To Blast a Vegan Segway Cop

I offer this warning:  Not for the timid to read.

Many know of my crazy dating antics, how I attract the people I do puzzles me, but then again I may bring it upon myself.  Needless to say, a few months back I entertained the idea of talking to a gentleman I met that was into Muay Thai and Brazilian Ji Jitsu.  I figured he was an athletic individual who could give me some pointers/lessons in Muay Thai.  One interesting fact about this man is that not only was he heavily interested in the martial arts, but he just so happened to be Vegan and Straight edge.  I am also going to assume he was a liberal, but we never got to that topic in our few exchanges.  Now, the whole vegan thing was definitely a challenge if I was going to consider dating this man, given the fact I was pretty hardcore into Paleo, which focuses heavily on meat, meat and well, more meat.  Not to mention, straight edge also meant he was not an avid fan of happy hour like myself.  In addition to being a vegan, straight edge fighter, this young lad had a promising career as a police officer at a prestigious greater DC University.  In his mid-thirties he had just recently decided to embark on his first Bachelor’s degree, in none other than General studies.   Not to be an elitist, but I pride myself on my career goals as well as my life path, and it appears I may have been taking a more direct path than the aforementioned vegan Segway cop. 

            I have nothing against vegans, vegetarians, straight edgers, ect ect.  We had a few conversations on his perspectives with alcohol and animal rights.  He did not like to see the bee’s exploited and believed in protecting the furry beings that could not protect themselves.  In regards to the straight edge, back in the day when I was a kid, I was under the impression that straight edge also entailed abstaining from sexual relations before marriage, so I really thought this guy was harmless.  Was I in for a surprise.  It turns out when you deprive yourself of meat, Brie, wine and whiskey you are forced to find alternate avenues of release.  These avenues of release were brought up casually in a text message to me one day and it read like so, “I would like to see you as a Shibari model.”  Confused, I turned to the Google, it read as so:  Shibari, more correctly known as Kinbaku is an ancient Japanese artistic form of rope bondage that has many styles and uses. It is related in style to other traditional Japanese arts such as Ikebana, Sumi-e (black ink painting) and Chanoyu (the tea ceremony). Among the many uses of Shibari are dynamic living sculpture, shared meditative practice, deep relaxation for flexibility of mind and body, expression of power exchange, and intimate erotic restraint.

Shocked, at this I responded, “You are kidding right?”  He responds, “You talk too much, I can shut you up with a choke ball in your mouth.”

I was shocked, where was this coming from, I thought he was a peaceful being in touch with animals and foraging in nature.

“Where would you ever get the idea that I would want to do that?”  I respond.  “Well, I used to do it with my girlfriend, she had a lot of anxiety and issues so that is how we dealt with it.” 

“I do not have anxiety issues, so that really would not appeal to me.” I end it at that and believed our exchanges were over.

Unfortunately in my case, this Vegan Segway cop must have thought I too was lacking self-esteem and wanted to be tied up and whipped.

Text messages would randomly come every now and again, all of which I responded to with a degree of sarcastic animosity, but our peaceful Vegan Segway Cop simply did not get the point. 

It was a series of text messages that were so offensive that I finally felt forced to shut this fucker up and put him in his place.  So alas, I blast the Vegan Segway cop and put him in check.

Letter to a Vegan Segway Cop:

I have humored the onset of text messages and emails from you over the past months expressing your desire to tie me up, and in essence beat the shit out of me for your own personal erotic pleasure.  I know, you say that it some how will get me off and show me the utmost degree of eroticism.  I feel I need to offer you a reality check.

This seems to be a routine you shared with your ex-girlfriend.  Fact one: I am not your ex girlfriend.  Fact two: Aside from the fact that I may act bat shit crazy, I do have pretty damn good self-image.  I am 29 years old, with a full-time job and extensive experience traveling the world.  I have never, at any point been confined by any man or let any man sway my decisions.  Secondly, I am working on my second God-damn masters so we can derive I have a head on my shoulders.  I was raised by a Marine, I endured boot camp with bearded lesbians staring at me in the shower from Milwaukee and I have literally driven under a semi-truck and lived to speak of the experience.  So I ask you this question:  What about me ever gave off the idea that I would want to be tied up and disrespected for the sole purpose of you getting off? 

This idea of Sado Masochism appears to be a struggle between the powerful and the powerless, a relationship in which there is a giver and a taker.  You sir, appear to be taking on the role of “taker.”   Quite honestly this puzzles me because I do not view myself as the less powerful person in this dynamic.  Instead of referring  to the aforementioned facts about myself; let’s bring up you.  Fact one: You're basically a mall cop making a mediocre hourly wage with no real sense of direction.  Since we are playing a role of powerful versus powerless, perhaps I should be tying you up. I have read Fifty shades of Grey, and if you think I would even consider being stuffed with a “gag ball” and having my “holes explored” that offer better come with a fully loaded Audi S5 and a shit-hot Pension plan. 

Now, having explained myself and why I am too good for your bullshit, let dive into your whole perspective about women in general.

It appears to me you view us as toys for your personal pleasure, objects that can be toyed with and disrespected.  I will let you know, telling any woman, “I am going to treat you like a slut, but at least you will be treated,” is total and utter bullshit.  How can you “protect the innocent” when it comes to animals, but desire to treat a female like a common whore.  News flash, when it comes to this universal mating game, men do not have the power, it is women who ultimately make the decisions that have historically resulted in empires falling.  Maybe since we are playing a role of powerful and powerless, I can tie you up and shove a 10” strap on up your various holes?  How is that for charm. 

I close in saying maybe you should consider this next time when you are attempting to court a woman.  Or perhaps, I recommend you contain your dating options to the mental health clinic, which appear to offer you the best odds for you dating options. 

Sincerely,

Better than you.

What? No Sleepover?

No offense against bartenders, but there are a lot of reasons you should not consider exchanging dialogue with one aside from trying to score a free shot of Jameson.

Once upon a time in a bar in D.C. I ran across a rather attractive man with a shit poor personality.  Oh, I thought to myself, he is trying to give off a hard-ass persona.. yeah, I could do that.  Drink one, drink two, drink three down and a discounted check, alas, numbers were exchanged.

Aforementioned bartender and myself hung out on several occasions but it was nothing completely serious.  I knew he was not relationship material, he was a 30 year old bartender and that was not my idea of stability.  Ironically, one day bartender decided to shoot me a formal "text" inquiring about my plans for the evening.   "What's up?"  He asks.  "Not much," I respond.  "So yeah, there is this posh restaurant opening tonight, I got an invite, want to be my plus one?"  He asks.   I think to myself, hmmm.. this is a date, he is just a bartender, should I?  Fuck it, I think, why not I should give him a chance.

Later that evening I show up to the posh restaurant opening to find bartender already seated in the sole spot at the bar.  Standing there, awkwardly in stilettos, he looks at me.. "Oh, you want this seat or something?"  I can tell this isn't going to be good...

After a 15 minute dialogue about how amazing he is at his job as lead bartender, and how he basically owns all of Eastern Market DC, we finally get sat.  Two course into our free meal, bartender looks at me, "So hey, did you bring any cash?"  "Well, no,"  I respond puzzled, "Did I need to?"
"Well, it is just that we need to tip," He replies.  "We?,"  I think to myself.  "Well, no, do I need cash?"
"Could ya?  There is an ATM around the corner?"  He asks, "Hey, if you don't want to walk, just give me your ATM card and pin and I will go ahead and withdrawal it for you."
Puzzled I am still sitting there, I hesitantly get up to make my walk-of-shame to the ATM, wondering why I am doing it and then remembering the poor server that has been serving us.  As I walk up to the ATM, I receive a text, "Withdrawal AT LEAST 60 bucks please."  Are you fucking kidding me?
My way back to the restaurant I send the emergency "save me" text to my sister and neighbor and I walk back into the mess that is my date.

Anxiously awaiting my ride home and the end of the dinner, I have already tipped the waitress but my suitor-douchebag-bartender is engaging me with conversation about life, love and pursuit of success.

"So, I told you I live in my mom's basement right?"  He asks.
"No, no I am pretty sure you never told me that, " I reply.
"Yeah, just saving up for a house.  I am thinking about 500 to 750 thousand," he says.
I think to myself, "You're gonna have to stick a fuckload more chicks with tabs to accomplish that you fucking douche."

As I am checking my phone and awaiting a rescue, Bartender Suitor decides to give me his input on relationships and love.
"So, not to sound sexist, but I do not think women should wait to get married until thirty."
"Why is that," I respond.
"Well see, I am 30 now.  I am not ready to settle down till like 35.  When I am 35, I don't want some 35 year old also.  I want some 26,27 year old hot thing,"  he says.
He continues, "See, some 35 year old is gonna give me down-syndrome retarded babies."

As I am watching the phone awaiting my rescue, my suitor walks into the bathroom.
This is the prime time for escape.  I drop the obligatory tip and rush out the door to my rescue ride.

Ten minutes later as I am pulling into my apartment I receive a text from the bartender suitor, "What, no sleepover tonight?"

I wonder if he couldn't afford the cab ride home?

You couldn't make this stuff up

A wise man once told me:

"If they only knew how many shake weights have been destroyed by your vigorous technique, they may try at least to paint the turd that is their with a different color than suck."

A simple quote, but a more than adequate statement regarding the reality that is my dating life.   I am nearing 30 years old but have stories that are substantial enough for someone that has been in the game since 1964.  This is perhaps due to my lower standards in my younger twenties, or my exceptionally high tolerance for idiots; but I care to share these humorous anecdotes that were at one time depressing, but now a means to laugh at the faces of these fine suitors.

So I bring you Love, Losers and Leather Bars: Anecdotes of Dating