I know working in porn requires a great deal of moral compromising (that or cocaine) but is there ever a line? Everyone on set tries to act like a professional (they're just "acting"). But when you're a normal, attractive woman and the director asks you boink a midget, is that the point where you finally realize you're a ho? I would think when a super-hot chik is banging a munchkin, pretty much all self-respect is thrown out the window.

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Last summer Red Jesus and I made a pact. For reasons unbeknownst to me, we decided it would be cool if we grew our hair out. It was a concrete deal. Even though blood wasn't exchange, we both knew would couldn't get out of it until the other party agreed.

A year later and numerous screams from strangers to get a haircut, I decided to take it a step forward and grow out a big, bushy, 70s-style pornstache. Sure I got odd stares from folks but I didn't give a crap--I thought it looked funny. Things were going great until a coworker called me Ron Jeremy this week. Of course, we all know who Ron Jeremy is. He's the short, overweight, mustached, mullet-wearing, long-schlonged porn star. When you have a giant schlong you can pull off being the short, fat, mustached, mullet-wearing look. But since I'm missing the giant schlong, I knew it was time for a change.

I didn't consult with Red Jesus, but this was a crisis (I was called Ron Jeremy for cripes' sake). An appointment was made at the finest cosmetology school Orange County has to offer as I contemplated a new look. First thing to go was the pornstache (which I knew would make the new lady in my life happy). But losing the mullet wasn't nearly enough--I need to be unrecognizable. I opted to go platinum blonde--about as far away from Ron Jeremy as I could think of. Six hours and $18 dollars later, I was happy with my new look. I had gone from legendary porn star to California surfer boy (it's too bad I have a new lady in my life: 'cause guys this good-looking shouldn't be settling down).

I got a reaction from pretty much every one of my coworkers. I suppose that was the point of going blonder than Kelly Bundy (who am I kidding: I did it for the attention). But three hours into my shift, I was starting to get tired of talking about it. Everyone remarked about my new look. One coworker even squealed:"Oh my god! You pierced your ear!"

Uh, yeah--about 14 years ago.

I guess that shows how often she's checking me out.

I dyed my hair 'cause it's what I wanted to do--I didn't do it for anyone else. Yet part of me did it for the attention: I wanted people to notice. Yet there I was getting tired of it all. Everyone pointed it out--like they were the first one to notice (yes, I dyed my hair: I know--I was there). I suppose I got what I wanted. But after a while, I just got sick of it all.

Today I went over Red Jesus' house, wondering how he would react to me breaking the pact. I hoped he would understand (I was compared to friggin' Ron Jeremy), but knew he'd give me lip. I was the one who caved first. It had been a year since I wore short hair. Growth that long would make anyone look stupid--only a fool wouldn't cut their hair.

As soon as he walked out of his house, the change was obvious. The long hair was gone and the new 'do bared little resemblance to the one worn last week. No point beating around the bush. "Dude, you cut your hair," I said to him.

"You cut your hair!" he exclaimed. Red Jesus' mangy red mane was gone and he was as clean cut as I.

So we both cheated. I looked stupid. He looked stupid. At least we both realized it the same week.

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