POF. Take one.

      I should have left the moment I was done picking her up off the bar floor cause she was whipping her hair too aggressively, became disoriented and toppled over. I did not deserve this.
      I was on my very first pof date with a girl who I will refer to as Princess Beyonce, for reasons I don't want to get into now. I wanted to laugh and cry throughout the whole experience. Needless to say, things did not go as well as anticipated.
      I became intrigued with PB when I came across her profile during a late night pof sesh. She was cute and had written about herself on her page so I knew at once my two main requirements had already been fulfilled...attractive and literate. I struck pof gold and was in love. I gave her my number and she immediately began texting me the next day when I was nursing the worst hangover of my life. Have you ever tried to have a text conversation mid dry heave? Not fun. She was already annoying me and I should have taken that as a sign from the Gods but seeing as how I haven't had sex in a while (68 days 14 hours 37 minutes 9 seconds) I wasn't exactly in a position to be picky. She told me about a bar in West Hollywood that her and her friends go to every Wednesday and asked if I wanted to meet up. I of course agree and bring along my big hetero pof accomplice, Jessica. Why you ask? I'll tell you. On first dates I tend to overlook my potential future mate's personality/morals/character in lieu of her boobs/ass/any and all other body parts. Jessica, being the penis loving woman she is, is not distracted by a woman's delicate areas and can properly judge her on qualites that actually matter like intelligence, humor, sincerity, blah blah blah. We're a good team like that.
      Wednesday approaches and I'm giddy with anticipation of getting laid, I mean meeting a nice girl who could potentially be my better half. However, my dreams are quickly dashed when Jessica and I stroll into a tiny dive bar to find literally the drunkest girl I have EVER seen. There she is, my date. In all her inebriated beauty. I've never partied with Lindsay Lohan but I have to assume her drunken stupor is akin to what I was witnessing with Princess Beyonce.  Her and her roommates, who were equally as trashed, were all grinding on each other, pelvic thrusting, flinging their arms while intermittently making out. I felt dirty just watching them and thought it would maybe stop when we went over to say hello. It did not. I introduced myself and after PB stared at me for a solid 6 seconds trying to figure out who I was, she immediately started back 'dancing' (I use that term loosely). Jessica and I stood there giving each other that 'what the fuck is going on around us?' look while PB's hotmess roommate stuck a feather extension in Jessica's hair and told us how they guzzled a bottle of Jim Beam before entering the bar. Knowing this, I lose all hope of a successful date and all I can do is sit back and watch the hilarity unfold before my eyes.
      She throws herself around the bar for the next hour. She falls. She tries to speak but it sounds more like random sounds from outer space than actual words. She acknowleged my existance once, when she showed me a picture of her 3 lb. dog dressed in a Halloween sweater vest. She awkwardly kisses and caresses numerous girls right in front of me. She stumbles out of the bar without saying goodbye. She is Princess Beyonce. She is my very first pof date.