<div class="floatleft"> (https://www.mediafire.com/convkey/00a1/yi9x9z7skl8jbis6g.jpg) <span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: Georgia;"> </span><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Anastasia<br/>___ <br/>aka Nasty</span></strong></div></div><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 11pt;">The entranceway camera (along with the program) has identified the Warcaofs (yes, I know about them already) and Jaclyn Rosendahl (most interesting; she doesn’t look like she’d have done all that’s listed: empire builder; police attacker; slut w/internet pics no less).<br/><br/>Having instructed my assistant on expediting offloading of items for black market sale, I next spend some time with customers and their ‘problems’.  ‘Their problems’ are usually themselves.  And the two I deal with are not out of the ordinary—problem customers.  For each, the girls were standing their ground, me called to make peace.  Both were relatively easy, a stern look of be a good girl/boy, Nasty says do this and they meekly nod.  (After all, being banned from the house is not something a needy customer wants).  <br/><br/>It’s turning out to be a good 24 hours.  Easy customer problems and some ‘networking’ possibilities coming to me with Ms. Rosendahl.<br/><br/>I walk back to the ‘change’ room, open the door and see Jaclyn Rosendahl.  “So we have Jaclyn with brown hair and a pony tail.”  Disappointing!<br/><br/>“If we were in school, let’s say grad school, I’d give you a ‘D’.  I mean unless you were going for grade school teaching assistant look.  Then an ‘A’.” <br/><br/>“When you’re staying here, I <em>think</em> you want to fit in.  This is a whorehouse, a bordello.”  (Pause, thinking).  “There’s all styles, yes, but . . . ”  (Another pause).  “A small thing—like a neck choker.  Jewelry.  Clothes.” <br/><br/>“Imagine when you walk into the bar you were just at, that the customer seeing all possibilities, chooses you—that might be a man or a woman or both, that’s the idea.  How do you get chosen?”  Finally, “Oh, and in that same bar, the Warcaofs don’t recognize you.  If anything, they think to ‘tut’ at the whore.”  <br/><br/>I cast a sharp look at the helper, “That makes sense doesn’t it Jaclyn with the brown hair and ponytail?” <br/></span>