Irritable Male Syndrome

Sunday, March 27, 2005

Friday night at about 9pm, I went to William's with a buddy from work to play a few games of foosball. The number of times that he trounced should've been an omen of sorts that I was in for an odd night. Actually, "odd" doesn't even begin to describe my night.

Around 10pm, my coworker left, leaving me flying solo for a few hours before Twanner came out for the night. That's fine with me, as I normally have better stories when I go out by myself. I'm not sure if it's because people aren't afraid of me when I'm alone, or maybe they're afraid of my friends. That's got to be it, right? Well, whatever it is, people feel the need to talk to me when there's nobody else with me.

I plopped myself on a barstool, ordered a liter of Miller Lite and a Nerd Board, and prepared for an exciting early evening of NTN. 10 minutes after sitting down, two girls sat down in the stools directly to my left. Immediately after sitting, they both looked at me, looked at each other, and the girl that was nearest to me switched seats with the other.

O....k.

I knew for a fact that I didn't smell, because I'd just taken a shower prior to leaving my house. Fuck, I don't understand women one bit, so their reasoning behing this action could've been damn near anything. With a swig of my beer, I concluded that I didn't even care.

That is, until the girl next to me tried initiating me in conversation.

Well, hello, what do we have here? She seemed normal enough--could carry on a conversation, had all of her limbs, wasn't a hideous she-beast. At first I just thought she was bored, as her friend was talking to the people next to her and more of her friends began showing up. The conversation started out as idle chit-chat with questions about the trivia, and what I'm doing at the bar myself on a Friday night.

Somewhere in the course of this conversation, she got my number. It wasn't even a big deal, really. I'm always in search of girls that like to drink and would rather spend time at a bar than a coffee shop, so I was all for it. She wasn't ugly, liked beer and spoke English--I'm not as picky as most people think.

As soon as she got my number, I realized things were about to go horribly awry. How did I know? She started in with personal questions; questions that I'm usually loathe to share with someone I just meet.

"What do you do for a living?"

I hate explaining what my job is, because my job is not who I am. Does it really matter what I do, as long as I'm making a decent living? I mean, I'm not dealing drugs and not shooting porn. Outside of the fact that my job pays the bills, what I do doesn't matter. But, I humored her and gave her a brief job description, to which she nodded and smiled, just like I knew she would. Nobody ever says "Wow, that sounds like fun!" or, "Sounds like a dream job, mate." Unfortunately, she didn't stop there.

"What do you do for fun?"

This is, by far, the worst of the get-to-know questions. Just hang out with me for a whille and you'll know what I like doing and what I'm all about. I know she was trying to find some common ground, but I hate when I'm forced to give information. When I feel like divulging, I'll do it.

Did she stop there? Of course not!

"Do you find me attractive?"

After this question, no, I didn't and it's about this time that I was wishing that I had the ability to change my phone number just by staring at my phone. I rarely give out compliments, and when I do, I'd like to think they mean something. I'm not going to compliment someone that's just asked for one unless I'm expecting to get laid, but then I feel slightly dirty because that's pretty damn close to lying for sex, and I should never have to do that.

So, I'm avoiding answering her queries, and saying "That's the worst question that I've ever heard". Little did I know that she had absolutely no pride, and was about to blow any and all previous questions out of the water.

I told her that I was about to leave to meet up with my buddy, and she gave me a disappointed look and offered to buy me a beer. I rebuffed those two ploys aimed at getting me to stay, and she sat in silience before coming up with the following gem spoken with an emotionless face:

"Do you have a large penis?"

Utter disbelief is the best I could describe what I felt. Disgust probably conveys it better, though. I don't quite remember, as my face went numb for a bit and I shut out everything in the bar, including her. It's one thing that she wasn't coy, or flirty about asking me if I had a big dick. The matter-of-fact manner in her question bothered me enough, but her use of the word "penis" caused me to laugh in her face. She might as well have used the word "willy". What the fuck--are we in 8th grade Sex Ed?

Penis. Honestly now.

If she really wanted to know, she should've just nonchalantly cupped my crotch. And I'm a little surprised that she didn't try fellating me right there at the bar. But no, she used the word penis in a sentence. While trying to be sexy. Whoops, objective failed and miserably at that.

You wouldn't think this could get any less sexy, do you? You'd be wrong.

As I got up, I laughed at her again and started putting on my coat, when she took it upon herself to determine my penile proportions...by affixing her gaze directly to my groin. I snapped my fingers in front of her face once, and she didn't stop staring. I don't wear tight pants, so I'm not quite sure how she thought it possible to see my penis through a layer of denim, but that sure didn't stop her from trying.

Looking back, it probably wasn't in my best interest to tell her that I shot porn for a living.

2 Comments:

At 12:09 PM, Blogger Drizztdj said...

Please tell me she was wearing a Benile St. Margaret's school uniform with the penis comment.

That would be mildly hot imo.

 
At 12:23 PM, Blogger Irritable Male Syndrome said...

Sadly, she wasn't even wearing a Holy Angels outfit.

=(

 

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