs of smoke.

I even had a few ready lines:
-”Ya betta have some small change cuz I dun carry more than 30 after midnight.”
-”Do tis pussy look like it has a cash register under it? Ya eitha have the correct change or I ain’t doin’ no business wit ya.”
and, not forgetting, the classic show-ender, “Nice doin’ business wit ya.”

Oh, I had a good laughing inside with my own mind.

All this made me think of the term “cheap whore”. Who was the smarty skinny pants who coined that term? That is one heck of a oxymoron right there. In every relationship, any interaction, one would find oneself in a transaction of sorts. There’s an exchange of handshakes, kisses, trust, respect, love, hatred, bodily fluids, money, feelings, whathaveyous. Sure, you can not (or dare not) quantify feelings in monetary terms, but do that mean feelings are worth more? Two flaps of skin and a set of balls. (Whose balls are in line, you tell me.)

Who’s the other smarty pants who did the price-tagging for this sorta shit?!? And is he working for MasterCard ™?

Okay, let’s try this: There is always some sort of expectation of what you can get from someone in any interaction. Between friends, there need be trust, communication, etc. Between lovers, there are the same stuf, but expectations are raised and of course, sexual attraction and the common crap. When any relationship ends, do you come out of it feeling empty-handed? Of course, not. Other than the experience of not repeating the same “mistakes” or to score some encores on the faves, you can’t really say that being “cheated” of the time invested in knowing that friend better, efforts in helping someone, but getting backstabbed in the end, or getting jilted by that straying tomcat of a boyfriend bla bla bla would be a total waste of time and memory space and clean renewable kinectic power.

It would be a total waste if you did not learn anything from it. Just write it off as bullshit experience. Atta boy… :)

I do think sometimes it is arguable that the prostitutes who gained more, at least in tangible forms, if not the respect from society. Those hoes got something to show for, innit? Hell, it puts food on the table. Also, they went in for the money and money is what they got. We, on the other hand, went into our own cracko barter system with the [blind] trust/[blind] love/[blind] fill-in-tha-blanks etc do not always come out with the same shit we got in for.

Heck, who’s “cheap” now? Hookers have both money and experience. And some heavy shit gungho STDs if they are not all too careful. So would we anyways…

Then again, what is R-E-S-P-E-C-T when you don’t really need it from ppl who condemn your choices in YOUR life? And no one should condemn what they do anydangways because there has to be some demand in what they do in order for it to thrive. Prostitution is, afterall, one of the most ancient sought-after, but frowned upon profession on earth. But, heck… No one invites a burglar into their homes, but they do go out looking for hookers.

Few points of this mumbo jumbo being: Why women who get paid for sex is “cheap”? Why is it different for other women? Are feelings really that “priceless”? If so, why is it so much easier to disregard compared to money? People don’t throw money around as much as they throw feelings out of the window. But I know for one thing that talk is indeed cheap when it is not put into action. Oh, you do not want to dare me, boy. Don’t. Even. Think. About. It.

After a few bad stares, braked cars and the third fag, he came late, as usual.

||You doin’ ho activities
||With ho tendencies
||Hoes are your friends, hoes are your enemies
||With ho energy to do whacha do
||Blew whacha blew
||Screw whacha screw
||Y’all professional like DJ Clue, pullin’ on my coat tail
||And why do you think you take a ho to a hotel?

||Hotel everybody, even the mayor
||Reach up in tha sky for tha hozone layer
||Come on playa once a ho always
||And hoes never close, they open like hallways
||And here’s a ho cake for you whole ho crew
||And everybody wants some ‘cuz hoes gotta eat too

||Can’t turn a ho into a housewife
||Hoes don’t act right
||There’s hoes on a mission, and hoes on a crackpipe
||Hey, ho how ya doin’, where ya been?
||Prolly doin’ ho stuff ‘cuz there you ho again
||It’s a ho wide world, that we livin’ in
||Feline, feminine, fantastical women
||Not all, just some
||You ho who you are
||There’s hoes in tha room, there’s hoes in tha car
||There’s hoes on stage, there’s hoes by tha bar
||Hoes by near and hoes by far
||Ho! (But can I getta ride?!)
||No! (C’mon, nigga why?!)
||’Cuz youza

||Hooooooooo (Ho)
||Youza Hoooooo (Ho)
||Youza Hoooooo (Ho)
||I said that youza hooooo (Ho)

——–

Ludacris– Ho