Doubleheader Part 2: Mr. Stripper

February 4th, 2010

So, I really swore I would never do this again, but it happened.  On accident.  While a lot of people don't quite understand how someone can go on yet ANOTHER date higher than a kite, let me tell you that it was certainly not intentional.  Anyway, I had been emailing back and forth with some guy whose two photos presented him as cute. After a string of less than stellar day dates with feminine, spacey, exaggerating boys, I had another bite of the freezer pot cookie.  That's not a metaphor, by the way.  Settling in for what I assumed would be a sleepy night after meeting with Mr. Alabama, I received a text from Mr. Stripper.  And here is where history repeats itself.  Feeling all too agreeable, I say, "Suuuurrreeee" when he asks about hanging out tonight.  Considering the state I'm in, I suggest the diner down the street from me.  Again.  What?  Pie always sounds good, pot cookie or not.  And another Doubleheader is born.

FIRST IMPRESSION:  Again, he's shorter than I expected.  This is really my fault for having no depth perception or sense of space.  His profile clearly states his height, but it's all Greek to me.  His face is somehow flatter than I prefer and he likes to turn it away and then direct his eyes in my direction.  Weird.  He's wearing a polo shirt and skinny jeans.

Luckily for me, the bite I took of the infamous freezer cookie was not as big as it was on my date with Mr. Asshole.  I'm spacey, but aware.  We order dessert and start to chat.  I begin to see him as cute.  He is three days into living in LA and proceeds to tell me the story of his cross-country road trip (another transplant from the East).  I'm fine with this since I really don't feel like talking much.  Then he tells me he stopped at a strip club with his friends.  Okay, sure.  You're a guy in your late 20s, on a trip with your buds.  I guess it's expected.  He continues to talk, they say this, they say that.  Then they stopped at another strip club.  Um.  Why is he telling me this?  I continue to eat my apple pie and wonder where this is going.  My silence to him translates into approval and interest, so he continues.  They stop at the Grand Canyon and apparently there's a "hot Italian chick" that they want to take a picture with.  This stirs more confusion in me than it does disgust, but that soon follows.  You know, I'm sure you think a lot of chicks are hot, but exactly what sort of reaction are you hoping to get from a girl you are just meeting for the first time, sitting quietly eating her apple pie?  Yes, I may be secretly high, but that's just a fluke.  I'm sweet, damn it!  I look at him out of the corner of my eye, pretty pleased with himself, and take another bite.  The tale ends with one last trip to a strip club because, you know, it was his friend's birthday.  This was all within a few days.  Before the Grand Canyon, I consider the possibility that my date has a classic case of word vomit.  By the end of his trip, I decide he's just an idiot.  There is no future with Mr. Stripper.

Date # 31: He paid, so not a total loss.  But, in the grand scheme of things, actually a total loss.