Meth Is A Helluva Drug

Happy Happy New Year Peoples.

Well. It's 2015. A new year, and I'm probably supposed to have some new outlook on life. Of course, that's a big bucket of horseshit - Doozy doesn't do that new age crap. So far, this year is just like last year.

Today's Doozy is another fallout Dooze from good ol' Hipster Pinocchio, that rascal. Yeah, there were a few months there where I just didn't make good decisions before getting out of the dating business for awhile. As my dear friend Paige said, Hipster was the one who broke me. Just took me some time to realize that, then longer to stop tossing my shit and fix myself.

Still. Fuck oh fuck.
THIS
WAS
NUTS
You're going to think I am making this up, but I'm not. Crazy men like this are really out there, and they truly think that they're good catches. I dunno, I'm probably being way too harsh, maybe elitist; but today's Doozy was someone so out there that even I was taken aback. 
No shit. Guys like this exist and not just in Vampire movies.

THE TALE OF CHAD KROGER...NOT THE NICKELBACK GUY..THE OTHER ONE.

Oh yes heartbreak.
You massive massive fucker.
So Chad Kroger happened because Pinocchio happened and I was messed in the head for quite awhile. But like I said with that weird Electric Truck guy, at the time I was soooo sure that I was going to be this strong, independent woman and "ain't no man going to keep me down".
BULLSHIT
Inside I was a damn melting snow cone, ya know.

So. Chad Kroger.
I was back on some site...let's say Plenty of Mullets-I-Mean-Fish, and just rolling through the profiles like crazy. When up popped Chad Kroger. He had a rather sappy profile, if not light on the wording. Chad Kroger talked about wanting to find "real love" whatever the fuck that meant to him. He talked about being a single father, owning his own construction business and how hard it was to meet "quality women" (should have been my first flag) and in his pictures, Chad had an aging rocker-behind-the-drum-kit look going for him.

I've always had a thing for musicians. I mean, Chad Kroger said he played drums.

DRUMS FOR FUCK SAKES.

And that should have been my second flag. Musicians have historically treated me like epic asswipes. I should have known better by then.

Oh ho ho. Just you wait. The bad decisions were just beginning.

JUST
BEGINNING
PEOPLE

Chad Kroger and I began emailing, then texting and in a short time Chad invited me out on a date. Fine, good. No problem.

BUT WAIT.
THERE'S MORE.

1. Chad lived across the border in the next state over. Not a huge deal, our city is near state lines. Sure, I'd been on plenty of dates "across the border loco". No probs.
Except that Chad Kroger lived 45 fucking minutes over the border, down the river in BFE. Maybe in a van, down by the river...hard to tell from texts.
Um.
Red Flag number three.

2. Chad Kroger said that he couldn't do anything on the weekends because he "had gigs".
Um.

3..Chad Kroger apparently didn't, couldn't or wouldn't find a babysitter for baby Kroger during the week, so would I be willing to meet him at his house? 
Across the border.
In Bum Fuck Egypt.
Um.
Red Flag number four.

See, here's the thing. When I'm in my right mind (like these days), I would stop talking to someone like Chad Kroger after red flag number one, maybe number two...depending on what the flags are. Maybe someone like Chad would get to a first date, then I would see the crazy and peace out.
But to get to red flag number four BEFORE THE FIRST DATE and not be all "yeah, thanks but I have to shave my cat..." shows, in hindsight, just how bad my decision making was.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
FUCK RIGHT - THERE'S MORE!

So, me in my "I'm a strong, independent woman! I'm not heartbroken! I'm not letting no man keep me down" delusion went "SURE! I'll drive to an unknown town to meet a stranger because you say you play the drums and have shaggy hair and you say you are looking for true love? What could possibly be janky about this?"
Nahhh.

For fuck sakes Doozy.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
FOR THOR SAKES.

Yeah. Luckily it was summer and the nights were really long, so I didn't have to worry about finding Chad Kroger's place in the dark. And the town he lived in was admittedly cute and charming looking, even if there were probably sex dungeons in the bottom of all the stores on Main Street. Whatevs. The Midwest is a freaky place peoples. It's all the corn syrup.

Anyhoozles.

Chad Kroger called me while I was on the road and asked what I wanted to drink.
"Drink?"
"Yeah. I'll grab you a cocktail."
Um.
Red Flag number five.
"Uh..I'm not a big drinker."
"Come on. My treat. I'm getting something, so I'll surprise you."
Right.

Chad Kroger also told me where to meet him and I could then follow him to his house - just on the other side of the railroad tracks, right off the state road.
Seriously?
The delusion was slowly starting to fade there. I know right? Like, how the hell did it take me THAT long? 
Bad decisions people.

Anyhoozles

I crossed the railroad tracks and there was Chad Kroger standing next to his big black truck with construction beds in the back. I stopped my car and got out to greet him. 
Okay.
At least Chad Kroger looked somewhat like his pictures, albeit older and rattier than what was online.
In fact, the phrase "rode hard and put away wet" immediately sprung to mind, because I can be an awful human sometimes; but I couldn't help it.
CHAD KROGER HAD FROSTED FUCKING HAIR.
Not even kidding peoples.
Chad Kroger had bleached and frosted tips in his late 80's, shag haircut.
Red Flag number six

(Chad Kroger wasn't nearly as cute as old Duran Duran)

We said our hellos as Chad Kroger salaciously looked me up and down like a rocket pop on a hot summer's day then he reached into his truck and pulled out a red plastic solo cup and handed it to me.
"Here!" He smiled proudly. "Rum and coke. You strike me as a rum and coke girl (I'm not). I got it from the tavern down the road!"
"Uh...thanks?"
Open container of alcohol in your truck. In a red solo cup?
Right.
Um.
Red Flag number seven

I could see Baby Kroger strapped into his car seat in the back of the truck too. For fuck sakes.
"I'll just have some at your house. Shall we go?" I put the cup in my cup holder and got into my car. The feeling of "WTH DOOZY?" suddenly washed over me.

BUT WAIT!
THERE'S MORE.
Goddammit.

Anyhoozles, I followed Chad Kroger to his house (and threw the drink out my window on the way) - which turned out to be a single wide mobile home with a room built onto the front and giant newly built garage in back. 
Okay.
I know people who live in mobile homes and some of them are nicer than my apartment, so I wasn't going to judge.
However.
As Chad Kroger unstrapped Baby Kroger from his car seat and walked me inside, I quickly discovered that his house wasn't a nice place at all.
HOLY
SHITBALLS BATMAN.

Chad Kroger did indeed have a drum kit in the front room he'd built onto his trailer. However, littering the floor were cigarette butts, empty wine and beer bottles and crumpled McDonald's bags.
Um.
Red Flag number eight.

Chad Kroger showed me into his house and I was..speechless. Now. Most people who know me recognize that I'm not easily rendered speechless, especially by a man. Words come easily to me.
But.
Well.

Words cannot quite describe what was in front of me. Okay look. I do not live in a swag house. Far from it. I am not, nor do I expect to live in the lap of luxury. As if. I'm a pretty simple girl.
But, but....but..
Chad Kroger's mobile home wasn't large, obviously; but it was very dark. The walls were covered with that fake dark "wood" paneling, much of which was peeling off from humidity. The floors were much the same way - the dark fake wood linoleum. Off to the right was a dark blue, worn down sofa with a large hold in the middle - so the stuffing was falling out, loads of baby toys and a huge TV in the corner. The one small dining room table was piled high with bills, papers, magazine, kids books and junk. The vinyl seats on the dining room chairs were torn and faded. The kitchen was dark, outdated and dirty.

Now I've never been in a crack house, but this was what I always envisioned one looking like. Only...ya know...with crack.

Oh, and did the mention spaz dog?
Chad Kroger had a spaz dog. No, he didn't sniff my personal radiator or anything, but the fucker kept jumping on me. Then Chad Kroger would yell at him, then Baby Kroger would start screaming.

Bet this crowd was a blast at family reunions.

"Do you have a bathroom I can use please?" I asked.
"Sure, down the hall on the left. I'll start dinner." Chad Kroger replied. "And watch out for the hole in the hallway floor."
Turned out that there was a foot wide HOLE in Chad Kroger's floor that he'd covered with a piece of plywood. Didn't nail it down or anything, it was just laying over the hole and sliding around.
Awesome.
So, at least the plumbing worked. There was that. But the bathroom window was too small for me to crawl through.
Goddammit.

 When I got back from contemplating how I was going to end this date of doom, the dog and Baby Kroger were locked behind a three foot high baby gate. The dog was jumping up and down against the gate and Baby Kroger was throwing his toys around the living room; as in just chucking them at the TV like a shot putt thrower. Chad Kroger seemed oblivious to all this as his was heating up Stouffer's Pasta Primavera for us.

Trying desperately to save whatever shreds of this date there were, I started pulling any small talk out of my repertoire I had.

Then Baby Kroger whipped off his diaper and took a leak on the living room floor. Totally stood there looking at us and whizzing all over like an old timey water wiggle.

By now my mouth was just gaping open and closed like a freshly caught  trout. The  dog was still jumping up and down against the baby gate, and now Chad Kroger was screaming at Baby Kroger. Once Chad Kroger started screaming then of course spaz dog started barking and Baby Kroger started crying.

"This is my life." Chad Kroger laughed half-heartedly while he was calming the baby and dog down. I edged closer to the door, picking up my purse on the way.
"I can see that. I'm just going to go and let you get things calmed down here. Nice to meet you."
"Fuck! You too?!"
By then I was outtie.
Right
No
Dude

I...
I...
I...
Well, I had a long drive home to digest what I had witnessed and what I gotten myself into. And here's the best part, Chad Kroger continued texting me for a week or two afterward, like that...dismal diarrhea of a whatever the fuck you want to call it we had wasn't bad.

 Nope. Chad Kroger just kept chatting me up until I had to go all "RELEASE THE KRAKEN" on his ass and tell him to screw off and that I had wiped smarter things off my shoes than him.
That was fun.

To this day, I still wonder if that huge garage in back of Chad Kroger's house was really a meth lab.
Cuz meth is a helluva drug, ya know.

Wee Willie Winkie's Pretty Cranky, Or Something.

Well, hey-hi-diddly-HO-HO peoples.

The Christmas clock-cheese-o-rama is ticking ever closer to the end, and as such, I have a big ol' box o'wine ready to guzzle in case of medical emergencies.

I DON'T FUCK AROUND WITH THE FAT MAN IN THE RED SUIT.
WE HAVE AN AGREEMENT.

So. Yes. Here we all are again.
And I was thinking back the other night as I was decorating our Astro-Turf-Tree about the Ghosts Of Douches-Pasts. It took me awhile, because as I've mentioned before, I've worked very hard to block that crap out.
But then it came to me in a blinding flash of bright white light. Or maybe it was headlights in my living room window. I dunno. Whatever. Roll with it...

THIS ONE IS CLASSIC.

I cannot believe I haven't remembered this date until now. Except that this Doozy is very old. Like vintage Doozy - early dating Doozy.
Why, I was a wee young lass back then. And dumb as a box of polished rocks.
FUUUUUCK ME.

THE TALE OF SLICK WILLIE

OH. Oh man oh man oh man oh man...
What to say about this one, except I walked into this date blind as a fucking bat and as naive as they come. 
See, here's the thing.
I was brand new on the sites - Match.fuck-my-life.com way back then and I had NO IDEA how the dating world worked. Or, more precisely how the douchebro's operated. I was just all; la-la-la, everything is going to go so great!
HA
HA HA
HA HA HA
yeah. no.

Anyhoozles. William, popped up on my match profile as I was still reeling from some of the recent disappointments (I'm looking at you Farkus and you Bubba), but back then I was ever the optimist, hiked my ladyballz back up and marched on.

Enter William. He was...slick. Let me splain'.
I'm not cool.
I'm nerdy, I'm weird, I have a wicked sense of humor.
And I'm a broad in the best sense of the word.
Of my many fabulous qualities, "slick" isn't a word I would ever use to describe myself.

But Willie was slick. He was handsome (like Hugo Boss model handsome), worked for some financial operation in a downtown high-rise, drove a fancy car and wanted everyone in the free fucking world to be aware of those things.
Back then, those attributes didn't grate me the way they do now.
Eh, an old dog can be taught after all.
Back then I was wooed by Willie's smarmy good looks, his patent jokes and compliments and boasting monologues. I didn't even read the red flags being dumped on the field by the god damned truck load.
Told you - dumb a box of fucking polished rocks.
FOR FUCK SAKES DOOZE.

Moving on.

It wasn't long after chatting that Willie and I arranged to meet for happy hour at a downtown bar, which to be honest, at the time, puzzled me. I also worked in a downtown highrise so it was convenient for both of us. Plus, that seemed to impressed old Willie.
I got the feeling that Willie cared and awful lot about what other people thought about him.

We met at some trendy, upscale bar that catered to the younger and richer set. You know, the kind that is a rooftop bar, only has counter height tables with uncomfortable chairs, lots of discreetly hidden blue neon lighting and a name like "Birch's on First". Total bullshit.
My TJ Maxx suit and Target heels suddenly felt very out of place in a joint like that and I had a hard time not pulling at my blouse as I walked in and stood awkwardly by the door, searching for Willie.

He was late.
Goddamn fantastic.

The hostess gave me a quick yet discerning once over when I asked for a table for two. I arched my manicured eyebrow, clutched my laptop case tighter in my hand and hoped my ass didn't look huge in my pencil skirt. I'm not heavy, but I still had my insecurities like any other normal girl.
I was looking over the menu when Willie arrived in a flurry of activity. He looked good, I had to admit, even his windblown, salon styled hair had a very Jane Eyre feel to it and I was instantly more nervous.

I was so fucking far out of my league peoples.
Seriously.
What was a nerd like me doing in a place like that? I'm a Juice Lucy and wings kinda girl. It's not that I cannot dress up and be a lady. Far from it, but that fancy, putting-on-heirs-shit just isn't my jam.

I smiled brightly as I stood up and introduced myself, but I still caught Willie's smile falter ever so slightly as he looked me over. I would be lying if I said that his seeming instant judgement didn't sting.
THAT was when the intuition kicked in.
Took me fucking long enough.
Willie and I made small talk before our waitress came over to take our drink and appetizer order.

So. Let's get started on the Doozy fun shall we?

(again, paraphrasing as this was yearrrrrs ago. But I'm pretty close to what was said.)

Server: "May I get you both something to start?"
Me: "I'll have a glass of the house Pinot Grigio please and and an order of the balsamic scallops. Thank you."
Server: "Excellent. And you sir?"
Willie: "Yes. Can you tell me where your grilled sea bass in the seafood croquettes is sourced from? And I need fresh water. My glass has spots on it." I saw no spots.
Server blinked twice very fast. "I'll need to check with our chef, but I believe the sea bass is Chilean."
Willie:"Hmmm. Chilean sea bass is so 1990's. Let me see" Looking over the menu. "And do you carry Black Cow Vodka? It's from the UK." Willie gave our server the side-eye as he ran his finger over the stiff parchment menu.
I crushed the polyester napkin with my fingers.

OH FOR FUCK SAKES. 
WILLIE WAS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE.
YOU ALL KNOW THE KIND OF PEOPLE I MEAN...

Every little damn thing was an issue. Nothing was ever good enough and Willie had to make a server's life a fucking nightmare on earth. Probably everyone else's in a one mile radius too.

Bet Willie was great fun at parties.
Maybe I could get my scallops to go?

Oh..Robin. I miss you.

Server: "Sir? Would you like a few more minutes to decide? I will go check with our bartender about the vodka." She walked away quickly, swiping away Willie's assumed defiled water glass in the process.
Willie studied the menu - which by the way, wasn't long - for a few more tense moments, then threw it down on the table.
"This is the first time I've ever been here. It was recommended to me by one of the hedge fund managers, but so far, I'm not impressed."
"We have hedge fund managers in this city?" I laughed, trying to lighten the mood.
Willie crossed his arms over his expensive looking silk tie and frowned. "Of course we do. What a silly question."
"It.Was.A.Joke....?" I murmured as I looked away, shifting uncomfortably in my tall seat.

Awkward didn't even begin to describe this date. It was worse than your grandma finding your vibrator in your luggage on a visit home.

The server returned with a fresh glass of water for Willie, my wine and an answer.
Server: "I'm sorry Sir, but we do not carry Black Cow, however, we do have many other fine top shelf vodkas to choose from. Did you see our cocktail menu with our complete spirits list?"
Willie frowned. "Yes. Fine, fine whatever...I'll take a Grey Goose on the rocks. In a CLEAN glass. NO spots."
Server: "Certainly Sir. And would you care for anything to eat as well?"
Willie rolled his eyes and huffed, "I guess I'll have the kobe beef satays. But really your menu is deplorable."
Server: "Would you care to speak to our chef Sir? Or our manager?"
Willie: "I'll have a word on the way out. That's all. You may go." He waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and I almost choked on my wine. That poor girl. I smiled kindly and made a "HOLY SHITBALLS! I'M SORRY" face at her. She just shrugged.
Me: "Wow. Um...so..did you have a really tense day or something?"
Willie: "No. Why?"
Me: "You just seemed rather...short with our server is all. I was just wondering."
Willie: "I just demand the best in service when I go out. Even if it's just for happy hour. I deserve the best. It's that simple."
OH
FOR
FUCK
SAKES

GET OVER YOURSELF PRINCESS

Annnnd, everything went to shit from there.
After our server brought Willie his vodka on the rocks in a sparkling glass, he sent it back.
Y'all wanna guess why?
Go on.
Take a guess...
Because there was too much ice.
Not even kidding you peoples.
I was mortified.
Willie, a grown ass fucking man (I presume with a grown penis, although by then it was debatable if he was compensating for something, ya know?) who ordered a vodka ON THE ROCKS, sent back a drink because it was... ON THE ROCKS.
I...I...just...couldn't...

By this time, I didn't even care if I looked like a two-bit-trailer-trash-crackwhore-fresh-off-the-meth-lot-who-had-been-rode-hard-put-away-wet-and-still-needed-her-roots-done.

I WAS SO OUTTIE.

Our appetizers arrived just as I had finished guzzling down the last of my wine.
Server: "Another glass of Pinot Grigio Miss?"
Me: "No thank you. I'll just take my check please."
Willie:"WHAT?! So soon? We just got here. Our food just got here!"
I shoved two creamy, delicious scallops into my mouth, chewed quickly and swallowed.
Willie leaned over the table and rested his chin on his manicured hand.
"I never did tell you how lovely you look tonight. My apologies. You know...I'm a bit of a chubby chaser." Willie smiled lopsidedly, which would have been charming on just about any other man but him.
WAIT...
DID HE JUST CALL ME FAT?

That was the final straw. I mean, come on, I ain't no size two, but I can shake it shake it like I'm supposed to do...
Cuz I got the boom boom that all the boys chase..
Yeah
All the right junk
In all the right places.

And I'm not fat.
FUCK THAT PRETTY BOY

I pushed my chair away from the table, stood up, rustled around in my purse, whipped out twenty dollars and threw it on the table.
"This should cover my half. You say you're loaded, I'm sure you can cover whatever is left."
"Cunt." Willie murmured as I grabbed my laptop bag and purse and walked away, sure to add a little extra "swish" in my walk.
However, I made sure to stop by the server station and give our server a twenty as well, because I was absolutely, positively sure that Willie was going to stiff her on his way out. Plus, I made sure to stop by and talk to the manager as well; let him know that Willie was a class A lunatic and a fuckwipe as well and that our server was superb to put up with pond scum like him.

Who's the cunt now?

"Jesus Christ, SuperStar, Who In.".Eh..You Know The Rest.

Eh.
It's the holiday season you filthy animals.
Merry-Christmashaunakwanzka and Festivus for the rest of us too.
Meh. I haven't been feeling very Doozy lately, but Tricia has been poking me to write again. So here we go.

I'm pulling this one waaaayyy out of the Doozy Chronicles. A Ghost of Doozy Past as it were.
Enjoy ya wee bastards.

THE TALE OF THE VERY SHINY REVEREND, REVEREND PAISLEY

Yep. You read that right.
SHINY.
As in tight and well, shiny. I don't even know people.
Let me splain'...
This was awhile ago. I dunno, maybe 2012 - early 2013 in the fallout of Pinocchio? I'm fuzzy on the exact date, and well, you'll see why. It was a period of time when I was filling up my dating time with many, many dates and they just started blending together into one big FAIL.
I TRY TO BLOCK THIS SHIT OUT PEOPLE.

Moving on.

So, I was on one of the stupid sites; let's say OKCupid, because I particularly despise the douches on the site. I got a notification on my phone that I had gotten a message on the OKC app.
OOOH! I got a message. Someone liked me.

I mean. Wow. Hallelujah.

I checked the app and there was a very nicely written message from Paisley. He used good grammar, complete sentences and didn't mention anything about sex. Paisley complimented me on my sense of humor and well written profile. He thought I was pretty. I was intrigued to say the least, so I cruised over to look at his profile. 
Hmmm. What to say?
Paisley had a bland profile, he was a doughy sort of accountant looking type of man. Different from the usual douchebro you see on OKC who posts endless pictures of himself and his "dudes" at the Cancun beach bar, or posing on top of Kilimanjaro. No, no Paisley didn't have any of those pictures. The most "adventurous" picture was one of him posing next to a Somali looking teenager in a soccer uniform. Plus, Paisley talked a lot about his FOUR cats.
FOUR FUCKING CATS.

Okay, let's just stop right there. I have a cat. I've had two cats at one time. But I think we can all come to a general consensus that any single man or woman who has more than three animals - whatever they are..is...unusual, bordering on red fucking flag weird. Right?
K. That had had to be said.

Moving on.

So yeah, Paisley's profile looked innocuous. He looked..mostly harmless. And I responded back to his message with my own thoughtfully worded reply.

Paisley responded immediately.
Uh.
Okay.

My spidey senses were up at this point because it's unusual these days that anyone sits by the phone in the middle of the day waiting for a response to an online dating message...but...okay.  Plus, you have to remember - back in 2012-2013, I was still giving ALL men a chance. *SNORT*, yeah, yeah...I know, not my most brilliant move ever, but I was on a mission. Remember the Crab dude? And the Electric Company man? 
FOR FUCK SAKES DOOZY.

Anyhoozles, Paisley and I chatted back and forth for only a little while before he wanted to meetup. Frankly, I didn't find anything overwhelming attractive about him, but looks aren't necessarily my main motivator, so I said sure. Paisley seemed...decent. He was polite, seemed educated, if not a bit on the boring side but I was willing to at least meet Paisley in person to give it a go.

Paisley insisted on meeting at the Zoo, because he loved to watch the animals - even though it was the middle of winter. I remember that.
Fuck it. 
I wore my Uggs.
We don't screw around with winters where I live. And my lady bits weren't talking enough to my brain about Paisley to make me change into girly shoes.
Now, I've had several dates at the zoo. We happen to have a lovely zoo in my city, and it's a nice place to have a date.
BUT IN THE SUMMERTIME BITCHES.
WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK.

Anyhoozles, I shuffled into the Zoo and huddled by the door while I waited for Paisley to arrive. Finally, he scurried around the corner, breathless and sweaty. And...shiny.
Yes.
SHINY.
FOR FUCK SAKES.
I mean, his face was shiny and sort of waxy looking. The way you imagine a freshly opened Ken Doll to look, only Paisley didn't have the Ken Doll looks.
Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..
At the time I couldn't quite put my finger on what it was (besides the shininess) about Paisley's face that was slightly off-putting. He just looked...not right.

Intoductions were a wee bit awkward, mostly because I SO wanted to lean real close and be all
"DUDE, WHAT'S UP WITH YOUR SHINY FACE?"
But, of course I didn't. But I really kept wanted to 
stare.

It didn't take long for Paisley to realize just how mind-numbingly cold it was outside, and that all the rational animals were in their warm little houses. And I think that made him more nervous.

Paisley seemed very nervous, and I felt kinda bad for him.

So we walked around the reptile house, and went to see the dolphins; looked at the tropical birds. Paisley chatted about how he took a trip to Africa and helped a village dig a well. He talked A LOT about his four cats. Paisley talked a lot about how much he liked kids, how much he really hoped to have kids, even though he was 48ish. Paisley talked.
A lot.
Eventually, Paisley and I ended up on the Zoo monorail that ringed the park.
And this, peoples is when shit GOT REAL.
HOLY
SHITBALLS.

I was looking out the window for any glimpse of a living animal, with none to be had, when Paisley grasped my gloved hand; causing me to jump.
"Doozy" (I'm paraphrasing a bit, I don't remember every single word, but this is fairly close to the convo) "I'm having such a good time. I can't believe a woman as beautiful as you would agree to go out with me."
"Thank you for the compliment. I'm having a nice time too." I replied, trying to extricate my hand, but damn that man had a tight grip.
"I feel we have such a connection."
Uh.
"Tell me Doozy. How would you feel dating a man of God?"

"Uhhhh....um. I don't know. That one hasn't ever come up before." I laughed to cover my sudden panic. "That would be a new one for me. Are you a minister Paisley?"
Paisley smiled broadly but the smile didn't reach his eyes and I could have sworn he puffed out his chest a bit. "I'm a youth minister at my church and I attend every Sunday. I'm very active to God. Do you go to Church Doozy?"
"No, I don't. I wasn't raised with any affiliation one way or another; but I'm cool with whatever anyone practices, as long as they don't get all up in my grill about it."
Paisley patted my hand in a way that felt oh so slightly condescending.
"That's okay. You can attend with me some Sunday. You'll like it. The other women there are very nice."

I arched an eyebrow.
"Thank you, but that's not necessary. I tried attending church years ago when my son was little and discovered it wasn't for me."
"No, you'll like, I promise. We have a rock band and a younger minister and everything. It's geared towards younger people now."
"No thank you. That's something that you are welcome to continue doing on your own. But it is nice of you to think of including me."
Paisley frowned at me in confusion.
"But...but...I don't understand. A devout Christian could never date outside of their faith. The Bible says that it just isn't done."
"Yes, I see your problem. That must be hard for you."
"It is! You have no idea how hard it is to find a good woman. There are so many women out there now that just flaunts their bodies and sexiness. The world is so Godless now; no faith anymore. Everyone just sleeping around. Failed marriages, homosexuals, women having sex all the time, babies born out of wedlock, women working outside the home. I mean look at how messed up our kids are now. None of this happened before women started with all this feminism stuff. Jesus would weep."

"Ahem. Excuse me, but whom exactly are all these harlot women "sleeping" around with? Fornicating with? Last I check two chicks couldn't knock each other up. That would be MEN dude. And GOD forbid that a woman have her own money, her own brain and not just be owned by her husband. Yes, yes..Jesus would surely weep..." I could see that the monorail was coming into the station; and it was a good thing too. I was very close to wanting to punch The Very Shiny Reverend Reverend Paisley in the nutsack.

FUCKING HYPOCRITE.

Paisley seemed to see that he had pissed me off because he jumped up when I abruptly stood up before the train had even come to a complete stop. I rushed out of the train, blasted by the freezing air and hustled back into the main zoo building, Paisley schlumping behind me like a dejected turtle.
As I neared the main door I stopped and whirled around so quickly that Paisley almost ran into me.
"It was an interesting afternoon. Take care."
"I take it there won't be a second date?" It was then that I noticed that only the lower half of Paisley's face moved. 

TOTAL
WEIRDO.

"No. After all a devout Christian man like yourself can't be seen with a loose, fornicating woman such as myself." As I turned to leave I could hear Paisley saying "But I didn't mean it like that!"

Okay.
See, here's the thing. As a non-religious person I don't give a rat's ass what anyone believes. You worship pasta? Hey knock yourself out dude. But don't go shoving your rigatoni beliefs down my throat. 
Okay, well maybe I'd be down with the Pastafarians, but only because pasta is so goddamn tasty. However I'm not into fanatics on any side, I don't care what you're preaching.

And what in the holy hell was the Very Reverend Reverend Paisley doing trolling for good Christian women on a debauched site like OK-fucking-Cupid? Seriously dude. Time to rethink the strategy or make a collect call upstairs to the big guy for some one-on-one time, because you chose the wrong place to find a "devout" woman.

Meh...whatevs.
I shook The Very Shiny Reverend Reverend Paisley off to just another whack job on the Internets. And at least Paisley didn't hate message me after I told him to shove off, I have a small amount of respect for him about that. Still, for a day or two afterward I was curious about Paisley's shiny, shiny face.
I DON'T HAVE ALL THE ANSWERS.
But turns out that Google does. And a tight, shiny face is often the side-effect of Botox.

No, no. It's unkind of me to snicker at the potential that Paisley had a wee bit of work done. Especially, when he seemed to have some maybe a bit of erm, disrespect for women? Just a skosh? Perhaps a pinch?

Who knows maybe Paisley wanted to look bright and new for his youth group. Maybe his BDSM Dom wanted to try out a new sex dungeon or it's possible that his Neo-Nazi Camp Leader was having a group photo taken at Easter Camp and Paisley wanted to look his best. I don't fucking know.
What I DO know, however, is that in my travels around the online dating world, the men that I ran into that were the most insecure were also the most hypocritical. 
Religion or no religion.

But hey, I hope the Very Shiny Reverend Reverend Paisley found his Sister Wife out there in online-land and they are living a very happy life together.

For the rest of us, here's Key & Peele doing 80's Jazzercise.

Ya filthy animals. I love ya.