Years ago, I used to drive through Philly very often on my travels back and forth between Jersey and DC. One billboard always caught my attention. It says, “I HATE STEVEN SINGER.” Every time I saw it, I wondered what it is about. But, by the time I’d get to my destination, I’d have forgotten to Google it. Within the last month, that billboard coincidentally came up in conversation and I was informed that Steven Singer is the name of a jewelry store. Aside from my curiosity about the sign, I couldn’t care less about Steven Singer; however, there is another Singer in Philly who is the subject of my hate: Brandon.
How we met: I met Brandon Singer on July 2005 through an online dating site. I was 20 years old at the time. He came to visit me at the sorority house in which I lived. I’m not going to delve very deep into the details of that meeting because I have a lot to cover in this post. In short, I found him amusing. That same night, he asked me to attend a wedding with him (on July 16, 2005) the weekend following our first meeting. A fan of spontaneity, I agreed. I ended up spending the weekend at his house. We saw each other once more in 2005 and then lost touch. At some point years later, we became facebook friends. From time to time we’d interact on the social media site.
Fast-forward to 2010. On May 30, 2010, I boarded a cruise ship headed to Bermuda. On said ship, I met a wonderful couple. I stayed in touch with them via facebook after the trip. My interaction was more frequent with the female than with the male. We made plans to hang out several times, but for one reason or another, the plans always fell through. In January 2012, I received an invitation to their wedding. I was honored. The wedding date was Sunday, February 19, 2012.
Because I wouldn’t know anyone other than the bride and groom, I wanted to invite a date. My intention was to take Mr. Lambo. However, we “broke up” on Valentine’s Day, mere days before the wedding. I still really wanted to take him, but I didn’t want to mislead him or become more emotionally invested that relationship. Out of the blue, Brandon Singer commented on something on my blog or on facebook. Almost as a joke, I messaged him saying I have a wedding to attend that upcoming weekend and asking if he wanted to join. Mind you, I had not seen him in 6.5 years and if I never seen him again, I’ll consider it good fortune.
Princess MoMo: I have a wedding to go to this coming Sunday. haha want to come?
Brandon Singer: haha possibly, we do have a history of rocking out at weddings together…are you being serious?
Princess MoMo: Possibly.
Brandon Singer: Well I possibly have some questions then: Where is said wedding? Friends or family? Most importantly, is it an open bar?
I had a bad gut feeling about inviting Brandon Singer, but I attributed it to guilt or some other emotional side effect related to the Mr. Lambo breakup. I pictured Lambo there with me, not this back-in-the-day specimen, but I needed a date, figured Brandon Singer would entertain me and thought it would make for a good story. (See, I’m always thinking of my readers in arranging my personal affairs.)
The night before the wedding, Brandon Singer and I spoke to finalize plans for the following day. We agreed to take separate cars and meet at the wedding. He then went out drinking with his boys.
Later that night, I texted Brandon Singer the address where he was to meet me the next morning. About 20 minutes later, he responded, “your timing is impeccable.” Below is the rest of the text exchange:
Brandon Singer: b/c I’m drunk :)
Brandon Singer: What time should I meet you there?
MoMo: Get there whenever but at the latest by 1130
MoMo: You better be functional tomorrow
Brandon Singer: Come on! Would you expect anything less?
I woke up bright and early in the morning as is my custom. I primped and prepped myself and then got in the MoMo-mobile and hit the road. At 10 am, I had not heard from Brandon Singer. I mapped the distance between Philly (where he lives) and the wedding destination. The two locations are 115 miles apart. I thought, “This fucker better be on the road.” I called him. No answer. I texted, “Wtf.” No answer. Twenty minutes later, I still had not heard from him. I called again. No answer. I followed up with a text, “You’re making me nervous.” I then called a bff of mine and told him that I suspected Brandon Singer had irresponsibly gotten wasted beyond belief the previous night and was still asleep. My bff suggested that perhaps Brandon Fucker was in the car and couldn’t get to his phone. My intuitions are very sharp; the problem is that I don’t always follow them. I KNEW Brandon Singer was going to fail me.
How I met that bff: One night in March of 2008, I decided to dye my hair. I lived in DC at the time, but was visiting NJ for the weekend. The hair dye had to process on my head for about 45 minutes. I wanted someone to telephonically entertain me in the meantime. Because it was a weekend night, most of the people with whom I associated were out and about. So, I posted an ad on craigslist under the DC strictly platonic section, explaining my situation. The bff answered. Later that weekend, I returned to DC. We continued chatting on aim and the phone for the next couple of days. Then, I asked him if he wanted to accompany me to the best show on earth. I am talking, of course, about the Barnum & Bailey Circus, which was in town that week. On March 27, 2008, we attended one of the greatest performances I have ever seen and we’ve been bffs ever since. I even have the bff bear to prove it. (The bff bear is a bear wearing a bff shirt. No one is officially a bff unless there’s a bff bear involved.)
And now back to February 19, 2012: At 10:42 am (less than an hour and a half before the wedding), Brandon Singer texted, “I’m so sorry, I just woke up, I’m gonna have to bail. I feel like shit and I’m pretty sure that my nose is broken.” My first thought was, “I hope your nose is broken and if not, I would like to come over and arrange for it to be.” I called him. No answer. He wouldn’t even give me the satisfaction of yelling at him. So, I responded via text, “You’re an asshole.”
I was livid and I had to think quickly to replace my wedding date. I ran an analysis in my head. Mr. Lambo lived too far and I didn’t want to make him feel second rate, in addition to the initial reasons for not taking him. The most critical factor in my decision on a replacement was proximity because of the tight time frame.
TO BE CONTINUED…
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