Princess MoMo

How We May Or May Not Have Met
On October 27, 2008, I met a new friend in DC. During my last few months in the District, I met several people through that friend. Mr. Surprises may or may not have been one of those people. On December 7, 2008, I attended a party with the friend. Maybe Mr. Surprises was there, but maybe he wasn’t. If he wasn’t, then he friended me on facebook based on a mutual connection from that party. I never saw him again[?]…that is, until December 16, 2011.

On December 6, 2011, he sent me a facebook message. The exchange is below.

Mr. Surprises: Hi MoMo,

I’ll be in the City for office Christmas party the night of Dec 15 (next Thursday) and probably the following night as well and would love to have a drink or two with you and hang out if you could come up. What I have in mind is strictly platonic, but I bet we’ll have a blast though. Let’s work on dispelling those “intelligence vampire” rumors

Look forward to seeing you next Thursday!
Mr. Surprises

Princess MoMo: I actually live somewhat far (about an hour and 15 minutes) from the City. So, if you want to meet up, I could do it on Friday, but not Thursday.

Mr. Surprises: Excellent. Friday it is then, Your Highness! My cell is 202REDACTED. I’ll be staying in midtown. Shoot me your number and I’ll call you closer to the day with specifics.

We spoke prior to the 12/16 meeting.  I asked if he recalled how we met.  He did not.   You might be wondering why this guy who didn’t even remember whether he met me wanted to hang out with me three years after becoming facebook friends.  I asked him that.  He responded, “I feel like I know you through all of your posts.”  As he later told one of my friends, he’s a fan of my blog.  And who could blame him? (My modesty is overwhelming, I know.)  Anyway, I got his clearance to blog about him before meeting up because I didn’t want to deal with another cry baby specimen complaining about how his feelings were hurt because I posted about him.   He said he didn’t care, but left out a few critical details.  We’ll get to those details.  Keep reading.

The Meeting
I drove into NYC and valeted it at his hotel in Times Square, per his instruction. He was outside when the MoMo-mobile and I arrived. He looked good. Really good. He was attired in a pin-striped suit, a striped shirt (pattern overload, but it worked) and an A/X belt (I observed he had a predilection for A/X, I guess it’s an Eastern European thing).  Notably, I was wearing a furry zebra print and pink santa hat.

I grabbed my overnight bag (PSA: drive sober, or get pulled over) and brought it up to his room, which had a fabulous view of West 42nd and the NYE Apple (pictured above).  Surprise 1: A bottle of Goose awaited us.  But, there was no chaser.  Surprise 2: I’m not a straight Goose drinking gangster.  I made a good faith effort to drink the undiluted Goose, but the process was too inefficient. He acquired a Sprite to speed up the consumption. We sat in the room from approximately 11 p.m. to 2 a.m. talking. The mental masturbation was unparalleled.  Mr. Surprises is brilliant. I’m into brains and his is dead sexy. He completely understands my thought process, which VERY few can even come close to comprehending. Granted, he had read much of my blog material which is certainly a window into my psychological sanctuary. For example, I told him that I am not much of a reader. I said, “There’s a reason why I do not read.” He replied, “Because you don’t want your views to be influenced by those of others.” He was directly on point. His perceptiveness was unmatched and his artificial scent was so seductive. (Dating advice: Wear cologne.)

At one point, I mentioned the Princess MoMo Bird (my body art). I logged onto facebook to show him a photograph of this endangered species. He said, “You’re right here; why don’t you just show me?” I exposed the natural habitat of the Princess MoMo Bird (commonly known as my rib cage). He caressed the bird and commented on luxuriousness of my skin.

I was satisfied with the mutual cerebral stroking that was occurring in the room. But, his hunger struck. One of my favorite female friends texted that she wanted to meet up (based on a facebook status, she saw that I was in Times Square and texted me a rendezvous proposition).

We exited the hotel room on a mission to meet up with my friend and secure some comida. We walked arm in arm. I was really feeling this guy and the Goose had set in. I brazenly said, “I know you live in DC and I live in Jersey, but I hate most people. I like you, though. I’d want to date you.” He responded in an unsatisfactory way, something to the effect of “Thank you.” I asked, “Well, would you want to date me?” Then came the biggest of surprises. Surprise 3: He replies, “I’m married, you know that, right?”

What, motherfucker? Do I know that? Hell no!!! What the fuck? Really? Ummm…..WHAT?!!!!!???@#!?@#! WHAT@#$@$*@)#Q@ Yeah, that was pretty much my reaction. I said, “No, umm, I did not know that. What the fuck?” I immediately discontinued the arm in arm embrace. A little piece of me died. My mind quickly reverted to Vanilla Ice mode and internally said, “If there was a problem, Yo, I’ll solve it.” I spurted out, “That’s fine. You can get divorced.” He said, “I tried.” Okay. Maybe this could be okay. Wrong. No. I said, “You don’t have any kids, do you?” Come on, son!! Yes, a son. He has one. Fuck. He said, “I do, didn’t you see I have a photo album of him on facebook?” No. I’m not a facebook stalker. I didn’t see that shit. What the mother and son fuck? Surprise 4: This specimen is not only married, but with child. WHAT THE FUCK?!?#!$#@#%^#^$%#^% WHAT THE FUCK?@#$@$%(#$%*)@ Figures. Finally, a guy to whom I’m attracted on so many levels and it turns out he’s married with spawn. Figures.

Mr. Surprises began rationalizing his position by saying that he explicitly stated in his facebook message that his intentions were “strictly platonic.” In fairness, he did use those exact words. But, in further fairness, more frequently than you might think (in fact, at least twice in week Mr. Surprises messaged me), male specimens attempt to lure in female specimens with “platonic” bait.  Apparently, Mr. Surprises is a master baiter. (Shout out to Mr. Flip!)

Alright. So we’re on our way to meet up with my homegirl and I’m not in optimal MoMo-mobile operating condition, so I have to cope with these newly discovered facts. But, I’m PISSED, disappointed, and shocked. We arrive at the diner. Homegirl isn’t there yet. I ask the diner owner if he’s married. He responds affirmatively. I follow up with, “Well, would you invite a strange woman to your hotel room while away on a business trip?” Without hesitation, he says, “No.” Finally, my girl arrives with friend.

The next scene, no doubt, should have been filmed. I am a very animated character. Homegirl showed up with a “friend” of hers. The four of us sat down and I immediately began describing my ordeal in standard Jersey rhetoric (meaning I dropped more F-bombs than bees on honey). Homegirl’s “friend” played the role of instigator. Mr. Surprises acted out the role of victim. Homegirl was somewhat of the moderator. I, of course, debuted as drama princess.  Example of some of the conversation:

Moderator: When did you find out he was married?
Me: On the walk over here!!!!!
Victim: But I did say my intentions were strictly platonic.
Instigator: So if she wanted to smash, would you?
Victim: Yes.
Instigator: Where he’s from, it’s normal to have a wife and a girlfriend.
Me: Shut the fuck up.

I Picasso-ed the picture: I drove to NYC to meet with a specimen with the blatant intentions of crashing with him, bonded with him for HOURS and come to find out he’s married!!! Mr. Surprises interjected, “But, it was public on my facebook.” At this point, I was baffled that notwithstanding my non-stalker facebook tendencies, I had overlooked his alleged married relationship status. I retrieved my device and pulled up Mr. Surprises’s facebook page. Lo and behold, his page did NOT reflect that he is married. Not-Surprise 1: I had not overlooked a critical piece of information. Thankfully, this diner served alcohol. I ordered a bagel and a Grey Goose, cran and orange. Despite my high level of irritation with Mr. Surprises’s nuptial situation, I was still attracted to him and his cologne continued to captivatingly dance through my nasal passages. Words, even mine, cannot adequately convey the spectacle that I put on at that diner.  If ever there were a time in which there should have been a camera crew present, this was it.  Around 4:30 a.m., we departed from the diner.

Once back in the room, he attempted to entice me with more Goose. However, it was well past my bedtime and I didn’t want anymore external forces acting on my thinking organ. I entered the bathroom and conducted a wardrobe change. I put on my standard nightwear: a onesie (not the zebra onesie, though).

Tempted by my irresistible PJs, he offered me a back massage. I told him that I often wished I had a massaging monkey in my office to work out the back knots that twist themselves up during the day. In other words, I accepted his offer. Clearly, he was trying to get his swerve on. Still disturbed by his marital status, I asked, “Do you have a conscience?” He expressed his discomfort with the interrogating path I was paving. In short, his sentiment was that he didn’t see anything wrong with a little bump and grind. Meanwhile, my mind was telling me no, but my body, yes my body, was telling me yes.   I ultimately sided with my mind.

***

I awoke bright and early in the morning.  I woke him up.  The daytime ongoings were uneventful.  I asked him to call the front desk and request that they pull the MoMo-mobile up to the front of the hotel.  After about 30 minutes (the amount of time the nighttime valet guy said it would take to retrieve my vehicle), we descended from the room.  My head space was kind of fucked up because I wasn’t sure what to make of this encounter.    In the elevator, he said he wanted to be friends.  I explained that I wasn’t willing to engage in more than a facebook friendship because I don’t like being deprived of things I want (meaning that because he isn’t available to fill the position I would want him in, I don’t want any extracyber contact with him).

We spotted my car at the curb.  The daytime valet guy entered it to pull it up to the front of the door.  He immediately knocked the zebra-print steering wheel cover off of the steering wheel.  I watched this in semi-horror.  He then proceeded to turn the wheel to the left.  As he pulled out of the spot, it became fairly obvious that he was going to hit my front bumper into the parked car in front of him.  He was turning the wheel very slowly, though.  Mr. Surprises and I commented in stereo, “No!”  But, it turned out to be yes.  This fucker hit (lightly) the car in front of mine.  Needless to say, I was livid.  I approached the doorman and said, “Dude, what the fuck type of shit is that? I’m fucking standing right here and the valet guy knows that, yet he hits a parked car? It would be one thing if I weren’t right here, but really?”  The doorman responded, “It’s not okay, whether or not you’re standing here.”  In an effort to compensate for the bullshit performance by the valet guy, the doorman opened three of my car doors (because he didn’t know who was driving and how many passengers were entering the MoMo-mobile).  Surprisingly, I wasn’t too pissed at this point because I was tired and it didn’t appear as though the car was damaged.  I bid Mr. Surprises farewell.

Shortly into my trip home, Mr. Surprises texted me, “Momo, it was a pleasure hanging out with you. Btw, I am smoking outside and the valet guy is taking major shit from the doorman for you. He called him a “stupid prick.” Momomobile is avenged :)” It was not my intention to have the doorman condescend to the valet guy. I simply reacted out of raw annoyance at witnessing the valet guy bang up my mode of transportation.

My mind was so overwhelmed with thoughts on the drive home that I made several wrong turns. I wasn’t sure what to make of this encounter. I’m still not sure.  Experiences like this detract from the hopeless romantic side of me and enhance my inner cynic.  This specimen that seemed so wonderful demonstrated a flagrant disregard for his spouse.  It made me seriously question ever getting married.

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