Original post date: 7/24/2013
Well, erotic video guy never followed through. It’s probably better anyway; the last thing I need is one more person on the list of “People Who Have Seen Me Naked” because that shit is long enough as it is. (That’s what she said.) Also, the topless housecleaning gigs didn’t happen. Riddle me this: Is it the chase? Do these men (or women, for the sake of equality) just look for girls to respond and then bail when shit gets real?
Here is an exaggerated dramatization of how my conversations have gone with the topless housecleaning fetish peeps:
Me: Yo I’m interested. Here is a pic of my tits.
Rando dude from C-list: Wow you are beautiful.
Me: Literally just my tits in that picture, but thanks.
Rando: $80/hr to clean?
Me: Yup. As long as you know you’re not touching me or yourself and I’m not touching a god damn thing except for furniture and cleaning supplies. And by cleaning supplies, I do not mean your penis.
Rando: Will you clean naked if I double it?
Me: Yes, but the same rules apply. When should I come over?
Rando: blah blah blah…chit chat…blah blah blah…
Me: Neato great, what’s your address?
This has happened a couple of times now. I feel like these people are either: 1) Just getting off on the fact that a girl actually responded and is down, 2) Pussies, or 3) Feeding me 100% bullshit. No, you know what? I choose D) All of the above.
In other news:
I responded to a “friends with benefits” post yesterday and got paid $100 to have dinner and drinks with the guy this evening. Except he doesn’t drink. It’s like, why would you specifically invite someone for drinks and then drop the bomb that you don’t drink? And, yes, it is comparable to dropping a bomb because I’m the type of person who thinks drinking alcohol is cool and makes people seem much more interesting. Instead, I felt weird and had one beer, so I was only 1/3 of the way to my goal of not being a totally fucking awkward spaz. That beer did nothing for me. Fuck that beer.
Anyway, the guy was older than he originally said he was; not like old enough to be my dad, but at least 15+ years. He was also bald. Not that bald bothers me (at least it wasn’t a comb-over) but it caught me a little off guard. I like hair, so if you’re going to be bald, at least have the decency to grow a gnar beard, amiright? Like…do you even lift bro?
I could tell immediately that he was undressing me with his eyes, which wouldn’t have bothered me so much if he’d been really really ridiculously good looking. In all fairness, he wasn’t hideous. To give you an idea, he’s the offspring of Paul Shaffer (the guy who leads the band on David Letterman) and that dude from The Shield…what’s his name? (Pause for Google search)…Michael Chiklis. He was nice, I guess. He tried to diagnose me within five minutes (by diagnose I mean that he started saying things like “I can tell you have daddy issues” and “I can tell you’re the type who…”) which I cannot stand. You’re paying ME to sit here and have drinks with you; if I needed a psych eval, I’d have called my therapist. (Note to self: Call therapist.)
The kicker: His name was Aaron and he gave me the most ridiculous lesson on how “Erin” and “Aaron” are pronounced differently. He sat there, saying “I say yours like Erin and mine like Aaron…see how they’re different? Erin, Aaron, Erin, Aaron.” As bad as it sounds, trust me, it was worse in real life. I played it cool, obviously, but I was definitely setting him on fire with my mind.
I guess I can’t complain that much though, I did just get a free dinner and $100. So, mission accomplished.