I meant to write an account of a strange man who hit on me, strangely, in the grocery store the other day.

But it’s a quarter of two in the morning as I type this, and I think I should go to bed instead. It’s Monk’s fault…

But for your entertainment: A highly interesting index of prices for sex workers in major American cities. Looks like Seattle is slightly below the national average. $234 dollars seems a bit low, but of course, it is an average. I know ladies who charge much more – certainly I do myself – but Craig’s List is full of women charging considerably less. Amusing to see that my old hometown, Tampa, is right up there. And it looks like Toledo is the place to go if you’re looking for a real deal.

I have not had time to explore the whole site, but I think there’s also a page where you can answer a bunch of questions and figure out, hypothetically, how much money you would get paid. But I’m dubious about how accurate such a figure would be, because what a survey can’t measure is good marketing and good customer service. Without those, no matter how young and pretty you are, you’re very limited. And with them, a woman who isn’t a perfect ten still can do very well indeed.

Wow, I was bitchy in that last post, wasn't I?

But never mind, I am feeling back to my usual kind and generous self. Which is good, since I was in QFC yesterday and a man approached me in such a text-book bad way that had I been feeling bitchy, I probably would have snapped his head off. But I did not. I'll tell you that story later.

Right now I am obsessed with a dress that a clever reader turned me on to...

Here's the original link. Here's another shot of it. Is that not fabulous?

It seems that the designer's name is Iceberg, and the only place I can find that designer is Sak's, but - Sak's does not have this dress. And I may die if I don't have this dress. So excuse me while I go look for it.

I was in a cranky mood for the early part of the day yesterday. A session with Jae and one of our favorite guys improved my outlook considerably, but if you didn’t call me yesterday, you’re a lucky man, because I was feeling bitchy.

Not everyone was lucky.

I was sitting in traffic when my public line rang. I never answer that phone anymore, as I’m sure of you have noticed. Sorry, I just let it go to voicemail and deal with it when I’m in the mood. Which I admit often takes a couple of days. Sometimes I don't get it for longer than that, and then the message is two weeks old, and it seems silly to answer it. Yes, I am that busy.

But there I was, crawling along in traffic, bored and bitchy, so I looked at the phone, and I recognized the number as someone who had called me multiple times over the last 48 hours. Now, calling and calling and calling, when I haven’t called you back, is most often a bad idea. Two, maybe three time is the max. True, occasionally the phone misbehaves and eats the messages, or the message gets scrambled and is unintelligible. But in general, multiple calls = weirdo.

(I know there are guys who can't leave a callback number. I suggest you get a private email account and go that route instead. It just makes us ladies less nervous than seeing the same number popping up on the caller id.

And if I know you, and I haven’t called you back, then it’s not you, I’m just insanely busy. Email would be better for that, too. I’m really shifting over to email, it’s just much easier to track everything, and I can read and answer to a hundred emails faster than I can even listen to - let alone respond to - thirty-plus voicemails a day.

So I looked at the phone and thought, He’s probably a whack-job. But then I answered the call. I don’t know why. Perhaps I was looking for someone to be bitchy to.

I got my wish.

Me: hello?

Caller: Did you get my message?

Oh, were you calling Mistress Marvolo The Mind Reader? Or did you think you were on a video-phone? I pause lengthily and then say:

Me: (in an acidly-sweet drawl that could eat through steel) Well, I don’t know if I did, since I don’t know who I’m talking to, now do I? Who is this?

Caller: Joe.

I wait for him to add some other identifying information. He doesn’t. He just says:

Caller: I left you a message.

In a manner that implies he’s the only person in the world who could have left me a message, ever, and thus, nothing more need be said about that. However, even over the phone, I can tell that he is just quivering with the need to say something. I have no idea what it’s going to be, but I know this: it’s going to be odd. He just has that sort of whacko cadence to his voice.

So I open up the door for him, since he’s clearly not going to stop calling me until he asks me for whatever it is.

Me: What is it you want, Joe?

Caller: Will you take a swim with me?

For a moment I think he has said, “Take a swing at me”, which would be a sort of gauche way of asking for a scene, but which would be comprehensible coming from someone who didn’t have any BDSM vocabulary.

But no, he said swim. Which, I have to say, is the first time I’ve been asked for that. Points to Joe for originality. Some kind of bathing suit fetish? I have met lyrca/spandex fetishists who liked swimsuits before, although none of them felt the need to actually get into a body of water. Or maybe “take a swim” is some obscure slang that I don’t know about, for something kinky/sexual. Golden showers? I don’t know.

But when it comes down to “Do I want to be in a room with Joe”, I know the answer, and the answer is…

Me: No. Goodbye.

I hang up, and program him into the phone. SWIMGUY. Sorry, Joe, it’s not wet enough around here for that.

Various Things

In regards to the “You look puffy” guy: An alert pal of mine reminded me of the really stupid theory of male courtship which posits that insulting a beautiful woman will intrigue her. I have heard this idea before, it’s a mainstay of those asinine “How To Get Women To Want To Fuck You In Two Minutes Or Less” -type authors. The idea is something like: women get complimented all the time by guys who are hitting on them, and that makes them disrespectful bitches. If you insult a woman, then she’ll respect you and think you’re a real stud.

Riiiiiiight. Just so we’re clear, guys – this doesn’t work. Now that I think about it, I have had guys try this game on me, in rather subtler ways. My response was not to try and prove myself to them. My response was “Wow, you’re a manipulative weirdo and I’m going to get away from you as fast as I can.” Much like my female pal did.

Note that according to this website, you're only supposed to do this to women who are extremely beautiful. So my friend can at least be comforted by the fact that the guy in question thinks she's so gorgeous that she needs to be taken down a peg. I'm sure that'll thrill her.

So gentlemen, don’t do this. Unless of course you’re sorting for women with really terrible self-esteem who think they deserve to be put down right from the get-go. And hey, if that’s the kind of person you want, then I suppose it’s good of you to make that clear right away. Saves the sane women a lot of time. And it makes the guys who don't do this kind of idiot game look even better.

***

I meant to do this earlier… but a belated Congratulations to the super-cool Lamalani on becoming the newest Washington State Ms. Leather. I’ve known Lamalani for years, she’s a great gal, and she's going to do a great job. And plus she’s also extremely hot, which we like. Go Lama!

***

And on a sad note… If you are a fan of Dan Savage: His mother died recently. He’s pretty sad about that, as you would imagine. He’s got a column up about it, with suggestions for anyone who wants to make donations, etc. I know you’ll join me in saying that our sympathy is with him in this difficult time.

And kiss the people you love today.