the mushroom tattoo

So, I wasn't originally going to blog this, but at the prodding of some friends I have decided it is time to heal the wounds and share this beautiful learning experience with the world.

I'm not much of a dater. I have, quite literally, no game. Worse than my lack of game is my incessant need to be nice to people, even ones that suck pretty hardcore.

The day after a breakup I decide I need to hang out with some girlfriends. We head out to a bar mid-Sunday to watch a ball game. Before we had left this particular venue, Lori had brought over a guy-- she was trying to hook me up. Her intentions, I believe, were good (if not misguided). I was honest with the guy and told him I wasn't looking to "hook up". He was cool about it and we exchanged numbers to possibly hang out some other time.

In the weeks that followed, I talked to the guy a few times. It was just general, run-of-the-mill, gettin' to know ya stuff. He seemed normal enough to me, but what the fuck do I know? After about a month, I took him up on an offer to meet for a few drinks and another Cubs game-- he would be out with his friends, so there was no pressure. I said I could be there at 7:30.

When I got there at 7:30, dude was so fucking blitzed that he could barely keep his eyes open. According to Mary The Bartender, they had been drinking (shots and whatnot) since about 3:30-- which was about an hour after we had made plans. He was chain smoking, which took him off my waiting list immediately. I asked politely at first if he would mind keeping his smoke out of my face. He obliged, but it was less than a minute before the cigarette incense was scenting my hair once again. We went back and forth a few times-- me asking him to move his smoke, him begrudgingly moving it-- until I finally said (sweetly): "Look. It's not that big of a deal. Just keep something between my face and that cigarette, or I'll sit somewhere else."

To which he replied (brace yourself), "I've got something I can put between your face and the cigarette."

Now, those that know me will realize that this kind of challenge is a cardinal error. In addition to the pint of social lubricant that I was drinking, I had also just come off a 5-hour drive from Omaha, where I worked that morning. I was in no mood for games.

So I say: "Really? Whip it out, then."

But here's where I made the error: he fucking DID IT. That's right, he took his dick out right there in the middle of Jack's in Moline, IL. But wait-- it gets better.

I put my hand out to block my view of the offending member, saying "Put that fucking thing AWAY."

He stands up. "No, come on, it was your idea." At this point, he proceded to put his cock against my thigh. I jumped back and said, "Pull your fucking pants up!"

At this point Mary The Bartender saw what was happening and came over and shut him down.

When I took my friend Brooke about the incident, she asked: "Did you punch it?"

Seriously, I really don't know why or how I attract these people. I am on dating strike... effective until conditions improve.