Hard as it is to believe, neither "The Prude" nor "Ms. W", the vixen formerly known as "the Whore" believe in kissing on the first date.
To me, the kiss is so indelibly personal and intimate that when performed gratuitously can be the equivalent of an invasion of space, privacy and dare I say, trust. By the second date, a kiss becomes a prelude to possibilities.
In that spirit, I went on a second date with a certain behind the camera type of industry dude who shall henceforth only be referred as Mr. Average Penis Guy. Yes, you read right.
How does one jump from the possibilities of what a kiss can bring to being forever imbedded in my psyche as "Average penis guy"? Simple, but in the interest of decent storytelling, I must build.
Average Penis Guy and I met for Brunch on a Sunday at The Belmont Restaurant. He lives in "the valley". If you do not live in Los Angeles and plan to move here some day, stay away from "the valley".
His geographical placement alone, should have been my insight into things to come. I'm a Virgo, which means fastidious, crazy- pain in the 'arse' perfectionist. I hate being late because I respect my time. If I am to meet with you and you are late, you obviously do not respect your time. I made it a point to remind Average Penis Guy that he does not live a stones' throw away from civilization and should avoid the 101 freeway and take Laurel Canyon instead.
I text Mr. Average Penis Guy to let him know that the car wash I was going to pre-brunch was literally two blocks south of The Belmont. In true Virgoan form, just as the human car dryer was waving his towel toward my car signaling that it was ready, I sent a quick text to Average Penis Guy, stating that I was about to get in my car.
"That was fast! got caught up with an email. Be their ASAP!" was his reply.
I am disturbed by this direct affront and rebellion to my due diligence. I am slightly insulted too. I take a deep, deep breath and reply: "That sucks! I will start without you and if I am done before you get there, loose my number!" (Jackass! was the subtext but I thought I'd be polite and hold back some, it is only date number two after all)
"B there in 5", he texts back.
At the Belmont, Justin, my favorite and most charming waitperson greets me, I order a mimosa in honor of one of my favorite saints, 'Saint Sunday' and get preferred outdoor seating.
Average Penis Guy shows up 15 minutes late! He apologizes profusely, and showers me with expected slightly above-average pleasantries. In a passive-aggressive manner I sort of forgive him, but berate and dig at every possible turn. No matter, my mind is made up, no kiss and definitely no third date for Jackass! (Yes, I am doing him a favor! So quit judging!)
Justin, our waitperson, finds a way to both support me in being incensed and showing sympathy for Average Penis Guy. Three mimosas later, we combine cars. I hop in his and off we go to a rooftop poolside bar in a swanky joint in Beverly hills for Sunday afternoon cocktails.
We have growing up in New York City, NYU and our latest topic of the day, my nipples that appear to be in a perpetual state of arousal in common to discuss. I have now switched to vodka ginger berry martinis. He is sticking to white wine chardonnay (another insight into his virility I chose to ignore).
It is now seven in the evening and dinner time. We move our 'party of two' to one of my favorite reliably authentic Italian restaurants, Dominick's. They offer a Sunday night supper there, that makes you want to call the matriarch of your family and thank her for all of the comfort food that made home, a home. I am digressing. I guess I am letting my love for food creep in. We share a bottle of red wine, eggplant parmesan, escarole salad. (We'll agree that red wine is appropriate in this instance)
This date has now entered its eighth hour and should come to an end. To my car he takes me. In his car, parked in the street, we make out. The wrestling of the tongues, not quite in sync but manageable with some practice. I like him and could grow to like him even more in the future, provided he's on time. He asks me if he could come hang out with me in my home.
The term 'hang out' coming out of the mouth of a 39 year old leaves a strange taste in my mouth. I politely decline his self-invite to my 'casa'. My original instinct of no third date is quickly rearing its little head back.
As I prepare to hop out, he unzips his pants and shows me his- you predictably guessed- PENIS!!! My jaw drops as I hear myself exclaim: "THAT is SOOO.... AVERAGE!!!!" He looks at me with a crestfallen stare and mumbles pathetically "average?"
"Dude, are you kidding me with this? WTF did you expect? Am I suppose to squeal with sudden desire, lift up my skirt, shove my thong aside and jump on top of THAT!!! SERIOUSLY??? REALLY!!!"
With that, I urgently grab my jacket from his backseat, open the passenger side door, leap out and state: "Don't you ever call me again!" SLAM!
I am still not sure if I am offended by this bizarre come-on or disappointed by his average penis. I mean, if you are going to use that as a seduction tactic, can it at least be the most amazing looking appendage ever!
Seriously! Really!
Friday, August 26, 2011
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
Dumped for wanting "it" too much or just "bad service"
I've had the pleasure of nearly avoiding being a spinster! I have been engaged, spoken for, promised to... thrice! Soon after my third engagement, I decided that the "prude" needed to be put on a well-deserved hiatus and only show up as a mid-season replacement if the "whore" made too many poor executive decisions.
Along comes Edward. A fairly new transplant from Raymond Alberta, a province in Canada. Edward at the ripe old age of 39, had apparently taken an improv class in Raymond, Alberta as part of his Narcotics Anonymous Art therapy. One night, he went up to improv and he "killed" the room.
Classmates, or more accurately, fellow addicts, were all doubled over in laughter the entire time. That single experience convinced Edward that "Hollywood" could simply not survive another minute without him. Armed with this one "five weeks" Narcotics Anonymous Art Therapy improv class, Edward entered our fair country with a visitors visa and kicked his cocaine habit for good. The white powder south of Alberta was not to Edward's liking. His standards sealed his recovery! Amen.
I meet this illegal Canadian, Edward at a nameless place where I donate my time. He was hired under the table to photograph said establishment. He wanted to use me as a model for a some-day-could-become a coffee table book he was "working on". Sure, the old "let me shoot you, I'm a photographer trick was laughable at best"- To Edward's credit, I probably still look like I just fell off a turnip truck on the 405 freeway.
We know who in the "prudish-whore" scenario was given permission to run the show, right? Our executive producer, let's call her Ms. W from now on. (I suspect I might be setting the feminist movement back a few decades by using the term "whore" so comfortably) Ms. W, quickly surmises that, in light of Edward's history, he would be the perfect service provider post break up.
A service provider is very different from a Friend with benefit. One actually cares about the daily happenings in a friends life. Problem was, Edward was surprisingly loquacious and soft-spoken - a horrible combination- and just not interesting. I could feel my brain cells dying as we'd speak.
The only thing Edward would possibly be good for, is to quench a certain level of deep physical longing. Ex-addicts had already proven themselves to be worth the panty removal.
Ms. W, the executive producer, hired Edward for the job with the caveat that only she goes to him when she is free. He is not to bore her with the details of his life, day, childhood memories in Raymond Alberta, family foibles, fables, dreams, hopes, aspirations and exasperations. The only thing she cared about knowing would be any scheduling conflict that might affect her being pleasured. Much like a cellular phone provider, she was signing up for a plan. The reception is expected to be available anywhere one goes within the United States.
The fact that we know where Edward is from, tells us that he violated his end of the plan. Edward talked way too much. True to form, Edward, an admitted ex-addict, provided explosive gratifyingly exhausting sex.
By week two of daily all-nighters, Edward decided, in classical cognitive behavior, to blame someone else for his inability to provide a service he agreed to. His addict rational was, and I quote: "You are sexually exhausting, you want it all the time and I simply have no energy left to shoot more models" for his some day might become a coffee table book.
The ratings went through the roof! I was unceremoniously dumped for "wanting it too much"! Just like your favorite tv series, sometimes a network just seems to obliterate it. If nothing else, just as an ego exercise. Let's face it, the Ms. W in me had way too much power and loser-ex addict- wanna be photographer wants to act as a network exec.
The "Prude" came back sooner than planned for a mid-season replacement! And to quote my most favorite tv show dysfunctional whore addict tv show character, Charlie played by Charlie Sheen on "Two and Half men", the "Prude" is totally " WINNING!"
Along comes Edward. A fairly new transplant from Raymond Alberta, a province in Canada. Edward at the ripe old age of 39, had apparently taken an improv class in Raymond, Alberta as part of his Narcotics Anonymous Art therapy. One night, he went up to improv and he "killed" the room.
Classmates, or more accurately, fellow addicts, were all doubled over in laughter the entire time. That single experience convinced Edward that "Hollywood" could simply not survive another minute without him. Armed with this one "five weeks" Narcotics Anonymous Art Therapy improv class, Edward entered our fair country with a visitors visa and kicked his cocaine habit for good. The white powder south of Alberta was not to Edward's liking. His standards sealed his recovery! Amen.
I meet this illegal Canadian, Edward at a nameless place where I donate my time. He was hired under the table to photograph said establishment. He wanted to use me as a model for a some-day-could-become a coffee table book he was "working on". Sure, the old "let me shoot you, I'm a photographer trick was laughable at best"- To Edward's credit, I probably still look like I just fell off a turnip truck on the 405 freeway.
We know who in the "prudish-whore" scenario was given permission to run the show, right? Our executive producer, let's call her Ms. W from now on. (I suspect I might be setting the feminist movement back a few decades by using the term "whore" so comfortably) Ms. W, quickly surmises that, in light of Edward's history, he would be the perfect service provider post break up.
A service provider is very different from a Friend with benefit. One actually cares about the daily happenings in a friends life. Problem was, Edward was surprisingly loquacious and soft-spoken - a horrible combination- and just not interesting. I could feel my brain cells dying as we'd speak.
The only thing Edward would possibly be good for, is to quench a certain level of deep physical longing. Ex-addicts had already proven themselves to be worth the panty removal.
Ms. W, the executive producer, hired Edward for the job with the caveat that only she goes to him when she is free. He is not to bore her with the details of his life, day, childhood memories in Raymond Alberta, family foibles, fables, dreams, hopes, aspirations and exasperations. The only thing she cared about knowing would be any scheduling conflict that might affect her being pleasured. Much like a cellular phone provider, she was signing up for a plan. The reception is expected to be available anywhere one goes within the United States.
The fact that we know where Edward is from, tells us that he violated his end of the plan. Edward talked way too much. True to form, Edward, an admitted ex-addict, provided explosive gratifyingly exhausting sex.
By week two of daily all-nighters, Edward decided, in classical cognitive behavior, to blame someone else for his inability to provide a service he agreed to. His addict rational was, and I quote: "You are sexually exhausting, you want it all the time and I simply have no energy left to shoot more models" for his some day might become a coffee table book.
The ratings went through the roof! I was unceremoniously dumped for "wanting it too much"! Just like your favorite tv series, sometimes a network just seems to obliterate it. If nothing else, just as an ego exercise. Let's face it, the Ms. W in me had way too much power and loser-ex addict- wanna be photographer wants to act as a network exec.
The "Prude" came back sooner than planned for a mid-season replacement! And to quote my most favorite tv show dysfunctional whore addict tv show character, Charlie played by Charlie Sheen on "Two and Half men", the "Prude" is totally " WINNING!"
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Loneliness has made a Prudish-Whore out of me.
confesses and inquires a little too quickly for the prude in me.
"Because if you're talking to me, odds are you are an ex-addict or addict.", I confidently reply.
That tends to be the story of my life. I can be in Boise, Idaho on a potato farm, and the one man who will gravitate to me as bees do to honey will be the ex-ADDICT.
Please, don't get me wrong. I fully support and encourage a descent into the depths of hell, fighting and facing your demons, and emerging the Victor. Robert Downey, Jr. is a great example of that sort of chutzpah. He's also one of my many "types" (but I digress). What I've learned about The ex-ADDICT is that he is an AMAZING lover! I mean, he will bite you, literally try to snort you, drink you, hold on to the high you give. Then, he will be filled with so much remorse after hours of rocking your planet, that he'll call his sponsor.
Simply put, the receiver of his passions, become his substitute drug. I have spoken to many women who've had unhealthy relationships with this type and sure enough the consensus has been "AMAZING LOVER! BEST SEX EVER! VERY GENEROUS! INSATIABLE! and my personal favorite comes from a new kindred spirited gal-pal Nikki. She finished the sentence :"they will bite you"with "and CHOKE you!"
So how does this story and completely unscientific theory of mine apply to the Nadegeism "Prudish-whore"? Well, as Mr. ex-tv star- super handsome- chiseled -face- now sober -trying to get back in the game, walked me to my car at the end of the evening, I had a decision to make. Flashes of my theory came at me as if I was about to take my last breath. Will he prove or disprove my theory? There's only one way to find out? Do I find out? A few hours of being someone's unadulterated pleasure chest would allow my theory some bragging rights. I should take one for team Nadege...
The Prude won! I coyly offered him my business card with the admonition to "use it wisely!"
Better luck next time, "Whore!"
"Because if you're talking to me, odds are you are an ex-addict or addict.", I confidently reply.
That tends to be the story of my life. I can be in Boise, Idaho on a potato farm, and the one man who will gravitate to me as bees do to honey will be the ex-ADDICT.
Please, don't get me wrong. I fully support and encourage a descent into the depths of hell, fighting and facing your demons, and emerging the Victor. Robert Downey, Jr. is a great example of that sort of chutzpah. He's also one of my many "types" (but I digress). What I've learned about The ex-ADDICT is that he is an AMAZING lover! I mean, he will bite you, literally try to snort you, drink you, hold on to the high you give. Then, he will be filled with so much remorse after hours of rocking your planet, that he'll call his sponsor.
Simply put, the receiver of his passions, become his substitute drug. I have spoken to many women who've had unhealthy relationships with this type and sure enough the consensus has been "AMAZING LOVER! BEST SEX EVER! VERY GENEROUS! INSATIABLE! and my personal favorite comes from a new kindred spirited gal-pal Nikki. She finished the sentence :"they will bite you"with "and CHOKE you!"
So how does this story and completely unscientific theory of mine apply to the Nadegeism "Prudish-whore"? Well, as Mr. ex-tv star- super handsome- chiseled -face- now sober -trying to get back in the game, walked me to my car at the end of the evening, I had a decision to make. Flashes of my theory came at me as if I was about to take my last breath. Will he prove or disprove my theory? There's only one way to find out? Do I find out? A few hours of being someone's unadulterated pleasure chest would allow my theory some bragging rights. I should take one for team Nadege...
The Prude won! I coyly offered him my business card with the admonition to "use it wisely!"
Better luck next time, "Whore!"
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