"Strange Birds" and the Places We Go...

As I sat here shaking my head in amazement at a conversation that transpired earlier, I had this inexplicable compulsion to Google search a rhyme I probably haven't thought about in at least fifteen to twenty years. And oddly enough ... it summed up the circumstances quite aptly.

"You'll look up and down streets, look 'em over with care.
About some you will say, 'I don't choose to go there.'
With your head full of brains and your shoes full of feet,
You're too smart to go down any not-so-good street...
Out there things can happen and frequently do
To people as brainy and footsy as you.
And when things start to happen, don't worry, don't stew.
Just go right along; you'll start happening too.
Oh, the places you’ll go ...
You'll get mixed up, of course, as you already know.
You'll get mixed up with many strange birds as you go.
So be sure when you step, step with care and great tact
And remember that life's a great balancing act.
Just never forget to be dexterous and deft.
And never mix up your right foot with your left... (Dr. Seuss)"

Back story, I met a guy on a shoot awhile back for whom I don't think I'm even gonna bother making up an alias. Damn near everything about him rubbed me the wrong way from day one: he was pushy, mouthy, copped attitude at the drop of a hat, and even went so far as violating my personal space when the cameras weren't rolling. Not my cup of tea by any stretch of the imagination, and we didn't really even share any interests fetish-wise. Not to mention he seemed utterly clueless as to how his behavior came across; immediately following the personal space violation portion of the evening, he blithely informed me that he was looking for a Mistress to own him in a lifestyle capacity and that since he was pretty sure I was on his myspace friends list, he would message me there to discuss further.
Much as my knee jerk response wanted to brush him off completely when he did just that, I had gathered that he was a personal friend of the pro-Domme running the shoot... and in the interest of not blowing my chances for future shoots with her, I opted for the "care and tact" response to her "strange bird" friend and corresponded with him sporadically, being polite while keeping him at arm's length.
About a month or so ago when I was freshly unemployed and had just moved back in with the parents, he messaged me with a little proposition: what if he and I joined forces and advertised for shoots together? Since he already had an account on craigslist, he would do all the work; he had actually done this for a Mistress before and made her a lot of money. All I had to do was trek out to his place in Brooklyn so we could take some pictures, and if I wouldn't mind maybe doing some strap on training with him while we were at it so he could increase his repertoire and thereby get us more work because that was one of the areas that was holding him back personally, that would be just wonderful.
I agreed. The day began with aggravation thanks to his crap directions combined with the facts that I had never been to Brooklyn before and can't find my way out of a paper bag as it is. And as he was completely rude and unhelpful when I called him, I hung up on him and ended up calling my friend Patrick at work. Though swamped that day, Patrick got right on his computer so he could figure out where I was and help me navigate the subway system. Five minutes into this, I informed Patrick that it would be really great if he took a break from lawyering to come meet me for lunch so I could just ditch this guy without having wasted a trip to the city. Ever practical, once I had explained the details of the situation to him, Patrick talked me into going out there because, much as he would have liked to see me, this could potentially be beneficial for my career.
So I did. It wasn't so awful once I got there, though he was completely unprepared for the strap-on training. And by unprepared, I mean no harness, no gloves, no lube ... just a grimy looking dildo with some fuzz from the carpet stuck to it and a couple butt plugs. Suffice to say, the strap-on training didn't even happen. We just ended up taking our pictures and talking a little ... a talk that did cause my original contempt for him to wane ever so slightly. And he predicted that he would have work for us by the following week, so at least by the time I left that day, I didn't feel my time had been completely wasted.
When I followed up with him the next week, he told me he had a few leads but no confirmations. Then silence, but since I was a bit distracted by my John saga, I pretty much forgot about it. Today, after a couple one line myspace messages over the past week, the first of which I ignored because it contained only the word "Call" and a phone number, the second asking if I could call him to discuss a possible session, we reconnected. Below is a transcription of the lovely conversation. Some of it has been modified in the interest of coherence. An ellipsis (...) denotes moments in which I didn't feel the need to dignify certain comments with a response. There were several.
Me: Did you lose my number? For future reference, this is it so you don't have to resort to cryptic myspace messages.
Him: Lol, sorry, I got a new phone.
*Insert banal pleasantries here*
Me: Ok, so what's up with this session business?
Him: I have five clients set up for me but still never got to train. I put it out to all my Domme friends; the first Domme to train me gets the session.
Me: ...
Him: Let me know.
Me: Well, I really can't afford to just trek out to Brooklyn right now if it's not for actual work.
Him: Once I make my asshole into a pussy, it will be better.
Me: ...
Him: I think I can get you a shoot.
Me: Wow, really? And only a month and change later!
Him: Well, you never trained me, Goddess.
(Side note: Maybe part of it's my past with Tool, but I really hate when guys just use any old title they feel like. I didn't specifically pick Mistress Kay for my health.)
Me: Because you weren't prepared with any of the necessary equipment for me to do so, if memory serves, so don't even try giving me that crap.
Him: Understood, Queen.
Me: ...
(I seriously think he used every honorific but the one I've chosen for myself.)
Him: I am just a sissy slut... I want you to own me. You could even stay here when you need.
Me: I've had subs before who haven't followed through on their agreements with me, and that's not something I want or need again. If you seriously want me to consider you, prove to me that you're reliable.
Him: Like I said, you can stay here rent free and pimp me.
Me: Okay. But that's not what I want out of owning someone.
Him: What do you want, Queen?
Me: Well, to name a few things ... someone who's respectful at all times, someone who's a man of his word, and someone who can take pain for me or is at least willing to build up a tolerance. Frankly, you have a long way to go.
Him: I will do anything to be your sub, period.
Me: That's very nice to hear. Now why don't you take some time to figure out exactly how you plan to go about backing up those pretty words with your actions. Then we can talk.
Him: Did I tell you I started cross dressing?
Me: Nope. But can you explain what the appeal of that is for you? It's never really been my kink, and I've been trying to get a decent perspective on it from someone who's into it so I can understand it better.
Him: My goal is to be a cross dressing cum dumpster in film.

At that point, since my dinner was ready, I decided that my goal was to eat it in peace and stop talking to him for the evening ... particularly since I had lost count of how many non-answers to specific questions we were up to at that point. So I did. Seriously though ... what the fuck?