Yay, I've been saved from snow - real, sticky, snowed-in snow - once again. Whew. I'm sure that soon the Weather God is going to get tired of me telling him, "Snow tomorrow, and snow yesterday - but never snow today".
However, I feel like I dodged a frosty bullet, because baby, I've got things to do. Ain't got no time for no snow.
So while I go do them, read all about it.

Oh, and don't forget Cirque Du Noc on Saturday, and Max's bondage workshop on Sunday. Big fun.

Tonight, I’m going to an industry party. A sex industry party, that is. I don’t usually go to such things - they’re really geared more towards the escorts and sensual-touch ladies. I am considered a niche service, and a lot of the vanilla boys just don’t know what to make of me. (Some of them know what they’d like to make of me, though. I admit that it can be entertaining to tease them.)

No, I’m not telling you where it is, sorry. Those who know, know, and I haven't been empowered to give out information about it. Besides, it’s not that exciting to the naked eye (so to speak). It’s just a cocktail party-type thing where the professional ladies smile and flirt and pass business cards to interested parties. People make conversation about the weather and sports teams and the monorails crashing into each other, and oh by the way, sweetie, do you have a website? What are your hours? But if you were watching through a window, it wouldn’t look so different than lots of other social events.

The street workers usually don’t come to stuff like this. No, it’s mostly the middle-tier of sex workers - the largest group by far - that you’ll meet at these events. (What would upper-tier be? Porn star-escorts who get a thouand dollars or more for dates. That's a relatively small group.)

It’s a nice system in some ways. There’s no question that having met someone at a party like this makes booking an initial appointment with them much less fraught with tension. You’re less likely to get no-showed by a guy who’s met you already, and when he shows up, you already know something about who he is, in terms of personality and looks. It removes the whole blind-date anxiety - on both sides, I imagine.

I’ve been to a few of these things, and as I said, a lot of the boys don’t know quite what to say to me. Some of them email me after the fact and tell me they were afraid to come talk to me, as if I might pull out my riding crop and thrash them on the spot. But my entire purpose in going to firmly establish the fact that I actually don’t have snakes for hair, and I don’t turn men into stone with my glance, and some of the boys clearly enjoy getting to hang out with me a bit. Oddly, though, the guys who can chat with me in a perfectly relaxed and friendly manner usually aren’t the ones who wind up calling the next day to schedule with me. It’ll be the boy who stutters and shuffles and barely meets my eye that I’ll be hearing from. Which I suppose is sort of charming, when I think about it.

A brief note about scheduling with me this week: As of this moment, I have time available Wednesday starting at 4:30, Thursday starting at 3:00, and Friday starting at 4:30. Also, I will be seeing people this Saturday, which is rare, so if you’ve been waiting for a weekend availability, carpe diem.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly...

This is cruel, and even rather kink-negative, but even I have to admit it’s sorta funny.

This, on the other hand, is rather sweet, even though I wouldn’t say it’s a stunning likeness. Gee, how'd the artist know I had that outfit?

This is so sublimely ridiculous that it’s classic. I hope this page stays up forever. Notice the copyright date – this gentleman copyrighted his web page before the web even existed! Amazing!

This is so not my kind of fetish, but hey, if you get off on the idea of being scanned like a toaster at Target, mazel tov.

My parting remark: I'm posting this before I go to bed, and let me tell you, there just better not be any white shit on the ground when I get up.
I will be seriously annoyed.
I'm just sayin'.

I hate snow.

Okay, I know I said I wasn’t going to do phone-call entries anymore, but once in a while, I just have to….

Ring Ring!

Me: hello?
Caller: (in a hostile voice) Wow, you’re really hard to get a hold of, you know that?

Well, I can’t accuse the guy of stringing me along and getting my hopes up, can I? I hate him already. I let ten seconds tick off on the clock and then say, very slowly:

Me: That’s not how you begin a conversation with me. Who is this?

Caller: Uh, we haven’t met, because every time I call you I get your voicemail.

What a shame I broke up my winning streak by answering this time. Again I pause, lengthily, to indicate I don’t like this remark, either. I consider pointing out that he’s talking to me now, but it’s not going to do him any good, because if you’re rude to me in the first 3 seconds of our acquaintance, you’re unlikely to recover.

Me: What do you want?

Caller: I know you said you don’t do same-day appointments, but you know, I’m sort of a creature of whim. Booking in advance really doesn’t work for me because I’ll be out of the mood. What do you have available in the next couple of hours?

Oh, right, because I am here on this earth to accommodate your moods and whims, aren’t I? Jesus. Any suggestion that I should instantly change my rules and limits to acommodate someone else's whims is pretty much guaranteed to have the opposite effect. It's amazing that he thinks this kind of attitude is going to fly with me - I'm a dominatrix, for god's sake.

The irony here is that, if you’re one of my good regular boys, and you catch me on a day when someone has canceled or something, I actually will do a same-day. It’s rare for me not to be booked up, but if I know you, I don't mind you asking.

However, if you’re a stranger, and more noticeably, a rude twit who thinks I should jump when he snaps his fingers, I’d be happy to make an appointment for you on the first frosty day in Hell. I'm tempted to tell him so, but brevity is the best way to deal with people like this. You simply cannot engage with them, it’s pointless.

Me: Nothing.

Caller: Nothing? Come on, you can’t be totally busy, you’re talking to me on the phone right now, aren’t you?

Some people write my exit lines for me.

Me: Goodbye.

Click.