Princess MoMo

Click here for Part I of Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the third date.
 

We departed from The Olive Garden.  Where to? Some random bar in PA. What a sight to behold that was. For reasons unbeknownst to me, many of the patrons had cut-outs of their heads glued onto popsicle sticks. Sound weird? Yeah, that’s the type of shit that goes down in PA. My aversion to the Commonwealth is well founded. It was then that I spotted one of the soulless beings that walks the earth, a Ginger kid. To make matters worse, it was a double-headed Ginger kid because he had his standard head and then a second one on a popsicle stick. I feared that I might contract Gingervitis, but reassured myself that it is not airborne. I guzzled down an orangeberry goose (orangeberry goose = goose + cranberry juice + orange juice because crorange juice goose doesn’t sound right) and then we left.
 

(If you don’t know what a Ginger kid is, let our fearless leader Eric Cartman educate you: http://www.southparkstudios.com/full-episodes/s09e11-ginger-kids)
 

 
Next stop: A bar/restaurant showing the UFC fight that was on that night.   Now, up to that point in my more than a quarter century of life on this planet, I had not subjected myself to a UFC fight.  There’s a reason for that: I had/have no interest in that sort of barbaric display.    Mr. Lambo organizes cage fight events, so obviously, this was right up his alley.  Copernicus would have me believe that I am not the center of the universe. He’s dead, though, so to hell with his heliocentric ideology.  It’s fine that Mr. Lambo has interests that far diverge from my own, but why does that mean I have to be made to watch this crap, especially without warning?  When we had discussed hanging out that Friday, he said that he had planned to watch the fight and I genuinely responded that we could reschedule meeting up to another night.   I thought that was a clear signal that I did not want him to forgo watching the fight, but that I had no desire to join him.   Apparently, I was wrong.
 

So, there I was, amidst mostly men who were grunting and groaning as the goons on tv roughed up each other.   I couldn’t think of any place I’d rather be.  Oh wait, yes I could.  In fact, I could think of about 100 other places (e.g., a desert with no water – well, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration because I did have another orangeberry goose in hand).   For better or worse, when I’m dissatisfied, it is very obvious.   My guess is that my arms were crossed (except for when I was reaching for my beverage) and that my facial expression left no doubt about my discontent.  Naturally, I whipped out my device and facebook statused about my circumstances.  I asked Mr. Lambo how anyone could enjoy watching grown men injure one another.   He was visibly annoyed with my questioning and said we’d talk about it later.   I pressed the issue.  He got pissier, stating that the people in the place loved this “sport” and that if they heard me they’d be offended.
 

I was trying to entertain my mind with other thoughts so as to distract it from the bullshitary around me.  Suddenly, it dawned on me that I had yet to verify Mr. Lambo’s identity.  After Mr. Plane’s age deception, I had been more vigilant about the identity of my specimens.  I asked Mr. Lambo if I could see his driver’s license.  Initially, he denied my request.  My level of irritation grew.  Eventually, he showed me the ID, but I didn’t even want to see it anymore at that point.  I got up and disappeared for a while.  When I returned, Mr. Lambo and my coat had vanished.  One of the heathens that was sitting near us informed me that Mr. Lambo left with my coat.  I figured that Mr. Lambo wouldn’t just abandon me because he isn’t that much of a douche and leaving me to fend for myself in the forsaken land of PA would be an usually cruel thing to do.   I stepped outside and there he was, with my coat.  We left.  We chatted for a while and smoothed the tension.  We were back on good terms.  Eventually, he transported me back to my homeland of New Jersey.
 

The following night, New Year’s Eve, we hung out again (date four).  I am not going to detail the events that transpired that night because I permanently wrote off PA due to its incredible lameness.  I gave it a fair shot and it failed me.  On the other hand, my regard (I don’t like using the ‘f’ word – “feelings”) for Mr. Lambo increased.  He handles my sometimes erratic behavior very well and doesn’t lecture me.  He meets my snappiness with patience and kindness.   That’s as sappy as I’m getting.  The end.
 

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Related Posts: 

Click here for the initial online dating site exchange with Mr. Lambo.
Click here for Part I of Mr. Lambo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.
Click here for Part II of Mr. Lambo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.
Click here for Part III of Mr. Lambo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.
Click here for Part I of Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.
Click here for Part II of Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.
Click here for Mr. Lambo’s rendition of the facts of the second date.
Click here for Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the second date.
Click here for Part I of Mr. Lambo’s rendition of the facts of the third date.
Click here for  Part I of Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the third date.