Tuesday, October 18, 2011

Guess Who's Back?

Average Penis Guy! He is trying to get a spin-off deal from his very short lived series 

Whipped out the little head”. (see August 26 blog)

He reminds me of David Caruso’s career. 
After behaving badly and being banned from ever performing for the Nadège Network again, Average Penis Guy began an email and text campaign to get a meeting with Ms. Prude, the aptly-named CEO.
Average Penis Guy would text at the exact same time, three times per day, every day for seven days. Breakfast, 9:06 am. Lunch, 2:11-3:00 PM and dinner for him, (cocktail hours for me) 7-10 pm. 
It got to the point where I actually looked forward to the harassment. 
He would text incredulous statements like:

 “Are you seriously never going to talk to me again!” 

Or gems like: “ C’mon, don’t be like that!” and “I deserve an explanation.” 
WHAT! Seriously? Really!
My favorite text was on day four, during my favorite hour, the cock-tail hour. I roll over, freshly laid from my service provider’s first lackluster performance and reach for my cell phone. Average Penis Guy is now resorting to pouty threats. 

Fine, I am now deleting your contact info!” and, part 2 of text screen “I will leave you alone from now, I get it.” 
I let out an involuntary chuckle. It’s about freaking time, considering I never replied to any of the texts! 
Service provider is being nosy. “Curiosity kills the schlong”, I remind him purringly “and speaking of schlongs,  I am so ready for another cock-tail. He was too. 
Privacy coupled with a service provision only agreement, has its definite advantages. 
The next day, day five I get a traditional email. It’s an invitation to accompany Mr. Average Penis Guy to the screening of a film he was a DP on. Ignore.
Day six, I get a text. Wait, hadn’t he “deleted” me from his cellular life? 

“ I got your number from that original email we exchanged way back, come with me to this screening, it’s at 7 Pm tonight, it might be good for you to network.” Ignore
An opportunity for me to network? ‘Quel Moron, screenings are for the filmmakers, cast and crew, friends, family, supporters.’ I feel a soap-box moment attack, but I stave it off with some kegel exercises.
Lunch hour, instead of the usual text, the phone actually rings. He wants to confront me, face me as it were. I am tempted to let it go into voicemail just for the sheer pleasure of collecting material for a rant. He hangs up and robs me of this pleasure. Fine! Ignore.
How lucky am I? Here is an opportunity for me to get an answer to “What would possess a seemingly mentally stable, attractive, educated, formerly charming 39 year old man to whip out his cock at the end of what could have been the beginning of an adventurous 13 week cycle dramedy?!” 
Final day, day seven. I call,  after the stupidest text ever: 
You missed a great screening last night”,  and I, pointedly, ask:
 “Why did you do whip out your little head at the end of our date?!” 
I was immensely attracted to you, we were together all day, you were looking so hot...it was like dangling a steak in front of a starving man. What would you expect him to do, not take it?” 
Thank you...” I manage to get out, as I feel the non-existent hairs on my back rise.
What for? ” he asks, salaciously. I can just hear a stupid grin of victory on his face.
For that analogy, dude! It must be what rapists think!” 
Silence. He hangs up.

Unlike David Caruso, Mr. Average Penis Guy will not get a comeback.

Friday, October 14, 2011

Damn it, He's RIGHT!

My service provider won’t commit! 

It appears that this time the joke might very well be on me. I had cut off all other possibilities of meeting anyone new, even trimmed my repertoire by half. Why would I be so foolish you ask? Because I felt the freest I’d been in months with this service provider. We laugh hard, play hard, mate even harder and fall asleep with our bodies completely intertwined. He holds me all night. Even when I roll away, he finds a way to pull me back in. I melt.  We like each other as people too, and the added bonus of finding each other clothes rippingly desirable only adds to the belief that there is more than just service provision going on.  
He is a pure violation of the top 5 lifestyle choices I swore I would never be with. I shall only share the one most relevant to this rant.
  1. Never, ever, ever date an actor!
 They tend to be narcissists and manage to both be in love and in-lust with themselves. If you’ve ever copulated with an actor in front of a mirror, odds are, he is spending 95% of the time studying his own performance. The remaining 5% is spent asking you to confirm that he is indeed delivering the goods for your pleasure. 

My natural instinct leans toward self-protection. I quickly agree to be set up on a semi-blind date. Semi, because said date, has seen pictures of me on line.  Pictures of him on google are nonexistent. He is a powerful young corporate attorney, drives a Maserati and has an ego the size of Mount Rushmore. Damn!
He offers to pick me up. I opt to drive myself in case I would need to put the pedal to the metal and race away from Mount Rushmore. Dinner is at a high end spot, worthy of a curve flattering dress and the kind of killer pumps that a drag queen would try to steal off your feet. 
Maserati man is seated at the bar and takes it upon himself to order what he assumes I will enjoy as a cocktail. Burning Mandarine Martini. He’s right!
The waitress saunters over to let us know that our table is ready, and attempts to hold his gaze but he is staring at my thighs as I uncross my legs. He’s right again. Damn!
The conversation at dinner flows freely. I tell him about this blog. He dreads landing in here. He wonders how I would feel if I knew “that someone was writing about me.” “Flattered, of course!” I answer, but he’s right again. Damn it!
The evening comes to a bit of a screeching halt. This blog is better than mace. He is so well behaved after this news, I'll have nothing to rant or rave about. The burning mandarine martini was rave-worthy.
Outside he waits for the valet to bring my car around. We bid our adieus and part ways. I get home and receive a text from him:  “Great body, great looks, I even like your brain..Too bad you kiss and tell!” 
He’s right again! Damn it!