Why I Hate Australia -OR- Fear Not the Ex, Fear Her Website
I was out recently with a “world’s colliding” group of people having a grand old time. That is to say that my non-blogger friends (some of which are just now finding out that I write this) were sitting at the same bar as my blogger buddies. And of course, as a few good “at least you didn’t buy her the nice ring” jokes are being fired at me (as shots are being fired in me) we stumble across the conversation that is always a fan favorite of my friends.
As I was once told by a geeky but infinitely cool buddy of mine; I am a weirdness magnet. I always have been. If I am in a room full of beautiful, smart, witty, sane women and ONE narcoleptic cutie with a pension for stealing cars….guess who I’m going to hit it off with? And, much like ARod bingo, my friends have turned this in to a source of both amusement AND self preservation. In a group of women, the one that I talk to is nuts, so hit on her friends. Just wait for INPY to figure it out for you and it’ll all be good.
And hear me now; I do NOT blame them, these goddesses of Prozac and Lithium cocktails. (Shaken AND stirred) Hell no. I am not one of those “all my ex’s are crazy” guys who doesn’t get the only thing that they all have in common. Oh no. I get it. Believe me. It’s me.
Moving right along…
The topic of my ex’s comes up and there are always two that stand out…and when I say “stand out” you’ve got to know that this is a crowd it really takes something exceptional to make you stand out. If you went in to the cuckoo’s nest and someone pointed out one quiet guy and said “he’s the craziest dude in here” you’d KNOW something was up with that guy…something unreal had to happen for him to be the ONE.
That’s what I’m saying. It’s that level.
Here is the first one…the Aussie. We’ll call her Maddy.
I met Maddy at the Daily Grill on a Sunday. (pre-exfiance, of course) I was there having brunch and working through a hangover when suddenly I realized that just about everyone at the bar was staring at me. It was just a bit unnerving and I did the classic look-over-both-shoulders-and-say-“me?” move. Over shoulder #2 however, I figured it out. It wasn’t ME, it was HER.
Standing maybe 5’3 and weighing MAYBE 105 (most of which was in the fake-ahem-assets that were under a just not quite tight enough to be obscene t shirt) was a blonde that was well…yeah. I mean the whole bar was looking. That was Maddy. She sat down a few seats away from me and then opened her mouth to order and….
Australian accent. You could hear the collective “THUD” of every guy in the place falling off their barstool. Me included. Ask any guy and he will tell you that if you are a solid 7 on the 1-10 scale and you have an foreign accent, (and sometimes a Southern accent for us Northern boys) you just became an 8. Maddy was a 9.5 before she opened her mouth. I, along with every guy in that bar was hopeless from the time she got to her second syllable. And here’s the thing, and I mean no disrespect to those of you out there that are in this set of women I am about to dis ever so slightly.
I don’t dig blondes. My whole family is blonde. I like the darker hair, darker eyes persuasion. But Maddy? Maddy superseded type. If you are a man, and you see Maddy. You want her. End. Of. Discussion.
The long and the short of this is that Maddy and I wound up having something in common that we discovered over the next hour or so; alcohol. She is an Aussie, and Aussies I have learned, can FUCKING DRINK. We spent hours at the bar in the Daily Grill drinking and laughing and having an amazing time. I kept thinking “OK, I’m being Punk’d…but it’s been like, four hours….” Once I started to get that (1) she is laughing just as much as I am and (2) she’s buying me as many drinks as I’m buying her and (3) she’s touching me an awful lot…well, I figured game on.
We wound up kissing right outside the revolving door and stumbling to her place in Dupont. And her place in Dupont? AMAZING. Gorgeous. Great stuff everywhere and beautifully done. She had told me she owned a marketing company and it was apparently doing QUITE well. I was just relieved that we had chosen wisely in the game of “Your place or mine”.
I won’t get in to the details, you pervs…but yeah. Hell yeah. I skipped in to work like I was in a Cary Grant movie. Hangover? NONE. Couldn’t feel it. I had just spent a night with a goddess…the rules of gravity did NOT apply.
Maddy and I dated for a few weeks. It was like a porn bender with an odd Ozzie and Harriet feel. We would make dinners together and get drunk and fuck. That was like…all of it. It was constant. And I really didn’t see the need to slow it down. I did however see the need to show her off to some friends. I will NOT lie to you, dear reader. I wanted to show her off. Every guy reading this would have done the same thing and every woman reading this should know that your man SHOULD want to show you off. Even if my reasons were…well…not all exactly romantic.
Here’s where this story becomes a fan favorite. You’re with me so far, right?
At that point I was working for a start up that had like 8 people when I started and then 2 years later had close to 40. And we in the management team were going to have a Happy Hour for passing some milestone that isn’t really relevant. It was a bring your friends and families and celebrate with us. We brought everyone to Blackies in Foggy Bottom and said Drink Up!
People brought their wives and husbands and I invited Maddy. How did I know when she got there? Because just like the Daily Grill, everyone stopped and turned. I was BEAMING. Big hug. Started introducing her to everyone that worked for and with me…and my bosses. Suddenly all of the guys on my sales team were REALLY interested in Australia…what part are you from? Adelaide?! I LOVE ADELAIDE! I love your dress…oh yeah…
We proceeded to get plastered, and Maddy proceeded to flirt every guy in the room in to a tizzy.
Fast forward through another week of drinking and sex. It’s all GREAT, but I’m starting to notice that people are acting just a bit weird around me at work…I can’t put my finger on it, but something is OFF. I don’t’ think too much of it and I don’t bring it up to anyone b/c really, I’m diggin’ the hell out of my life. I’m a simple man, or at least I was at that point. Give me a gorgeous woman in my bed, a job I love, and minimal if any issues in my life and what do I have to complain about?
OK. So here it is.
She’s lying in her bed one morning as I’m getting ready for work and she looks up at me, wrapped in the sheets and looking hot even first thing in the AM; “INPY, I have to tell you something.”
Fire away love, what’s on your mind?
“I really like you, and because of that I want you to know the truth about my life”
Sure, I can dig that. So…what’s on your mind?
*At this point I’m thinking one of 2 things. (1) Kid or kids as she was older than me. (2) Husband, which would suck out loud.
“I don’t own a marketing company”
Oh, so what?
“I’m a courtesan, and I wanted you to know so that it’s not an issue.”
Now, let me explain something here by way of an editor’s note. It was 6:30 in the morning. I had not had a drop of caffeine. And I was not even thinking in the realm of what she was trying to explain. I heard the word “Court” and the next thing that came out of my mouth was…
You’re a stenographer?
“No, listen to me. I’m a courtesan. Men pay me for my company.”
At that moment, I was widethefuckawake
You’re a …a hooker?
This was not a great response, either. Probably just a notch under the stenographer comment in stupidity. There was a brief argument about acceptable terms, which to this DAY I can’t believe I actually had, and then…
“This doesn’t have to be a problem”
Umm…yeah. I have to go to work…so let’s you and I uh…we’ll talk about this later.
There was no Cary Grant spring in my step. I got to work in a fog I can’t describe. I kept thinking “DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?!?!”
I wound up feeling annoyed. Agitated. And I was getting REALLY FUCKING SICK of everyone in my office looking at me like I’d streaked the office party . What the fuck was happening? So I called in my sales manager and said “What the hell is going on out there?”
“OK look…you know Sam?”
Sam was the office drunk. And I mean, big time. You were almost afraid to fire him b/c of the bender he’d go on. He was a great guy, though…a partier who just seemed to have it a little less under control than it should be.
Of course I know Sam.
“OK, well, look, don’t be mad at me for telling you this, but Sam well…Sam looks at web sites.”
SO FUCKING WHAT, Sales Manager. What is the deal with everyone out there.
“Yeah, OK, well…can I use your computer?”
And off the top of his head he popped in a URL and stepped away from his computer to reveal…
Her rates for the hour, the night, the day, the weekend, and the week.
Her reviews. (did you know that there are reviews for pros…err…hook…errr….Courtesans?)
Her everything. Right there. And my WHOLE OFFICE had seen it. Not only had they seen it, Sales manager informed me…there had been a HUGE debate as to whether or not I was dating her OR I chose to hire a call girl for the company Happy Hour. It seemed that only my friends British Chris and TJ could vouch for the fact that I was, in fact, dating her. Though I’m not sure that made it better or worse.
(Of course, the fist thing I thought was “thank god I’m not running a tab”….)
I’m going home, Sales manager. You’re running the team today. DO not call me. I don’t care if this fucking place burns down. DO. NOT. CALL. ME.
The long and the short of the end of this story is that Maddy and I sat down and had the talk. I told her that I couldn’t date a prost…errr….hook…ummmm….stenographer because if I had to call and cancel our dinner plans for work that she’d know that I was sitting at my desk looking at Excel Spreadsheets and cursing. But, that if she called me to cancel dinner plans for work that well…yeah….I mean, I’m open minded, but “how was your day” is NOT something I want an answer to if she’s my girlfriend.
And, I told her, there was the fact that it would have been nice to know this BEFORE my whole office found out because the drunk guy discovered your website and liked looking at your naked pics. She said she was humiliated when I told her that…I responded with “you don’t know the definition of that word in my world.”
The whole thing eventually blew over. I steeled myself against the giggles and looks, the inevitable questions that arose. In time, it became just another one of those things that happen to me, and apparently, ONLY me. My bosses, god love ‘em, decided that there really wasn’t anything to be done and left it alone, which was my biggest fear. I mean, bringing a pro to your office party is, well, I believe frowned upon. Even if you’re dating her. I think.
Although, occasionally, one of my friends will say “I’ve got an extra $1500….where’s that Aussie.” And we’ll all laugh and I’ll get the “how do you get yourself IN TO THESE THINGS?” questions.
I’m still trying to figure that out myself.