Princess MoMo

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

Last we left off, Mr. Hyde had just transformed into Dr. Jekyll. The same specimen who hardly acknowledged my existence but moments before was now handing me a wife beater and a rose (odd combination, I know). While still in the AutoZone parking lot, he asked if I could suggest an Italian restaurant. I suggested one and again began providing navigational guidance. Lucky for him, we weren’t going too far because of all of my sense, that of direction is the worst! I was not thrilled that this character showed up without a plan.

Upon arrival at the Italian restaurant, he held the door open (unlike his earlier douchery). We began reviewing the menus. Having been to this joint before, I suggested the buffalo calamari as an appetizer. He said he was allergic to seafood. When the waitress stopped by, he ordered the buffalo calamari anyway and mozzerella sticks. He tried half a piece of the calamari, said it tasted like gum and left the rest to me. I consumed a fraction of it, packed the rest up and ate it for breakfast the next morning.

(Side note: The standard breakfast, lunch and dinner food options should be reversed. Food typically eaten for dinner should be eaten for breakfast and vice versa. I suppose lunch can remain the same. Think about how much sense this makes. In the morning, we need to fuel our bodies to operate all day, while at night, we should be winding down and needing less energy. I’m telling you, this idea is golden.)

I am convinced that a tapeworm long ago took residence somewhere within my digestive system. On account of this voracious parasite, my appetite is often insatiable. However, that particular week, it seemed as though the tapeworm had died or relocated. (Fortunately, I later found out that it was just fasting.) Why this tapeworm tangent? Well, it’s not a tangent. You see, usually I can consume food in mass quantity, but I was not very hungry given that I wasn’t eating for two. So, when it came time to choose a post-appetizer meal, I focused mainly on the salad selection. Mr. Lambo was not pleased. He said, “I came all the way out here for you to get a salad?” But, I really wasn’t that hungry. Usually, without hesitation, I would opt with a high carb. food, like pasta, but without my trusty tapeworm, I couldn’t do it. I ended up ordering a salmon dish. I barely ate any of it during that sitting though. He noticed I wasn’t really eating my food. Oh well, I wasn’t about to force feed myself.

At the end of the lunch meeting, I wasn’t sure how I felt about this specimen. We exited the restaurant and he opened the passenger car door for me. When he entered on the other side, he asked what else there was for us to do.  Two factors made this a very difficult question to answer: 1. As I’ve mentioned time and time again on this super awesome blog, I live in suburbia bumblefuck where there is not much to do, and 2. Mr. Lambo does not drink alcohol…ever…at all.   Activities, other than eating or working, sans booze? I was at a loss.  I have pondered such activities before, but the idea bank always ends up empty.   Mr. Lambo googled local activities, while I texted a good friend of mine who had been conjuring up date ideas of his own lately.  My text stated, “What are good date activities that don’t involve booze?”  Mr. Lambo thought I was setting up an escape plan.  I assured him that I was simply seeking a recommendation, but that I assumed my friend would be just as devoid of sober activity ideas as I was.  My friend responded, “idk i drink wit everything i do…its becoming ridiculous. im not sure i would say a museum or zoo is always a safe bet. u could blend in wit your zebra onesie and hide if he sucks.”  It was too cold and too late for a zoo and I don’t fuck with museums, other than Madame Tussauds.

After about ten minutes of unsuccessful brainstorming, I proposed that we go to the local T.G.I. Fridays bar, which was about 100 feet away from us.  This isn’t just any ordinary T.G.I. Fridays.  It has a lounge area, with pool tables, couches and arcade games.   Mr. Lambo asked what I wanted to drink; I chose a Yeungling.   We then sat on the couch in the Fridays “lounge.”  We discussed the evolution of his various businesses and, of course, two of my favorite topics: facebook and my blog.  Eventually, I finished my beer.  He asked if I wanted another.  I hesitated.  During a prior conversation, because he said he did not drink at all, I told him that I drink on occasion.  My statement was true.  It just so happens that the occasion on which I drink is perhaps more frequently recurring than he had assumed.   Lest there be any remaining doubt, I clarified that my liver is a well-exercised organ.  He asked if I had “lied” about anything else.  I responded that I had not lied, but rather put a calculated spin on the truth.

With that, I had another Yeungling.  I wasn’t really monitoring the time.  Sadly, my device died.  Not to be stranded deviceless, I had its life line in my purse.  I whipped out the charger and located an electrical outlet.  To my dismay, the outlet didn’t transmit electricity!!  I said, “Fuck it,” and allowed my device to remain lifeless.  (I’m sorry device, I tried.)   As Mr. Lambo and I continued conversing (NOTE: unless you’re Biggie Smalls, “conversate” is not a word) on the couch.  He moved closer and closer to me.  I don’t take kindly to humans interfering with my personal space.  Initially, I didn’t mind his subtle, yet noticeable, invasion of my personal space.  He placed his arm behind where I was sitting and gently stroked my hair.  Maybe I even kind of liked it.  I think it’s because I appreciated the attention he was paying to my newly improved hair (thanks to a wonderful new flat iron that I had recently purchased – Coppola Stealth II – and no, I’m not arbitrarily advertising for any brands on my blog, but I give credit where credit is due).

He pushed the limits with the touching.  He rubbed me the wrong way, literally this time.  I don’t remember what exactly he did.  I interrupted my flow of conversation and said, “Too much touching.”  He withdrew and I proceeded with whatever nonsense I was spewing out of my oral kingdom.  Eventually, I yawned.   I asked what time it was.  He said, “10:38.”  Wow, it was way later than I expected.  We decided to leave.  It was fucking cold outside.  We sat in his car while it warmed up.  (Many people have inquired as to what kind of car he was driving, since I revealed that it wasn’t the Lambo.  It was an Eclipse.  Most disappointing about this vehicle: it did not have heated seats.  I am not a huge car snob, but I am a warmth snob and my ass was cold!)

Before arriving at my house, we had scheduled a second encounter.  I must have been deliriously tired because I even initiated a hug situation before we parted ways.  He seemed shocked by this.

The End (of date one).

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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 I of Princess MoMo’s rendition of the facts of the first date.