Mr. Trash Can (March 24, 2011 dissection Part I)

Click here to read how we met.

Click here to read about our second encounter.

I met Mr. Trash Can on April 13, 2011.  Overall, our first date was enjoyable.  He’s attractive, intelligent and a decent conversationalist.  At one point, the conversation shifted to politics.  It stayed there for a bit until he said, “I really don’t like talking about politics.”  That was odd given that he spent as much time as he did on that topic.


Before parting ways, he said he wanted to see me again two days later.  I agreed.  But, I blew him off last minute because I opted to partake in some sin and Goose instead of meeting up with him.   (In other words, I went out to a birthday party rather than on a date with him.)  Understandably, he wasn’t thrilled with this move and didn’t want to reschedule.  No skin off of my ass.


But then, he did this thing where he periodically text messaged me.  His initiating text most often read, “Hi Princess.”  This behavior annoyed me.  For one, I don’t like engaging in text conversations unless the conversation is filled with highly amusing banter.  Second, if he didn’t want to hang out with me, what was the point of these dumbass texts?  Third, his text writing style is like that of a middle schooler.  The first few times, I called in response to his lame initiation texts.  We’d always end up talking for an hour or so, but that’s primarily because I’m a particularly loquacious individual.  After some time, I became more discriminating in my responses.  If I wasn’t in the mood for him, I just responded dismissively or not at all.  Then, on August 5, 2011, he caught me on a night when I hadn’t committed to prior plans.  He asked if I wanted to grab a cocktail with him.  His text read, “Cockails?”  I told him it was a friend’s birthday and asked if he wanted to go.  He agreed, which was excellent for me because it provided me with a designated driver.


I drove to his place and was disappointed by his poor decision to wear a plaid flannel shirt.  I asked him to change.  Thankfully, he did.  I would have hated to be out with a plaid flannel shirt wearing specimen accompanying me.  After the shirt change, we sat on his balcony for a while, pregamed and chatted.  Again, the conversation shifted to politics.  He got into it for a bit and then, once again, said, “I don’t like talking about politics.”   We went out.  He doesn’t dance or really let loose.  But, he was cool with me disappearing and reappearing throughout the night, which was good because I like roaming.


We texted within days of that encounter.  But, then nothing for about a month.  At that point, my response reverted to dismissive.  After that, for 3.5 months, he made no contact.  Then, on January 12, 2012, he texted, “So, while using my time in the most productive and conscientious  way I could muster at work today. I found myself reading the days usual dribble of fb posts. Upon so, fb in its infinite wisdom and some may say physic ability. Suggested I become friends with one Princess MoMo. While not acting upon fb’s ‘suggestion’ I did find myself riveted by the Princesses most recent literary styling…  Superb job on providing such a welcomed and much needed aberration…”


I didn’t respond.  I felt no need to given the 3.5 month hiatus.  On March 3, he texted his standard bullshit, “Hi princess.”  Again, I didn’t respond.  On March 16, he texted again.  This time, I responded.  Following is the exchange:


Mr. Trash Can: Hi :-)

Mr. Trash Can: Lol

Princess MoMo: Hi

Mr. Trash Can: What’s new and exciting

Princess MoMo: Nothing

Mr. Trash Can: Fun…

Mr. Trash Can: U out tonight?

Princess MoMo: Nope

Mr. Trash Can: Wtf…??? No species

Princess MoMo: Specimens*

Princess MoMo: No

Mr. Trash Can: Lol auto correct

Mr. Trash Can: Excuse me…

Princess MoMo: MoMo correct


On March 24, he struck again.  Below is the message exchange.


So, I got dressed and drove over there.


To Be Continued…


Why is he named Mr. Trash Can?  Learn why here:





comments: 0 »

You must be logged in to post a comment.