Some prople are just plain odd.

Seriously.
I felt a sudden urge today to put on my blogging shoes and tell you all about someone I almost worked with. It will explain itself, promise!
One of my many, many hats is that of a freelance photographic model. Great, when people need one of those. Less great when they don't. I posted an ad on a website to try to find people who did.
One person who answered my ad was Fishface. His first message to me was "Hi! I'm a model too but I've just started out as a photographer. I'm looking for models. Would you like to meet up next week, just for a chat?" Seems fine so far. We arranged a time, and a public meeting place, with a plan to go for coffee.
The day we were meant to meet, I got a text message an hour before "Where are you? I'm already here" It's an hour earlier than we're meant to be meeting, but I figure I'll do a rush job to get ready, I can be there in half an hour. I tell him this. The reply: "I'm here now" Very good. Do you know any big-boy words?
I get dressed (OK, so I was still in my nightie at midday) brush my hair and walk down town as fast as my unusually long legs can carry me. During this process I get three more messages from Fishface, "Where are you? I'm already here" I send replies, quiet, calm, and complete with over-use of smiley faces, "20 mins. :-)", "10 mins. :-)", "I'm on my way, OK!?! :-)"... I arrive, and find Fishface, looking disheveled and in the process of texting me again.
"G'day, I'm Blossy." I say, nice as pie (nice as nice pie, not like, kidney and brain pie) "Yeah, fuck, wow, hi!" Says Fishface. Great start. We begin to walk towards the cafe. He starts scratching his head like he has nits. Him: "So, um, you're a model?" Me: Yes. "Do you do much work?" Not as much as I'd like, but every few weeks I have a shoot "Fuck. Um... Would it be rude if I bailed? This is too weird. I gotta go. I gotta go home." Sure honey. Whatever. And I've never seen anyone scamper off faster. That night, I check my emails. A message from Fishface: "Sorry about today, but I thought you were a cop and I was going to be arrested"
I replied: "OK. I've never had that before. Wanna try again?" We decided to meet up again, and then go to his studio for a photo shoot. He then asks me questions like "Do you shave your legs?" Well, when I have a shoot I do. Mostly. I tell him I do, anyway. He asks me not to. He tells me he wants to do a transgender shoot with me, because I have "very masculine features"!!!!! I tell him where he can stick this idea. He asks if I've ever needed to do a poo during a shoot. I ask what the fuck this has to do with anything ever and he says it's important and I have to answer. I stop responding to his text messages and emails.
After a month or so, Fishface saw some pictures of me on the international-computer-webby thing. He retracts his comment about my "masculine" features, but asks if I've ever considered breast implants, informing me that sex workers can claim them back on tax, so they'd end up free, anyway. I try not to answer, but can't help it. I tell him "THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH MY BODY AS IT IS! I HAVE NEVER CONSIDERED GETTING IT SURGICALLY MUTILATED!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" just like that, but in bold and with more exclamation marks. He didn't answer.
Months pass again, and he calls me. "I can't talk." I say. "I'm at work in a childcare centre. I need to devote my full attention to what I'm doing." It was true. "I wanna talk to you about a shoot." he says. "Can you meet me in Surfers Paradise on your way home, tonight?"
"OK, but now I've really got to go!"
I check my phone on my lunch break. Five messages from Fishface, "Are you off work yet?" "Where are you?" and three times, "text me when you're on the bus, ok?"
I text when I'm on the bus. "On the bus. Will be about 50 mins. :-)"
Him: Where are you?
Me: Currumbin. 50 mins.
Where are you?
Palm Beach. 45 mins.

He seriously text me every five minutes. If I didn't answer, he called me. "I'm on the fucking bus, mate! I'm not sure when I'll get there, I can't control it!"
I got to Surfers Paradise, and text him to say I was finally off the bus. He sent back an abusive message accusing me of promising to get off the bus, but then staying on the bus. I didn't answer. He called me.
I told him I was standing in Surfers, waiting for him right then. He didn't believe me. After fifteen minutes I convinced him I really was in Surfers.
Now he asked me if I had enough money for a drink for me AND one for him. "Honey," I begin, "I've got my bus fare for tomorrow, plus about four dollars!" He then abuses me again, saying that since I said yes to the meeting, it's my responsibility to have enough money for a drink for both of us, and not to waste his time, he even threw in the line, "I may look like mister money bags, but I'm not, I'm broke this week and you're supposed to buy me a drink!" I told him to go fuck himself and hung up. I got on the next bus home. When I got home I emailed the prick. I told him that my average weekly expenditure was $270, my income varied depending on modelling opportunities, but had a tendency to be nothing. I told him to pull his head out of his arse, and I summed everything up with "Never contact me again, you demoralizing piece of shit!"

So that's what's been on my mind. :-)
Signed with Love,
The Pretty Kitty.