Pocketful of Peens: August 22nd 2012

One strike- you’re out!


Take me out to the ballgame, take me out with a douche bag. Wait ‘til you hear what happened with this happy horseshit creep. When it comes to the rules of dating, America’s favorite pastime can’t lend you its rules. A girl should never give a guy three strikes until he’s out.


First off (and I knew better), never accept a friend request from a boy on Facebook you don’t know! No matter how hot his ass is. I now cling to the notion that someone who recently went through a break-up should never Facebook alone. That breakup crap will mess you up, no doubt. You’ll be creeping, doing all sorts of shady stuff on Facebook; like accepting friend requests from strangers, thinking they could be your next boyfriend. Not logical! I speak from embarrassing experience, as I was whittled away to a shell of myself after a heart-wrenching breakup. Forgive a girl for enjoying some sprinkles of a cute boy’s attention.


Anyway, this unnamed MLB baseball player added me as a friend. I was beyond naïve, thinking “Wow he must think I’m so pretty that he felt compelled to add me. I am sure this is the first time he’s ever done something like this.” After my regretful acceptance of his friendship, he quickly began chatting me up. Initially I thought he worked for this unnamed MLB team, in the marketing department or something fun like that. He quickly made it clear he was rolling in the dirt, 100% professional baseball player. Shows how much I care about baseball- didn’t even know the roster. Although I am sure some jersey-chasing floosies have the roster pinned up in their bedroom, eager to pounce on the next player of the week.


I was shamefully giddy and flattered that this MLB player was paying me a lick of attention. It’s beyond stupid I would even let that flattery go to my head. A few more days passed of meaningless, bored to tears Facebook chatting. The entire time I knew I was bored. I knew this guy was a terrible speller. I knew I hated his overuse of emoticons. But, I left that chat window open and kept on coming back for me. What a silly little fool I was.


He finally asked to meet me in person. My initial instinct was “is he going to murder me?” As he delved into the proposed plans for our first date, visions of strolling through the park and eating ice cream together danced in my head. I am pretty sure visions of kinky sex and crude emoticons were dancing in his. Looking back now, I want to shake myself and slap my face. What the hell was I thinking? I’ll tell you what I was hoping. I was hoping this would be the next greatest love story or country song America ever heard. This is the difference between many guys and girls. Girls think of a potential future and a guy thinks of potential sex positions before he hits it and quits it. Another lesson is the hotter the guy, the more of a dick he probably is. No offense to the handsome chaps out there who are decent human beings. But there are a lot of peens out there giving the lookers a terrible reputation.


Okay let me get to the good part. MLB (we’ll call him that for the rest of the story) asks me to meet him at his hotel. My reaction, though I didn’t express it verbally, was “get your ass in a car and come pick me up.” Surely a pro baseball player has some wheels he wants to flaunt like a jackass. Second, hell no I’m not meeting you at your hotel. Did you mean to add me as a friend on Facebook? Or did you think you were purchasing a one-hour joy ride from a Dallas brothel? The kicker was he told me I’d better be wearing cute underwear. Excuse me…I’m not that kind of girl. I quickly told him this and he retracted, claiming he was just kidding. It all hit me like a ton of bricks. I was the odd-man-out in this situation, who didn’t see the signs from the beginning.


I am sure MLB has a collection of girls on speed dial, eager to bang him for the night and hook up next time he’s in town. This was my true first experience with supreme dickish expectations. I had always gravitated towards the bookish, safe guys who would never pull a slimy stunt like this. They dated the old-fashioned way, not expecting sex on the first encounter. Shocking!


Thinking back on it all now, MLB did nothing wrong. He simply acted as he does with all virtual Facebook girls and they simply come running. That’s what I did. Impressed by his shiny, professional baseball bat and the number he wore on his back. However, I was running for the fairytale, unaware sex came before love in his version.


I guess I got my satisfaction in the end. I Googled his name (of course) and there were several documented anecdotes citing how creepy and slithery this cat is. I feel slightly comforted that there were other naïve little girls in the Metroplex fooled by his charm and blinded by his attractive face. It’s like the Sisterhood of the Traveling Jockstrap. From the tales these girls were rattling off, I fared better then some of them.


My new rule I’m adding to the playbook: don’t get tangled up with an athlete who is arrogant. Stick to the bookish boys with big brains and pure hearts.


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