Princess MoMo

Last night I met with a character who surfaced on this blog shortly after its inception in mid-April of this year.  His name: Mother Fucking Joe.  Since he first messaged me in April, Mother Fucking Joe and I have been in periodic contact via the dating site, facebook and through our devices.   We were supposed to meet in July, but Joey didn’t solidify the plan.  Subsequently, he got upset with me for my grammar nazi ways and said that we probably shouldn’t meet because we would butt heads.  Aside from his flawed grammar, Joey amused me.  He frequently humorously commented on my facebook content and blog posts.  But then, silence.

This past Wednesday evening, he messaged me on the dating website.  Because I was driving, I called him rather than respond via website.  He answered because he thought it was his mom.  (I’m programmed in his phone as Momo, which is fairly close in appearance to Mom.)  We ended up chatting for a bit.  I told him of my dating horror shows and he told me of his.  Then he said, “Damn, you’re like the female version of me.  We would totally butt heads. Fuck it. Let’s meet.”  I asked when he was off from work.  He said, “Today.”  We decided on a meeting place and within 25 minutes, we were face to face.  His face was cute.  His eyes are absolutely gorgeous.

We sat down to have some drinks.  And by some, I mean he’s an alcoholic.  Coming from me, that’s saying a lot.  Conversation flowed naturally and it felt comfortable because we had corresponded online on and off for a little over six months.  I began telling him about Mr. Riddles, who proclaimed to be better than I am at numbers, but then incorrectly solved a simple math problem.  I presented the problem to Mother Fucking Joe.  He was reluctant to even try solving it.  He doesn’t seem to like being wrong around me.  But, he solved it correctly.  He then started telling me a riddle, “Three men were staying at a motel…” I started laughing.  I thought he had read the Mr. Riddles post and was restating Mr. Riddles’s riddle.  Mother Fucking Joe kept going, “…the men are straight, they’re just sharing a room.”  I said, “Stop fucking around.”  He said, “What? You’ve heard this before?”  I couldn’t tell if he was seriously telling me this riddle or if he was just making fun of the Mr. Riddles message exchange.  He kept going with the riddle. “So, these dudes…”  Finally, I said, “You really aren’t just repeating what Mr. Riddles said?” He said no.  What the fuck are the chances that two guys, two days in a row, given the same math problem (6/2(1+2)=?) would offer up the same dumbass riddle in return?  It’s beyond me.  It was at this point that I started not to like Mother Fucking Joe.

Then, I asked him if he had told his bff (who I’m facebook friends with through the blog) that he was meeting me that night.  He said he had.  I asked what his bff said because I know his bff is very vulgar with his commentary.   Mother Fucking Joe wouldn’t tell me.  He told me things that I wasn’t sure I believed.  I just couldn’t tell when this guy was jerking my chain and when he was being honest.  It pissed me off.  I said, “I don’t like your face.”  He said, “You don’t like my face?” I said, “No.  Your poker face is too good.  I can’t read you.”

Now, let me detail his drinking habits.  I love adult beverages.  But, he loves them more apparently.  He had downed two Jack and gins before I was even through with my first chocolate martini.   He had two more.  I had another chocolate martini and he was somewhat insisting that I have more.  I would have loved to, but unfortunately, I had to operate a motor vehicle.  Sucks.   At one point, his side of the table was surrounded by empty glasses because the waiter wasn’t clearing them for whatever reason.  I liked that this guy could drink.

Eventually, I got over the poker face bit and we resumed talking about whatever other nonsense came to mind.  Having read my blog, he said, “I feel bad for these dudes you go out with.” I asked why.  He responded, “It’s like throwing a lion in a cage with a rabbit.  They don’t stand a chance.”

Around 9:30, it was time to go because it was nearing my bed time.  MoMo turns into a pumpkin after 10:30ish on week nights.  He walked me to my car, called me crazy for having the MoMo-mobile decked out in zebra print, gave me a hug and said goodnight.   We ended up talking on the phone later in that night.  That’s pretty much it.

THE END

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Related Posts: 

Online Dating: Should we quarantine him?

Online Dating: Mother Fucking Joe and his Hooker Tale

Mother Fucking Joe Plays Hard to Get

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