Whoa, lady.

Whoa, lady.

Oh my gosh, I totally forgot about the crazy lady at The Burlington last night. I stopped in after practice for a few drinks and near the end of the evening this cute girl sat down next to me. She just sat there, looking around, nursing a drink, and I couldn't figure out if she was waiting to meet someone or not. She stood out slightly because she was dressed a little conservatively in comparison to the late-night hipsters still in the room, but the nice thing about that bar is that everyone is welcome and --- as long as you have a good attitude -- no one gets judged or anything.

After about 20 minutes she suddenly turns to me and asks if I went to ISU. I was surprised but said I had, but left in 1995. That was when she started going to school there, so it turned out that's not where she knew me from, but she insisted she had seen me before. Which is quite possible, I do tend to get out and about quite a bit.

The conversation meandered on for a bit until she took a weird detour and started going on and on about how much she hated The Burlington, the hipsters, and the attitude, and the only reason she even went there was because she lived 3 blocks away. Our opinions on this subject were obviously polar opposites, so I tried to argue with her, but realized it was futile when she took another left-turn and started going on about how she was a blogger, but everyone hated her because she was too honest, and that was the reason she hadn't had a date in, like, forever.

Huh?

I dug in a little deeper and it became obvious that what she was calling "honest" was in fact just her publicly belittling guys she slept with by making fun of the size of their genitalia, or their kissing methods. Which is all fine and good, I suppose. But when you do something like that how can you not expect it to have repercussions? And how can you possibly try to say that people should be more accepting of your honesty?

So she ranted a while longer, and then asked me if I would walk her to her car. Being the sort of guy that will always say yes to a request like that, I walked her to her car ... which was 5 feet from the front door. Oh well, whatever. She took off, I had a smoke, and then went inside to tell Nixon and Lizz -- who thought I had actually left with her ... yikes! -- about the exchange.

After it all, though, I have to admit, I really wish I had gotten the address of her blog. That would probably have made some super interesting reading.