Princess MoMo

Background: As some of you may have noticed, I haven’t been diligent in telling my tales of dating woe as of late.  Luckily, someone has decided to take charge and write blog posts for me.  This is a new character.  We shall call him Mr. Friend Zone Escapee.  By way of background, I met Mr. Friend Zone Escapee at the ripe age of 5 when I was a wee little MoMo.  We played on a soccer team together.  During middle school, we were pretty close friends.  In high school, we were friends, but not as close.  After high school, we lost touch until October 5, 2008, at which point he facebook messaged me the following:

long time no talk

I don’t remember whether or not I called him, but a little less than a year later, I returned to NJ and we reinstated contact.  On August 24, 2009, he permanently branded me.  One afternoon, he invited me over and asked if I wanted to take a ride on his stupid motorcycle.  Dumbly, I agreed.  

Wearing capri pants, I was not properly attired for this ride.  He failed to warn me. He also failed to warn me that I should step off of the bike on the left side.   Of course, I dismounted this piece of metal shit on the right side.  I felt a painful sensation on my right lower inner leg.  I looked down only to behold a horrific welt, which worsened in time.  I had been burned.  

Despite taking the appropriate measures (including having him immediately bandage it) to to minimize the lasting effects of this injury , almost three years later, I still have the scar.

Now that that’s off of my chest, back to the regularly scheduled programming.  From 2009 (when I moved back to NJ) until now, we’ve been pretty close friends.  We didn’t hang out very often for I feared the fate of my remaining flesh, but we spoke on the phone frequently (mostly on weekdays during our morning commute).  Not surprisingly, every girlfriend he’s had since I reentered his life has expressed her jealousy of me to him.  I’d be jealous too if my boyfriend were friends with a member of the opposite sex as super awesome as I am, but as the saying goes, don’t hate the player, hate the game.  My boyfriends never took issue with him.  In fact, he became friends (and is still facebook friends) with at least one of them.

Recently, we began spending more face to face time together.  Below is his iteration of the groundwork for his escape from the friend zone.  As usual, my comments (“Editor’s Notes”) are in pink.  These events, based entirely on a true story, transpired on May 5, 2012.

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It was the middle of a weekend, a nice Saturday evening relaxing at home when she decided to visit me. First, she had gone to a baby shower in North Jersey, which I had guided her to over the phone since her GPS had failed miserably while driving to an unknown location.  She wasn’t looking forward to this event that much, since such events usually suck. Long story short, it turns out she had a great time with the help of ‘ole faithful Grey Goose without any food.  [Editor’s Note: There was no Goose, but there was a sufficient vodka substitute.  The adult beverages were not the only thing that made this event successful.  The mom-to-be is an amazing person.  (I recently attended her wedding.  See the I Hate Brandon Singer series for details on that.) Additionally, her group of girlfriends was very pleasant and the choice of decor — animal print with a zebra print balloon on the mailbox — delighted my eyes.]  Her phone call as she was leaving notified me of her intention of heading to the Dirty South (i.e. My house).

We spoke on the phone while she was driving like we normally do, to keep her oriented with her surroundings as well as assuring her safety behind the wheel. Our conversation consisted of her prior assumptions that this party would be annoying with the “oohs and ahhs” of baby crap which turned out to be fun as she had some liquid courage in her.  Fortunately, the decor was to her taste, which I heard multiple times. Nothing wrong with that, it’s actually cute to hear. I know what she likes and it’s nice to hear her laughing, knowing she’s smiling as she speaks through her laughter as I visualize it. Our conversation flowed smoothly while her compass pointed south. I couldn’t wait for her presence, as I have always enjoyed it over the years. A beer pong challenge awaited her arrival, which we shit talked about beforehand. (Make your bets now folks, it’s a 50/50 shot at who won.) I acquired a case of Yuengling bottles (a mutual favorite) for the occasion, as well as a bottle of Goose and OJ. She brought the table, I had the balls. Pun intended.

She hauled ass into the driveway of the Dirty South with half a load on as she applied her brakes right before she introduced the front-end of the MoMo Mobile into the garage door. (Just kidding, sounds great doesn’t it?)

I came out to greet her. Her natural beauty shined as she smiled at me while I opened the door for her to get out of the car. MoMo stepped out of the car in a beautiful dress that accented her naturally sexy figure in a classy, seductive way. Her heels complemented her exquisite legs, leaving me semi-speechless as she stood in front of me. We hugged as is customary with our greeting. The scent of her perfume and hair care products drove me wild.  [Editor’s Note: My recollection does not include this alleged greeting hug.]

I caught my breath as she popped the trunk. I retrieved her traveling beer pong table. I held the door for her into the house as a gentleman should; she’s always a lady and should always be treated as such. There was a certain spark in her that night, not just buzzed and flirtatious.

Now…let the games begin, the beer pong table was assembled and the ball busting ensued. We set up our standard 10-cup challenge and shot for ball. I cannot recollect who shot first, but it’s irrelevant.

We played for a couple of hours total (place your bets now folks, this is last call on the bets) between restroom breaks. Remember, we were drinking union made beer, which means there’s a certain amount of breaks required during complete consumption of the case.

Long story short we ended up in a couple games where there was overtime and our standard shit talking prevailed. Our games consisted of me dominating like I always do. I rarely lose unless I’m playing with a partner who sucks. So whoever was betting on Mo pay up!

Eventually we were both intoxicated and needed to get some sleep.  [Editor’s Note: He omitted a critical part of the story.  My intention in visiting him was to go out to a bar of my choosing.  After a few games and a few drinks, I was ready to go (or so I thought).  We got into his truck and headed toward D’Jais.  As soon as he got onto the Parkway, I turned to him and said, “Do you really want to go?”  He replied, “Not really.”  I suggested we turn around and he agreed.  I then immediately fell asleep in the passenger seat.]   The ball breaking ended up with her not accepting her losses. I informed her of the need for rest but not before she decided that my floor needed a full cup of beer spilled on it. NOT COOL. I kept mine though. She’s lucky, I keep my cool even in fucked up situations as I have been trained to do on the job. I can keep my temper at bay even while under the influence, of course for her and her personality. We know each other very well to the point that I know she had done this just to push my buttons. Whatever, in a couple minutes it’s cleaned up before we were off to sleep.  [Editor’s Note: Again, there is a critical omission of facts here.  His heckling was unbearable. After he won the last game (we were playing best 2 out of 3 or 3 of 5), he informed me that I had to drink the remaining beers.  I refused.  He persisted.  So, naturally, I picked up one of the remaining cups and slowly spilled it on his kitchen floor.  He grabbed my arm as I went to spill a second cup.  I said, “I’m not drinking them.  I can either just leave them on the table or spill the rest of them on your floor.”  He went with option A.  Now, in retrospect, I actually did him a favor.  His floor was in dire need of mopping pre-beer spillage, but it didn’t seem as though he was motivated to mop it.  The coating of the floor with beer made the mopping absolutely necessary.  I’m glad I could help.] 

We entered my room, she looked me in the eye with a coy smile as she grabbed what I had laid out for her to change into. She turned her back and stated, “unzip!” (Her dress you creeps!). I closed the door for a minute as she changed.

She opened the door then hit the bed smiling. I took her shoes off and picked her up to a side of the bed as she had fallen across the middle. I changed and laid next to her. We exchanged goodnights and were fast asleep side by side.  [Editor’s Note: The “smile” as I hit the bed is likely selective/concocted memory on his part and I highly doubt any “goodnights” were exchanged.  When I’m out, I’m out.  There are no smiles and I do not wake up to bid people good night.]

Now there’s a great feeling which others might agree to.  You must be comfortable with the others presence under the covers beside each other.  When comfort is established beforehand a morning can be fun; recollecting your night together and laughing about everything that took place while you lay in bed in the morning. Which was the case here, we’ve always had fun together.

Waking up to her is refreshing. I rest easy by her side. The feeling of her laying on me is comforting. Her smell drives me wild as it always has. I was holding her hip with my hand as I was up against her back while we awoke. We’ve spent nights together before, albeit not this close. (With her ex-boyfriend present. For some reason I was always the big spoon and he was always the middle one, just kidding!). When we woke up I was holding her by her side. I have always had a great feeling being close to her physically. I’m not comfortable with others’ presence, but I’m relaxed with her. This comes from the beauty of friendship as the base for anything else to progress beyond it.

We laid in bed while I gently caressed her natural, breathtaking body. I respect her so I did not make any advances that would be met with ruining what we have.  [Editor’s Note: That is patently false.  As one would expect from any testosterone-filled, straight man-being, advances were made.  They were all swiftly and expressly rejected, though.]

It’s relaxing for us as I’m usually uneasy in a situation like this.

I never wanted this to end.

Eventually we arose out of necessity; she had to leave to attend to the wolfpack’s needs.  [Editor’s Note: The “wolfpack” is a term he uses to refer to my huahuas.]

The night was fun for us. We had a great time like we always do, even if it’s just the two of us. Laughing and playing beer pong, listening to music having a good time. One thing that has always remained constant is our sense of humor meshes extremely well. We make each other laugh without effort.

Time with Mo is precious as many can attest to. Fortunately, I have been afforded years of it and wouldn’t trade any of it for the world. Unfortunately, there’s a few years in there where we didn’t know each other. I regret having lost that time together.

We’re both easy-going and can have fun anywhere. Together we create the good time. An easy label of us is a power couple(formal couple status or not). We’re outgoing, energetic, dominant, friendly, genuine, and don’t tolerate any shit and call others on theirs.

All good things must come to an end; she departed in that sexy black dress and heels with her sultry looks. A warm embrace and, “Thank you, I’ll call you in a minute.” I opened her door, she gets in the MoMo mobile and leaves. We spoke during her ride home laughing about our evening/morning still talking shit back and forth about our beer pong challenge.

I’d love if she turned around to spend the day together but there’s always next time…

Part 2 coming soon…