Princess MoMo

Mr. Halloween and Mr. Hashtag

It’s been a while since I’ve regaled you with my dating tales and misadventures. To make up for lost time, I will introduce you to two characters in this entry.

It was a cold Halloweeny October 31, 2017. One we will call Mr. Halloween and I matched on Bumble.  Messages ensued.  One thing led to another and next thing I know, he was inviting me to the Halloween parade.  However, he insisted that I appear costumed as Princess Jasmine.  That was not logistically feasible.  We agreed, instead, to meet at a venue after the parade.  When I arrived home from work, I really didn’t feel like Jasmining.  I threw on a Cookie Monster hat and went as Cookie MoMonster.

He was decked out in a pirate costume.  We entered the venue and had a drink.  Conversation was difficult because the music was very loud.  There was nothing notable in the conversation, nor really in the night for your purposes.  Long story short, alcohol makes everything better.  At the end of this escapade, we exchanged numbers.

The next day it dawned on me: I couldn’t pick this motherfucker out of a line up – unless he was attired as a pirate.  Via text, he asked me to send him some of the pics we’d taken together because he wanted to make one his Facebook profile picture.  In my head, that seemed fine because those were the only pics he had of him in his costume, which took him a while to put together.  I checked his Facebook profile and sure enough, there was my Cookie Monster hatted face next to his.  You know, I had recently gotten out of a seven month relationship and the ex boyfriend never made a cameo into my profile pic.  But, alas, this surely wasn’t even close to the most “too soon” thing that had happened after a first date.  There was the time when I met a guy’s parents and extended family on date one…

Because I was displayed in his profile picture, I didn’t think it too forward to add him on Facebook.  So, I sent the request.  That was Wednesday (the day after we met).  Fast forward to Thursday; enter Mr. Hashtag.

Mr. Hashtag had been messaging me on Bumble for some time.  I wasn’t tremendously interested (or really, at all interested), but he was persistent.  I get got by persistence.  It’s like a war of attrition.  They keep asking and my noes (the plural of ‘no’ – yeah, it looks weird AF to me too) get weaker.  I agreed to meet Mr. Hashtag for drinks.  He picked the place.

I arrived on time, stood outside, and messaged him on Bumble that I was there.  He replied that he was en route via Uber and would be there in a few.  Soon thereafter, he surfaced.  He approached me and said, “Is this the place?” Ok. One, you picked it. Two, the Uber dropped you off here. Three, I’m standing in front of it.  Four, there’s a sign with the name on it.  So, yes, it’s the place.  We walked in and were informed that there were no spots at the bar and that tables were for dinner and drinks, not just drinks.  He seemed to have an internal debate externally and ultimately decided we’d find another place.  Indecision = unappealing.  We walked for a bit looking at different places until finally I said, “Let’s just go here.”  (Side note: during this walk, he mentioned he liked spicy things.)  He commented on my decisiveness.  I’m not about that scavenger hunt life.  At some point, someone needs to pull the trigger.  So, I pulled it.

The place wasn’t terribly exciting in any regard.  But I could hear him and they served alcohol.  Again, he was indecisive about his drink.  I had a Moscow Mule, which was just ok.  When it was time for drink two, we decided to switch it up. I forgot what I had, but again it was just ok.  Drink three the bartender suggested a margarita.  I said, “Ok.” And Mr. Hashtag said, “Samesies.”  Hold the train.  Hold the whole fucking train. “Samesies?” Under no circumstance other than a very clear verbatim quote should a grown man (or even woman, for that matter) utter the word ‘samesies.’  What had I done? Why did I agree to this date?  To add insult to injury, he kept prefacing words and statements with ‘hashtag.’  For example, he said, “Hashtag West Coast.”  I snapped and said, “You know this is real life, not Twitter, right? You don’t have to hashtag anything.”  I decided to post a status message on Facebook about this hashtag nonsense.  Shortly thereafter, Mr. Halloween accepted the friend request I had sent.  I tried to change the privacy settings on the status to prevent Mr. Halloween from seeing it, but Facebook didn’t recognize the fresh friendship. So, whatever.

In the meantime, the previously empty bar stools started to fill up.  Initially, I was seated one stool away from the end with my bag on the end stool to my left and Mr. Hashtag to my right.  The bar stool to Mr. Hashtag’s right was vacant, yet this Dexter-looking (note: I do not know what Dexter looks like, but I know he’s a serial killer and that’s what the reference is based on) individual decided he wanted to replace my bag on the end seat.  So, I asked Mr. Hashtag to move one seat to his right and I shift my ass and my bag accordingly to accommodate Dexter.  Then, to Mr. Hashtag’s right another character was seated.

The bartender asked us what we thought of the Margaritas.  Mr. Hashtag commented that it was too spicy.  Now, the drink definitely had an unexpected (yet to me, pleasant) kick to it; however, he had made a point to express his like for spicy things earlier – so what was happening here?  Anyway, I sided with him and said to the bartender that it was quite good, but that people should be warned.  Mr. Hashtag got up to use the restroom.  Already in conversation with the bartender, I continued on to ask what the point of the salt on the side of the glass was because it wasn’t in a Margarita glass and there was a straw in the drink – thus, the liquid would have no opportunity to interact with the salt rendering the salt moot and, in fact, annoying because it was getting on my hands.  Enter dude to the right of Mr. Hashtag.  He decided to interject with his commentary on the salt’s purpose.  I said, “What’s your name?”  He said something that apparently is the equivalent of Matt in Polish, but it sounded like Mitsubishi to me.  I said, “Look here, Mitsubishi, you’re missing the point of how on this particular drink the salt doesn’t make sense.”  Creepy as fuck Dexter to my left seemed amused by my antics – which I thought was good because perhaps he’d spare my life.

Mr. Hashtag returned.  I then excused myself to use the restroom.  Upon my return, I found out that the cast of characters was trying to throw shade on me.  I sat down and Mr. Hashtag, with genuine concern in his eyes, asked, “Are you a sweet girl?”  Ok. At this point, he had interacted with me for at least 1.5 hours.  He should be able to make his own basic assessment.  I knew that either Mitsubishi or Dexter, or both, were responsible for this mental pollution.  I asked him, “Who said something to you?”  He said, “No one.”  Lies.  I pressed him and he said, “A couple people.”  By process of elimination, I narrowed it down to Mitsubishi and Dexter.

I was disappointed in Hashtag for being so impressionable.  I said, “Look at these guys.  One looks like a serial killer and the other is sitting there in a state of total loserdom.”  Mitsubishi then started trying to solicit him saying, “Hey, man. Come do shots with me. I’m not gay. I have a fiancée, but she’s out of the country.”  Exactly.  Mitsubishi had an agenda.  He was sad and lonely and wanted Hashtag to be his #bff.

Enough was enough of this circus.  We finished our drinks and left.  He wanted to go somewhere else, but it was past my bedtime and this night wasn’t worth sleep deprivation.  He asked twice during our 4 minute walk together if I wanted to see him again.  Overeager.

We parted ways and I saw Mr. Halloween had texted me stating, “I was going to ask if you wanted to get together this weekend, but are you out on a date right now?”  For reasons irritating to me, guilt set in. Why in the fuck did I feel guilty?  I was not betrothed to this individual whom I had only met once, despite the profile pic.  Nevertheless, I called him and felt like I owed him an explanation.  I felt like punching myself in the face for this nonsense.  I explained how I had plans with Mr. Hashtag before I had even met Mr. Halloween, which was true – but, damn, MoMo, why were you going down this yellow brick road of bullshit?  He was throwing salt too (unnecessary shitty salt like on that drink) by saying things like, “I just focus on one person at a time.”  A few days later after his comments really started to irk me because they came off as very “women are chattel,” I informed him that, in addition to dating multiple people, I am able to own land and vote in this day and age too.

That night, Mr. Hashtag texted.  The next day he texted again asking when in the near future I wanted to meet up again.  I responded that I was down to meet again, but as friends. #friendzone.  He explicitly acknowledged that he was friend zoned and said, “Cool.” And it was very cool because I never heard from him again.

Meanwhile, Mr. Halloween and I kept corresponding, but didn’t end up ever meeting again.