Mr. Brooklyn and I met when we were 12-years-old and it was adolescent crush at first sight. I then never saw him in the flesh again until 16 years later. At some point between our pre-teen meeting and our damn-we’re-almost-30 meeting, we became Facebook friends. We didn’t interact much via social media. On March 1, Mr. Brooklyn sent me the following message:
So I’m moving back to Brooklyn in two weeks and just wanted to say you’re my hero. I love reading your stories about slaying/destroying the weaker specimens of my gender. Keep the stories coming please! Also, I’m not hitting on you so please don’t post this on princessmomo.com. Unlike Mr Super Annoyer, I actually would love to genuinely be friends with you when I move back to the east coast
I’m always weary of specimens that make it a point to say they’re not hitting on me. It usually means the exact opposite. Mr. Brooklyn was no exception. Mr. Brooklyn and I had a lengthy Facebook message exchange throughout which he waivered back and forth between “I’m not hitting on you” and “I’m hitting on you.”
After a few days of messaging, there was a lull in our communication. In fact, it wasn’t until two and a half months later (May 14) that I heard from Mr. Brooklyn again. We made plans to meet up that weekend. Now, I wasn’t sure whether this meet up was intended to be a friendly engagement or a rekindling of our juvenile lost love. I figured, what’s the worst thing that could happen? He’ll annoy the shit out of me? I was willing to take the risk.
We were brainstorming things to do. He asked if I wanted to go to the City (because he lives in Brooklyn). I vetoed that idea and countered it with Great Adventure. He enthusiastically agreed to my proposal.
That Saturday, he drove from Brooklyn to pick me up and then drove to Great Adventure. Points. A lot of guys don’t do the pick-up-the-female-from-her-living-space anymore. But, he did. Unfortunately, I was devoid of energy. I had had a late night the night before and was struggling to stay awake. Luckily, he was full of energy and able to maintain conversion with the half-zombie seated next to him. We made a caffeine stop on the way to Great Adventure. When we got out of the car to get the fix we needed, he went in for the dreaded greeting hug. As those of you who know me or who have read my blog know, I am not fond of unwarranted physical contact by new people. Thus, I cringed.
Given his late start, the immense volume of traffic, and the season pass processing operation, we didn’t get in line for the first ride until around 3 p.m. That ride was the Batman roller coaster. We were in line for about an hour before boarding. I was highly disappointed in the coaster experience. I thought for sure that it would give me the burst of adrenaline necessary to wake me up. That, however, was not the case. It felt slow and unexciting. It seemed that I could have gotten more of a thrill by speeding through a school zone. Had I gotten too old for theme parks? Say it ain’t so!!!
I suggested Kingda Ka, the world’s tallest and the world’s second fastest roller coaster in the WORLD! Yes, in the WORLD! Sounds super exciting, right? I thought so. But, alas, that was not next on our agenda because Green Lantern was closer. We waited nearly an hour and a half to get on that coaster. Unlike the Shitman ride, it is a good coaster. But, I still hadn’t gotten the rush I wanted. We walked toward Kingda Ka and took our place in line. During our time in line, two things happened. First, Mr. Brooklyn explained the different mechanisms that the various coasters use to operate. (He’s an engineer.) I like having knowledge dropped on me. (But, being the skeptic that I am, I fact checked the information conveyed to me once I got home; he had been mistaken about one of the coasters. To his credit, he handled being corrected well.) Second, Mr. Brooklyn breached the “don’t touch MoMo” boundaries. He began massaging my back, which was knotted up like a motherfucker. He did a very good job at relieving the tension. Sadly, it started to drizzle and our 45 minute wait was for naught because the ride was shut down.
It was cold, dreary, and now wet out. So, we left. We grabbed some food and then he dropped me off at home. I was unable to stay awake for much longer at that point. We parted ways.
The next day, he texted that he wanted to see me again. His suggestion was a game of cards. I agreed. He picked me up and we headed somewhere for dessert and a card game.
Now, if you keep up with my dating antics, you may be wondering what happened to Mr. Rutgers because the timing overlaps. You also may be wondering whether these specimens read my blog posts. Or, you may not be wondering either of those things, but in any case, I’m going to give you the answers. I’m as close to a full disclosure person as I’ve ever encountered. Mr. Rutgers knows about Mr. Brooklyn and vice versa. Additionally, they both have knowledge of my blog and presumably read it when they so desire. There’s a point to this aside. The point is this: When I told Mr. Rutgers that I was going out with a new guy, he named him. The name he chose was Mr. Egypt. I was amused by the fact that one had named the other. When we arrived at our card playing destination, I told Mr. Brooklyn about the name Mr. Rutgers had chosen for him and Mr. Brooklyn got bent out of shape. He was offended that I would let “this other guy shape our relationship.” He was so offended that he was about to get up and leave! I can’t blame him. Obviously, I had to rename him.
He taught me a card game called “spit.” I found it to be stress inducing because of the fast paced movement required, so we switched to a less annoying game. His nonchalant date idea was charming. Indeed, Mr. Brooklyn is a great catch in so many ways. He’s very well educated, gainfully employed, ambitious, community service oriented, considerate, thoughtful, smart, and chivalrous. However, there are two problems. First, he is geographically undesirable, i.e., he lives in Brooklyn which is not that close to me. Second, he stated he didn’t want to have kids for another six to twelve years. My uterus will have expired by that time.
THE END
5/18 5/19
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