A night of hockey!!

After many unsuccessful "dates," I don't even know if you'd call them that......God guys are so weird, a co-worker arranged a blind date. After each and every one of my encounters I swore I was done. So done.....but I'm a glutton for punishment. Although, years later it truly is comical the crap I did and the people I met.

I'm advised he's good looking and my height. I always got a lil bit on edge when told "my height." I'm 5'`10". If a guy is close to my height, bet on him lying. Guys don't like admitting to the short factor. Talked to him once on the phone and agreed to his arrangement of going to a hockey game. Heck...I'd never been to one, at least it'd be a new experience. I'm taking a positive approach on this one.

My man arrives, pullin' up in a black Thunderbird. That was the first indication I shoulda just shut the door in his face. He is not "my height." 5'8" at most with his steel toed boots on. I have real issues with guys shorter than me, so this has headed south just from an observation standpoint already. We had to stop and get gas before leaving town. (Unprepared, unacceptable) He asked me while we were sitting there if I wanted to change into a hockey jersey. 'Scuse me? You brought a hockey jersey along for me to wear? "Uhhh, no, I'm good. Thanks."

Was about an hour and a half drive. OMG he didn't shut up. I'm all about not having lengthy periods of awkward silence, but this was too much. Stupid stuff. Yap. Yap. Yap. I could have told you anything and everything you'd ever want to know about his 12 year old son. Oh, and I was taking his spot at the game tonight. It usually was a father/son thing, but he sacrificed the ticket for me. Spitty excitement grew when talking about getting pitchers of beer at the game. I quietly said, "Meh...I'm not really a fan of beer, but it's totally ok if you drink." Perhaps intoxication would be better.  We arrive at the arena parking lot and again, with some coaxing, he questioned if I truly didn't want to adorn myself in the hockey jersey. You know how that went.

Soooooo....I walk in and promptly plant my ass in the line up for beer. 90 minutes of that drive and I now love beer. And lots of it. You could have compared my consumption of the first 2 glasses to that of a thirsty nomad in a dessert who just found water. Eff staying sober for this. They were gone before we sat down.

Made it through whatever they have in hockey: periods, intermissions, whatever,  and then there was entertainment. It was time to Chuck the Puck into the arena. At some point during my drinking I missed him purchase not one or two pucks to chuck, but a whole freakin bag. There had to have been 30. I'm now reminded again, I am taking the place of his son. "Go ahead and throw them!!" Someone load the gun and shoot me now. These are not weighted pucks. They are foam pucks that are to be thrown into a 3 foot diameter circle on the ice. Mind you said son's seat that is occupied by me is in a corner. I'm cringing. Truly thinking, who can I call to come get me. I threw 2 and felt ummm, 12. I did not reach the center circle. Shit.

There was a large group of people engaging loudly with each other in front of us. Probably 3 rows by 8 seats. Drunk. Obnoxious. He strikes up a convo with one of the girls in the group. (Seriously God what have I done and what do I need to be forgiven for???) Turns out this was a group from a party bus that was celebrating someone's birthday and they drove 2 hours to come to the game. The girl invited him onto the bus afterwards. "Hey, Robyn, we can go party with them on the bus after the game, ya wanna?" Hold on one moment while I refrain from slappin yo ass and being the adult here with logic. 1) We have a car here. I *highly* doubt the party bus will take a u-turn from their trip and bring 2 people back to a parking lot 2) neither one of us know these people 3) they drove 2 hours to get here. I'm not hiding my perturbedness now. "No, we are not going on the bus."

"Really? Don't you think it'd be fun?"

"No. No I don't."

10 minutes later. "Are you sure you don't want to go hang out with them?" Look of death, followed by "We are not getting on that bus with them."

Game over. Unfortunately just the hockey game was over, I still had to endure this game of torture. We hadn't eaten supper prior to coming (if you know me, you know you don't let me get hungry). Now we will forge ahead and go out to eat. No really, you pick, you're driving. Okay, Applebees it is. I hate Applebees. I refrained from cursing, endlessly. I'm sorta thinking he's now seeing some light that this isn't going well. The trip to get food in my face was quiet. There was pre-planning to get to Applebees I was unaware of. We're going to Applebees cuz that's where the players go after the game AND WE CAN GET AUTOGRAPHS. HIS SON LOVES TO GO THERE. Is the gun loader truly on break?? I'd take a poisonous dart, a bat to the head, rusty nails in my eardrums. Please. This is like a step below minor leagues. High school players from the region. I. don't. want. any. fucking. autographs.

Food. Glorious food. Second on my list of faves for the night. I was facing a TV and ESPN was on. I could probably still tell you the brackets of who was racing that night in Funny Cars. I was focused on that freakin TV. We're served our food.

My friends will tell you I'm a human mirror.If you have shit in your teeth, I'll tell you. Crap on your face. I'll tell you. I only do this because I'm observant and it annoys the hell outta me to focus on something like that, so please remove stated item in wrong place. With that in mind......was did this nimrod order?? BABY BACK RIBS. I'm having flashblacks and want to vomit. Right now.

ESPN could no longer save me. He was pulling bones from his teeth. He laid a napkin out in front of him and made a pile of them. Bones. Being pulled out of the mouth and laid in front of me. Another White Russian please. Hey....here's the players, you wanna go get some autographs. Jesus Take The Wheel. Followed by (I shit you not) I wonder what the people on the bus are doing. Heavy sigh from across the booth.

I cleaned my plate in record time. With that observation, he kindly offered me some of his ribs. FML.

Oddly I remember walking out and him asking me to hold his coat so he could pee. Why does this even seem odd at this point. But I seriously thought through this. Why in God's name do I need to hold a man's coat so he can pee.

I did not say anything at all for the 90 minute ride home. The black T-bird finally returned me to my safe haven. He said, "Keep in touch." The door did not hit me in the ass.