Okay, so the “date” with Coffee Guy II…

Like every initial meeting with a man, this one took place at a coffee shop. You know — coffee, the beverage I don’t drink. The beverage I tell men I don’t drink when they ask “do you want to get coffee sometime?” The beverage that I find offensive in both taste and smell. So with all of that info on the table — and then blatantly glossed over, it was agreed we’d meet at Caribou Coffee or Starbucks or some other similar shithole establishment.

Now as anyone who knows me can attest, I am in no way a fashion plate but when I agree to meet a man in a public place, I try to get my shit together so as not to embarrass either him or myself. So in this case, I threw on a pair of jeans, some brown Sketchers, and a rugby sweater, and drug myself out the door to meet CG II, who obviously did not subscribe to the same theory. At the risk of sounding like a total bitch (oh fuck that, I AM a total bitch), words fail to capture the jaw dropping horror of the ensemble CG II put together.

But I’ll give it a shot.

Bright blue Dickies coverall…

a brown leather baseball jacket…

and motorcycle boots.

Now put that on a 5′5 frame and top it off with Uncle Jesse’s hair from FULL HOUSE.

And yet, I could’ve found all that quirky and (possibly) kind of cute if he hadn’t been so damn aggressively confident and open about his various accomplishments and interests. Maybe on a different day, I might’ve seen it differently (in all honesty, I was on the cusp of coming down with pneumonia) but his ego just killed any benefit of the doubt I might’ve otherwise extended.

“Dirk?” he asked the second I walked in the door.

I forced a weak smile. “That’d be me…”

And so it began. “It” being my crash course in the self-proclaimed awesomeness that is Coffee Guy II, a west coast Baptist who took the road less travelled by other members of his family (i.e., medicine and the church) and instead forged his own path in the world of publishing. So what if it was in the small press arena — his books regularly sold out and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…

Somewhere during this seemingly never ending monologue, I was drawn back to reality when he leaned in, lifted his left buttock and emitted a clearly audible fart, followed by a low sigh which blew coffee breath my way.

***Record scratch***

I looked at CG II, blinked, looked to my left, blinked once more, then trained my eyes back on him.

Unphased, he segued into a “humorous” tale involving a camping trip with a band of militant lesbians. Suffice it to say, a lone gay man doesn’t stand a snowball’s chance in Hell of changing the mind of the army of Sapphos when it comes to the literary relevance of Clive Cussler over Jane Austen. At least I think that’s what he said because as I sat there feigning interest, he once again leaned in, lifted his left buttock, farted, then sighed. The beginnings of a smile playing at the corners of my mouth, as I tried to ascertain if he realized I was sitting across from him and able to see and hear everything.

Somewhere during a story wherein he taught his primary care doctor a lesson in respect (hey! — that doctor wasn’t the only one who went to college and he made sure he realized it), he completed the “making a windy” trifecta. At that point, I just cradled my face in my hands and waited for the next anal salute from the gluteal tuba.

Finally, a pre-arranged call from “a friend in need” — big hugs to Mia — came in and I made the initial gestures to end this most bizarre encounter (”nice meeting you…maybe we’ll chat again online at some point…blah blah bitty bitty blah blah”). I thought I was about to extricate myself pretty painlessly when he reached across the table, put one hand on top of mine, and looked me square in the eye.

“Dirk, I’m going to say something I bet you don’t hear a lot — I’d like to see you again.”

Slow blink.

Ouch.

At that point there was no more holding it in — I burst out laughing.

Coffee Guy II smiled a sincere smile. “You have a wonderful laugh. I hope to be able to make you do that a lot more in the future.”

Well, that little comment was like ice water on a hard-on.

“Yeah, well that’s a nice thought…I need to get going.”

As we made our way out the door, he turned to me and asked when he could look forward to hearing from me again.

As the phrase “beggars can’t be choosers” echoed through my head, I bit my bottom lip and looked at the ground. “I’m not very good at this, so I’m just going to say it: you’re a nice man…but this…thing…today made me realize I’m not over my ex-boyfriend…”

“Oh.” I got the really odd feeling at that moment that rejection wasn’t something he had to deal with much.

An awkward silence followed.

Finally, he extended a hand and I shook it.

“Call me anyway — sometimes the best way to get over a man is to start dating another one.”

Wow. Some people just don’t get the subtle.

And cue curtain on Coffee Guy II.