Evelyn, Meet Porn Star. Porn Star, Meet Evelyn.

So, my dear readers, first let me apologize for my absence.

But, sadly, I have had no new material.  Zero. Nadda.  Nilch. 

Until last weekend.

I went out to a local tapas restaurant with a very good friend of mine, whom shall remain nameless.  We ordered a few pitchers of mojitos.  We drunk the same amount of said mojitos.  At some point, I got up to go to the bathroom.  When I returned, nameless friend was sitting with her head in her hands and her hair falling over her face.

Oh shit.

"Nameless friend," I started, "are you drunk?"

She nods yes.

"Nameless friend," I continue, "are you going to throw up?"

She nods yes.

I swiftly jump back into undergrad mode and spring into action, walking nameless friend to the bathroom, tying her hair back, getting her all set up to pray to the porcelain god.  As she's purging everything she's eaten in the past month, I go to the bar to get the requisite supplies:  water and gingerale.

At the bar, there are three gentlemen standing around.  I politely ask them to move over a little so I can get water and gingerale from the barkeep.  As I'm waiting, one of the men--who looks to be about 46, 47 years-old--asks me if I am a singer.  I tell him that I am not.  He then tells me that I look like a singer and that I'm very pretty.  As he's a good looking, self-tanned, older guy, I smile and play along.  He then tells me that I should party with them, as this is his retirement party.

"Retirement?" I inquire, as this man does not look old enough or downtrodden enough to retire.  "From what?"

"Porn."

"Excuse me?" I ask, thinking that I perhaps heard him incorrectly.  At this point, his buddies are cracking up.

"Porn. You don't recognize me?"  He asks, looking deep into my eyes.

"No."  I reply, feeling my eyes start to roll.  I turn to his friends and ask, "no really, what are you all doing here?"

"He's telling the truth.  He's retiring from porn," one of the friends replies.

I walk away. 

I turn around.  "No, seriously," I say, "what are you really doing here?"

"I'm Jeff Stryker, look it up. I'm serious."  He says.

I take the water and gingerale to my nameless friend, (who, by the way, is still puking her guts out and moaning the way I would imagine a cow giving birth to a Chevy would sound).  A few minutes later, I have to go back to the bar to get a plastic bag, as it is becoming imminently clear that I was going to have to drive nameless friend home.  The guys are still at the bar, having a good time.  The "porn star" again compliments me and we strike up a short conversation. I can feel the flirtation.  I'm hoping he asks me for my number before I have to run back to the bathroom.  But, he does not. 

Anyway, when I get home, I look up Jeff Stryker.  I can feel my jaw drop.  It really was him.






Evelyn Parkside