Once again, I dropped him off at the airport with the promise he’ll see me again in a few weeks. It’s a schedule I’m still getting used to: he flies in once a month (sometimes twice if I’m lucky), he’ll spend some time with me for a few days and then he flies back out. I’m not supposed to get too attached. Well, it’s too late for that. Isn’t it funny how the ones you should never get attached to are always the ones you do? I’ve had some pretty awful luck with men lately. I’m wondering who did I piss off so badly in a former life where I have to deal with the heaping pile of flaming shit that is known as ex-boyfriends.
It seems that every man I meet has some sort of issue with him and I’m stupid enough to try to fix it. I’m sorry, that’s not even true. I’m stupid enough to try to fix him. Let’s break down the most recent candidates in the campaign I’m running called, ‘I Can Change Him! Really, I Can!’ I’m telling you these candidates are more interesting than any political fool out there.
First, there was Michael. He was married but tried to convince me he was only with his wife because of the kids. Ladies, never believe a man when he says that. It simply means he doesn’t want to pay child support. Yeah, he told me this after I opened my legs to him. Amazing how fast they closed afterwards.
Then there was Eddie, the suave drug-dealer who blinded me with expensive jewelry and an even more expensive handbag habit I picked up. Not to mention, I also know how to make cocaine and bag it. I’m sure my parents would be thrilled with the skills their hard-earned dollars for my college education gave me.
Finally, there was Joe. The darling preacher man who always prayed for me, my family, and friends. Joe was a deacon at a nearby church and I often wondered why a man that fine and full of Christ was so single. Well, Joe was full of something all right but it wasn’t the Holy Ghost. The first night we were in bed together, Joe was more excited about my asshole than my cunt. It only took one time to make me realize there is a difference between being a closet freak and being in the closet.
Now I have a new candidate in my campaign. I just hate the fact I’m attached to him even though I promised myself I wouldn’t be. Ugh. Why do I get involved with men who are the bad boys? I always do. Bad boys are more exciting but the drama and headache that comes with them is not worth it. I always tell my girls if they want a good man, go boring. Boring is good, safe, and you never wonder if you have enough bail money.
I’m hoping Clay will end my spell of good guys gone asshole. Clay falls into the category of two types of men women should never date: musicians and actors. He’s both. Didn’t I tell you I have the worst luck with men?
We met at Fry’s Electronics. Yeah, not the typical place where two people would hook up but I just happened to be there and so did Clay. Clay was standing at one of the aisles, looking at the cover of a CD. I clumsily bumped into him. Texting and walking isn’t something I recommend.
Anyway, when I bumped into Clay, I knocked the CD out of his hand and reached down to get it at the same time he did. At a brief glance, our eyes met. Now it wasn’t fireworks, let’s be clear. It wasn’t angels singing and a gospel choir didn’t appear out of nowhere. But there was a definite interest from both sides.
“You look familiar…” I began to say to him. Truth is, I recognized him immediately. I thought back to the collection of magazine covers I’m currently holding hostage in my bedroom. They’re conveniently right next to my naughty drawer with the various lubes and toys.
“I do?” Clay coyly smiled. “Where have you seen me?”
I’ve DVR’d every interview, guest appearance, and watched endless reruns of his show, The Thief like it was the only program on TV. I would not say I’m obsessive, though. Okay, maybe a little. “A few places,” I nodded.
After briefly making small talk, we exchanged numbers and I went about my merry way. I was giddy for the rest of the day and even my girls were wondering what the hell was going on but I didn’t dare to tell them. Would they have believed me? I wasn’t sure if I believed it. For a while, I thought I just ran into someone who looked awfully similar to Clay but wasn’t him. Sure, he’s hotter than the August sun but let’s face it: fans don’t fuck their favorite celebrity.
Well, not all fans. I just happened to be one of the lucky ones.
To be continued…