How I Became A Sugar Daddy

And why a Brazilian should actually be called the Australian Open

Ohmygod! That really hurt!

The closest thing I can compare this procedure to is getting a tattoo. I’ve spent nine hours getting intimate with a reciprocating needle for a decent-sized and well-thought out permanent display of ink on my right shoulder and back and it was nothing compared to the twenty-minute-testicle-raising pain of having all my private hair removed.

I was at one of the LAX Starbucks, waiting for my Southwest flight to Minneapolis/St. Paul for a film festival to debut my short film, Killing Happy, when this really cute redhead in line asked me what I was ordering. I was new to coffee at the time (believe it or not) and answered honestly that I wasn’t much of a coffee drinker and was a little overwhelmed by all the java jargon.

She suggested that I get a tall blonde, and then laughed, saying, “A tall redhead just recommended a tall blonde.” My god, how wonderful. Was she flirting with me? She was definitely flirting with me! We talked for a bit and discovered that we were on the same flight and since there are no seat assignments on Southwest, we sat together and chatted the whole time.

God, it felt good to be flirted with! We shared the reasons for our trips, me, the film…