Why I Stayed in A Sex Hotel in Hollywood

Goodbye for now Hawaii. (Photo taken on Kauai)

I've been slacking, I know. After my last post in April, my boyfriend (and the rest of his crew) was laid off. We took this as a sign, better now than later, to move back to the mainland for a little bit. So the last month was spent budgeting, packing, selling, and shipping our things.

On June 11, we flew into LAX, got good Mexican food for the first time in years from the midnight food truck El Chato, and couldn't get in contact with my sister to get into her apartment for the night. So we stayed at the hotel across the street without realizing it was a sex hotel.

When we checked into our room at this hotel in Hollywood on a street directly behind the Walk of Fame, we slipped exhausted into black the satin sheets, dimmed the lights on the ceiling, lights which changed colors by the way.

It was only in the morning, as we checked out and only paid $90 including tax for the whole night (and were given the option to pay by the hour for an extended stay), that I realized the faux pas.

Bottom Line: I now know how to accurately set the scene for the business transaction between a prostitute and her customer.

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