It sounds simple for someone like me — I hate the word “virgin” — to go to Las Vegas and have sexual relations with a prostitute. Before I flew out last week, it all seemed so easy. Just pick up a pamphlet, make a call, and wait for the Special Someone to show up at my hotel room. But what about my racing mind? And what about love? The idea of casually separating love and sex seems wrong on a sub-atomic level. Besides, I’d just end up making a fool of myself, getting charged extra, and then getting beat up by a pimp. No thank you.

I’m going to have faith in my ability to rise to the level of normalcy.

Isolation score: 9