Sha-na-na Nope

Oh for fuck sakes people.
It isn't supposed to be this hard.

So, I figured it be best to jump back into the scene after the Triton fiasco. I spruced up my OKStupid profile, took a gorgeous new profile picture (really, it's uncharacteristically good) and stuck my shit back out there.  Okay, so my profils is just kinda sitting there percolating - cuz zero fucks. But , man - I've gotten some..um...interesting messages thus far.
THAT shit is for another Doozy.

JESUS HORATIO CHRIST ON A CRACKER.
Anyways
Moving on...

But this is the tale of a Doozy of a date.

THE TALE OF HIPPY DIPPY DON'T

Yeah. So. Maybe my first mistake was looking for a man that had the good characteristics of Triton, minus the emotionally unavailability, over the top extroversion and go from there.
Yep.
That was my mistake.
AGAIN.
WHAT THE FUCK WITH THESE ROOKIE MISTAKES DOOZE?

Clearly, my year away from dating before the Triton Files not only rusted my lady bits, but also my skillz.
LOCK THAT SHIT DOWN GIRL.

Okay. So, yeah. I need to pay better attention going forward.
So. Hippy Dippy.
HOLY FUCKNARDS PEOPLE.

Hippy Dippy's profile seemed perfectly normal. Decent enough looking guy. Had a couple dogs. Talked a lot about emotional compatibility and the need for a deeper connection. Okay, yeah - I can dig that. Hippy Dippy went on and on about looking for a strong relationship, and a deep love - yeah, okay - me too. I can work towards that.

Plus, when Hippy Dippy messaged me, he didn't just say that he liked my tits. Not that I show my tits or anything.
BUT THAT DOESN'T MATTER ON DATING SITES.
BECAUSE MEN ARE DRAWN TO TITS LIKE FLIES TO HONEY.
OR THE IDEA OF TITS.

Hey, I like dick as much as the next girl, maybe more. But I don't want to see random schlong whipped out all the time. And I certainly don't ask to see cock when I meet a dude. Granted, that would probably be most guys wet dream.
"Hi, I'm Doozy. It's nice to meet you. And I'd also like to meet your wang. So...let's see it. Yeah, on the table boys."
Men have a thing with their dicks. I don't get it.

But I digress.
Moving on...


Yeah. Hippy Dippy seemed normal. Seemed, being the imperative word here. So we set up a normal coffee date.

I got there first, so instead of awkwardly standing by the door with my thumb up my ass, I ordered my coffee. Little did I know that Hippy Dippy had come in and was standing right behind me.
Okay.
Here's the thing about Hippy Dippy in person versus his profile picture. His profile picture was really good, he had a nice smile. In person? He looked like a thinner version of THIS guy, except with no hair...

Yup. Foo man stache and all.
Erm.
Uh.

TITS...

We introduced ourselves, gave the standard hug (a little too close) and he ordered his drink. Okay, I'm going to go out here and be that judgemental prick for a minute. I think you can tell a lot about a person by how they do three things in life:
1. Treat wait staff at restaurants
2. Treat their pets, plants or other living things
3. How they order their food/ drinks

The first goes to how they treat people that serve them. Are they complete assholes to them? If so - they think they are better than people who wait on them and are assholes in general. RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.
The second goes to how they treat things that they have to care for and are probably irresponsible/ abusive/ neglectful/ narcissistic or just assholes in general. If they are mean or neglectful to their pets - well, first call the fucking Human Society, then RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.
And the third goes to how much of an OCD, pain in the ass this person would be if you got together with them. Seriously. Think about it for a second. When you go out to eat with this person, is their food order a 5 minute list of precisely how everything needs to be done? I'm not talking a legit food allergy that could kill them kind of thing. I'm talking: "Oh no, I want the salad instead of the potatoes, but no cucumbers. I HATE CUCUMBERS. And I want the vinaigrette on the side, but not if the vinaigrette is made with red wine vinegar, I HATE RED WINE VINEGAR. Then I'll have the Blue Cheese, but not with a bunch of the blue cheese chunks in it. I HATE BLUE CHEESE CHUNKS. Oh and is your chicken free range? I only eat free range chicken..."  WHAT A FUCKING NIGHTMARE. Just think of how critical and nit picky that person likely is in the rest of their life. RUN AS FAST AS YOU CAN.

I'm pretty easy at a coffee place. I need my coffee jacked to the goddamn sky with crap. Because I drink coffee for the caffeine, not the taste. So I order some caramel mochachino hot fudge sundae latte delite with whip off the board. The most I'll do is ask if it's possible to do it half caf because my doc said I need to stop fucking spazzing on caffeine.
I KNOW. I KNOW. ALL THE SADZ PEOPLES. PLEASE MOURN WITH ME.

So, when Hippy Dippy started listing off some random iced (NOT BLENDED!)  soy mocha with four shots of espresso (NOT THREE!) with whip and half chocolate, half caramel drizzle, my spidey senses started rumbling.

TITS...

Then while we were waiting for our stuff, Hippy Dippy wanted another hug.
"Oooh, that felt gooood, didn't it?! I felt a zing. Didn't you feel a zing?" He crooned.
"Uh..." I met you 2 minutes ago dude. Okay, okay. I grant you that science says that usually within 2 minutes of meeting someone, you've formed an opinion of them. And clearly I had - his coffee drink skillz were hardcore and he looked like Hulk Hogan. Two strikes.
I uncomfortably side hugged him again and we waited for our drinks.

When our drinks were done, we scoped a table in the corner and sat down. This was a small shop and, as it the case nowadays, we were the only people there to actually drink coffee and talk. Everyone else there was using the place for their personal offices and had their laptops set up - so the shop was dead quiet.

And just like that Hippy Dippy was off.
I swear to Odin, maybe the guy was high or something, but Hippy Dippy didn't stop talking for over an hour. Nonstop. didn't even drink his iced NOT BLENDED coffee. He talked about his childhood. He talked about his brother in prison for killing his wife. He talked about his gay sister. He talked about his dogs. He talked about his emotionally neglectful parents. He talked about what a great catch he was. He talked about how much money and stocks he had in the bank. He talked about how great was at relationships. He talked more about his shitty childhood. He talked alllll about why I should be with him - flat out said he was trying to seduce me.
But the one thing Hippy Dippy didn't do was ask me even ask one single thing about myself.

NOT ONE THING.

Oh ho ho... but Hippy Dippy was sure to insert plenty of sexual innuendos when needed, including these gems:
Like, for instance, when he was talking about the size of his cell phone (it was massive - it had to have been the iPhone 6 Plus)
"Oh, I'm sure you won't have any problems with the size of what else is in my shorts"
OR
"And I deliver again and again and again" when we were talking about general integrity.
AND
When I finally got a word in and was mentioning how much I like bbq ribs, Hippy Dippy slithered back
"Next time, I wonder what would happen if I wear bbq sauce instead of cologne. Would you eat me?"

I CAN'T EVEN
NEXT TIME?
IN YOUR FUCKING DREAMS DOUCHESICLE.

Listen.It's one thing for me to listen to Hippy Dippy go on about how he was adopted, and his horrible childhood and his crazy parents on a first date. WHAT THE DAMN EVERLOVING FUCK WAS WRONG WITH HIM? First date rule number one, DON'T OVERSHARE. Sure, I listened to how Hippy became a Shaman of something-something-something and I looked at pictures of his "spirit animal" and his visionquest location. Look, I respect whatever people go through for their faith to make themselves feel better and bring them peace in their lives. BUT YOU DON'T BRING THAT SHIT UP ON A FIRST DATE.

Here's the thing. We all know by now that I'm used to men just looking for sex. That's a big reason why this blog exists.
A lot of men just suck. And not in the good way.
So, as sad as it is, I wasn't even  that offended by Hippy Dippy's sexual innuendo's, just more bored by it. It was more of a:
"Yeah, I'd give it a 2 our of 10. You missed the landing."

AIN'T MY FIRST TIME AT THE RODEO, PAL.
GOD, I SHUDDER TO THINK OF WHAT HOT CHICKS HAVE TO GO THROUGH.
FUCK THAT SISTAS.


TITS...

No,  what pissed me off the most was that Hippy Dippy talked the entire time about himself (something that actually Triton did there towards the end) and didn't ask one single fucking thing about me, yet still was rambling on about how we were going to end up together:

"I have a good feeling about you."
"But you don't know anything about me" I replied, somewhat caustically, my face a blank canvas.
"I think that you can tell a lot about a person's spirit and light when you first meet them. I could tell that about you when I held you in my arms the first time."

OH JUST FUCK RIGHT OFF STUPID

There is absolutely no way that Hippy Dippy could have known a single thing about me by a nanosecond of bodily contact, EXCEPT that he wanted to bump uglies with me. 
THAT'S IT.
END OF STORY.
THAT WAS HIS DICK TALKING.

Hippy Dippy didn't know that I wasn't a con artist or a massive douchette. He didn't know that I don't have a criminal record or that I'm not a total bitch. He didn't know anything about my past or what issues, insecurities, hopes and dreams I have. Hippy Dippy didn't know anything about me and he didn't care to. He was just looking at the package, the shell. Hippy Dippy didn't give a shit about ME, he really just gave a shit about my TITS after all.

TYPICAL. SO FUCKING...TYPICAL.

I sat back in my chair, crossed my arms and looked blankly at him. Frankly, I didn't quite know what to say to that. THAT was a new one to me. I had just sat through an hour and a half of the most non-stop boring as shit monologue blah blah, yadda yadda, from Hippy Dippy and he honestly expected me to fall for that?

"Okay." I said, as I slowly pushed back the heavy, scarred wooden chair and picked up my purse. "Well now. This was....enlightening. It was...nice to... meet you." I couldn't even thank him for buying the coffee, since I bought my own, and that was an hour and half of my time that I wouldn't get back. There were many things that I wanted to say to him.

Dunno. Maybe I'm still smarting over the Triton deal. Not that I'm not "over" it, but it's clearly still rolling around in my head. I'm an introspective girl, and it's plain to me that Triton's emotional unavailability stung me more than it should, probably because it surprised me and he disappointed me so much. 

IT'S JUST SO FUCKING...TYPICAL. YA KNOW?

So, I'm analyzing the Triton Files and figuring out the lessons I can take away from my time with that boy. Point being, it was very, very hard for me to be nice to Hippy Dippy - a man that was obviously a raving lunatic and a stupid one at that.
It's not Hippy Dippy's fault that I'm an intense In-Her-Head-Doozy right now.
Even if he's a sex-crazed, self-absorbed douchenozzle.

I DIDN'T GIVE HIPPY DIPPY A HUG.
I SHOOK HIS HAND.