Mr. Asshole

December 15th, 2009

Well, if I thought Mr. Astrology was something else, then Mr. Asshole really gave him a run for his money. And, unlike most of my previous dates, I will take 50% responsibility for this one's failure. So...I accidentally went on a blind date high. As in, on drugs. Um...yeah, I really don't know how to cover that up. Here we go.

First, let's touch on the fact that this is another shirtless wonder. Not a good sign. Also, I pursued Mr. Asshole (which says a lot about my poor, poor taste and judgement), not the other way around. I read through his profile of pretentious, narcissistic political ranting (oh, and I'm pretty sure he was lying about being a criminal defense lawyer) and emailed him, "I think you are brilliant," literally. The eloquent way he bashed this and that was intriguing to me. I guess it doesn't really take much, does it? Yeah, I'm barfing a little too. He replied with his phone number and I sent him a text the next day suggesting we go out.

The day came and went and I figured he just wasn't free that night (or my text about getting gourmet pop tarts scared him away). Feeling depressed (I think my addiction to dating kicks in at this point), I took a nibble (well, more like two big bites) of a frozen pot cookie that Mr. Godfather of Disco had given me several weeks prior. My penchant for sweets coupled with a desire to fall asleep as a loneliness coping mechanism resulted in this moronic move. Imagine my surprise when Mr. Asshole calls me not two seconds after I lay my head down. I struggled desperately to hold on to what little judgement I had left. Didn't really work. I agreed to see him in an hour. Before hanging up he said, "Oh, the only thing is I don't have any money, so...I mean I have some, but I just have to go to the bank..." Now, pot affects everyone differently, and I guess it makes me think I'm the modern woman I am so clearly NOT. "Well, that's okay, I can buy you a drink." If I were sober, I might have had more disdain in my voice when I blurted that out.

First Impression: Ew. First of all, who wears jeans and a college sweatshirt out on a DATE?! As he got closer I realized that he had no hair! He had a head of thick wavy, dark hair in ALL of his photos. Nope, none now!! This look wasn't flattering on him at all since it emphasized his sizable nose. He looked scary and I was completely repulsed by him. Completely.

So, I'm higher than I was before, but at least managed to make myself pretty (I think?) and meet him down the street from my place (so I didn't have to drive). The plan was to get drinks...oh, wait, for ME to buy us drinks. My paranoia surfaced and I decided that we shouldn't consume alcohol since I'm unpredictable with a drink as it is, what would happen with pot AND alcohol? Nothing good. So, I suggest we get pie at a nearby diner instead (are you noticing a trend here?). I order a slice of dutch apple and Mr. Asshole orders a hamburger, side salad, coffee, AND a milkshake. Yeah. I'm shaking right now I'm so mad as I write this. I was in shock. I sat open-mouthed and stared at him. He mistakes this for awe and admiration and continues to talk about himself for an hour straight. No questions about me, nothing. At one point he says, "I was always a Communist, but now I consider myself more of an Anarchist." I contemplate running away before the bill comes, but since I frequent this neighborhood diner, I decide to bite the bullet and shell out the stupid $35 + tip. If I cussed, I would cuss so much right now.

I would like to think that this date would have been much more interesting had I been sober, but I don't think that is the case. We hug goodbye (I had enough sense to withdraw from any kissing attempts) and he steps out of his little commie world to express how great of a time he had and how he would love to see me again. Who wouldn't? I paid for everything, didn't say a word, and looked like I was starry-eyed (the pot) for him the entire time. The lesson learned is obvious - don't agree to go on a date while you are high. In fact, maybe don't date communists? Someone help me!!

Date # 7: Barf.