Apparently, strippers hate me. Or maybe they really love me, but in that OJ "I'll show you my love by beating the shit out of you" kind of way. Either way, I rarely have an encounter with a stripper that doesn't end in some sort of bodily injury for me.

Last October at Madden's bachelor party, a lovely stripper raised my left arm above my head (sort of sexy), leaned in (very sexy) and bit me on my tricep four times very hard (not sexy! not sexy! not sexy!). I had four huge purple bruises on my arm for weeks. It was ridiculous. And of course, the indignity was multiplied when I had to explain the bruises (I think I'm constitutionally unable to lie. Thanks, Dad!) to my friends, co-workers and mother. Swish.

So the odds of me being singled out by a stripper for physical harm again were pretty slim, right? Within minutes of the strippers arriving at Pete's bachelor party, one of them climbs on my lap (very sexy), stands up on my thighs (sort of sexy) and stomps up and down on my thighs with her high heels (not sexy! not sexy! not sexy!). I screamed at her to get off me, but that only encouraged her. The other guys at the bachelor party of course thought it was hilarious, as I definitely would have were the abuse happening to someone else. But I was pissed.

After I walked outside and fumed for a few minutes, I came back in. While the stripper didn't apologize, she and her friend then did some other stuff to make me forgive them rather quickly. Strippers - I can't stay mad at you.

Speaking of Madden, everyone say "Happy Birthday" to the little fella. He's getting very VERY old, so speak loudly. He has a hard time hearing through the Depends he wears on his head.