"Peter"

Fellas, please do not rub up against my leg when you talk to me, unless you are someone hot, like Vince D'Onofrio or Hugh Laurie, okay? Gross! If you are on my list of actors who I deem to be hot, then it's okay, but make sure you are on the "list" first, okay? If you think you might be on the "list," you are not, so do not bother.

*Some names have been changed so that the stupid do not file a lawsuit.

Men, when you are desperate to pick up a chick in a bar, it is never a good idea to break the ice by saying, "So, what's with the hair?"
"Peter" made this grave error. I no longer feel like a bitch when an idiot comes up to me, looking to score by throwing his income in my face, especially when he is as socially inept as "Peter."
My pick-up lines for men in bars are, "Hey baby, what's your tax bracket?" and "So, do you file on time?"
Funny, I have not had to use one of these lines yet.
If I were not in a five-year relationship, I would go back to looking for my deaf-mute man. I am still young, though, and there is still time.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah--"Peter."

So, Peter comes up to me in my 1980s garb and 1980s style blonde wig and asks, "So, what's with the hair?" I said, "What do you mean?" Peter said, "No, really, what's with the hair?" I replied, "No, really, what do you mean?" Peter said, "Is that hard to do your hair like that?" I said, "No. Not really. I just take it out of the bag and put it on." Peter said, "Oh, so that's not your real hair?" I answered, "Well, underneath the wig is my real hair, but no, it's a wig. So, what's your excuse?" Peter took the burn well. He went on to tell me that he works for Monsanto. I said, "Oh, cool. Do you genetically engineer plants or do you do other bio-tech type of work? You guys do good things over there." He said, "No. I'm an architect. My friends were supposed to meet me here, and they never showed up." "Your co-workers?" I asked. "No," he said, "I just met them at another bar and they said they were leaving to come here." Poor Peter. I was very irritated at this point, because I was vocally tired from lack of sleep and I did not feel like screaming over loud subs, plus I could not hear him unless I got real close. Moreover, my co-workers did show up and I was trying to visit with them, only Peter took it upon himself to sit with all of us and would not let me speak to them. He said, "I'm sorry. I'm just trying to talk to you." I explained the whole vocally tired thing and said I try not to talk a lot on breaks. I have to mention, too, that my stalker was there and saw me talking to Peter. Well, he had to come over and say something, too and let himself be known to Peter, like Peter has competition or something. I finally got up and moved closer to my co-workers. The whole pretending to be a lesbian thing did not work on Peter, either, I have to add. Before I got up to move, Peter asked, "So, do you like the ocean?" Do I like the ocean? What sort of question is that? Which ocean? I searched for some smart-ass remark, with no avail. The best thing I could come up with was, "Yes. I like all of them. I like the Red, Adriatic, and Aegean seas, as well."
My co-workers and I watched Peter make several failed attempts at picking up other chicks, or anything that walked. It was depressing. He said he was married at one time, to a beautiful woman, but she left him. I wonder why? I am sorry, guys, all the money in the world can not make up for lack of personality. Maybe he could design a personality? It is too bad my transvestite friends were not there that night. My friend Amy said she wanted to remember Peter and tried to get his picture. At least I got a Heineken out of him.
To "Peter": May you find a gorgeous, gold-digging wife, who will sleep with you from time-to-time and never leave you.
Here, here!