Again, Mr. T has been so gracious as to provide his perspective on another one of our encounters: Our first date. There are several factual inaccuracies in his write up. As you might expect, I will highlight each and every one with “Editor’s Notes.”
A few days after the charity auction I saw bunches of event photos being posted on Facebook. Somewhere in those pics I stumbled across the stunning raven haired beauty. The very same gal who informed me that I was “stupid”. Why would that be worth getting excited about? Any guy who has been hit-on can tell you: “Aggressive/mean behavior exists in direct relation to how desirable she finds you.” When I left the charity auction it seemed likely to me, if given the chance, I might be able to connect with her. She was pretty mean.
[Editor’s Notes: “Aggressive/mean behavior exists in direct relation to how desirable she finds you.” <— Wishful thinking. Ninety percent of the time, I’m mean because I’m irritated. The other ten percent of the time, I do it to amuse myself. But these rationales are not mutually exclusive. In his case, it was a mix of both. I will add, though, that if aggressive/mean behavior is met with the appropriate response, it can be a turn on. What does this mean? Well, if a guy is able to take control of the situation, it demonstrates he is secure and dominant,which are very sexy traits.
Here’s another real-MoMo-life example: On February 13, 2009, at some point after 3 a.m., I was standing outside of a club in the District of Columbia. A HUGE man approached me. I’m talking bodybuilder big…like his arms are 3x the size of my waist. MASSIVE. He said something to me (probably hi). In a rage, I replied, “Why the fuck are you talking to me?” He responded, “Because I fucking feel like it.” I then smiled and said, “Ok,” and continued the conversation very pleasantly. I ended up giving him my digits, which I rarely do at bars/clubs. And, later that day, I went out to lunch with him. We’re still in touch.]
When I saw her picture posted by a mutual FB connect I also came across one of her FB profiles as well as the MoMo FB fanpage & her website. I began reading her posts and was amused enough to “Like” the page and make a friend request. I received a quick “thanks” for liking her FB page. Somewhere in this mix of “liking” and “friending” I sent her a message to the effect of “Yes, I should have bid more”. (or something like that) About five or six days later, after a week of reading about Momo and her various failing specimens, I sent a message in an attempt to initiate meaningful contact. This message garnered an immediate response. First something to the effect of “This message is too long. I’ll read it later.” Followed immediately by: “This is actually entertaining. I’ll keep reading”. (or something like that)
[Editor’s Notes: One day after the charity event he saw the pictures I posted and friend requested me. Moreover, my exact response to his long intro. message was, “This message is too long. I read the first paragraph. I’ll read the rest later or send me cliff notes.” I immediately followed that up with, “Actually, I read a little further and was amused. So, I’ll read it all now.”]
Within a couple days we had flirted our way to a real-live date. The plan was drinks and dinner. In the time I’d been reading her posts it was evident she enjoys beer-pong as a leisure-time activity. While out grabbing the requisite beer/wine I came across a package of ping-pong balls for $2.99, just in case.
I figured we’d hit one of my few favorite drinking establishments and proceed to a big ole’ Italian meal at the place around the corner. Instead the ping-pong balls were immediately unsheathed and ten cup beer-pong initiated. I beat the pants off her. (sadly this was only figurative) Good point to mention that her ass could not have been a better advertisement for the jeans she had on. All the while, Her Majesty kept complaining that I was making her smile and that was not conducive to winning. She would have to be angry to beat me. I began to taunt her and be a legitimate jerk to no avail. She was still smiling. After granting two rematches we finally went to dinner. One of us had been soundly beaten three times in a row.
[Editor’s Notes: Beat my pants off? No. Not literally or figuratively. Yes, he beat me. But he did not demolish me. And, there were only two pre-dinner beer pong games. I requested a third, but the beer had to be replenished and we were hungry.]
After smashing my first beer all over the bar we were seated and immediately treated like crap by the waitress. The princess was looking for the first opportunity to kick this woman in the box. Twice. I thought it prudent to be nice to the waitress and it seemed to help ease her bitchiness. Just prior to the arrival of our meal the Princess took the chance to engage the waitress and comment on her change of demeanor. The two of them wound up having some kind of heart to heart while I watched our entrees land in front of me.
When MoMo returned from her waitstaff therapy session we both jumped into our meals with both feet. This is also the point in the date where I realized this woman cannot function for 5 minutes without her friggin device. She shared details about one of her text conversations, but I did find the preoccupation to be noticeable at the very least. Annoying as shit at the very worst.
Conversationally we were pretty much on point. We had a good time while basically disagreeing on every topic we discussed. Now is where I should mention that this woman and I are clearly attracted to each other physically. A lot. There is plain old chemistry to start with. Add to this hours of intelligent discourse whereupon we have established that she and I should hate each other, and you’ve got a potently charged atmosphere. If that makes no sense to you it is ok. I’ll bet she knows what I’m referring to.
[Editor’s Note: Strong physical chemistry, despite diametrically opposing socio/political views – FACT.]
The evening ended early and abruptly. Her Majesty has no capacity for losing at beer-pong. This is particularly hard to fathom considering how deficient her beer-pong skill-set is. I cannot imagine her winning against anyone aside from an infant. Add to this the fact that she is very competitive and its a wonder she has yet to go postal from frustration. Having had three convincing beatings handed down already, Momo was pushing for yet another game to determine the champ. Two cups into the game she quit, wandered to the couch, laid down, and passed out. Good times. Ten-forty-five, pm on a Friday.
[Editor’s Note: First and foremost, the date was on a Saturday, not Friday. (Come on, really, Mr. T? It was that immemorable to you?) Next, there were only two beatings pre-dinner as mentioned earlier. Now, note that I walked into this date telling him I had not yet recovered from the previous night. Also note, I’m a 5’6″, 115 lbs. female, which means that after 8 drinks, I’m functioning at a lesser capacity than Mr. T, who is 6’5″ 200+lbs.]
I picked her up and carried her to my bedroom in an attempt to shield Her Majesty from the pending homecoming of my roommate. I hung out watching TV for a while and then ended up sleeping on the couch. Primarily because I’m not a rapist.
3.5 out of 5 stars
[Editor’s Note: As you may have guessed, I was not pleased with this rating of his. 3.5/5 = 70/100, which is like a C. Here’s the text exchanged that followed my reading of his submission:
MoMo: That’s a C
MoMo: No more dates with you
Mr. T: Not true. A 5 is impossible.
Mr. T: Frankly pretty impressive considering you fell asleep halfway through the date.
MoMo: Whatever. I was never a C student and that’s not about to change. I am dropping out.
Mr. T: Wow. I didn’t know I was grading you. I thought I was grading the date.
Mr. T: But, I was half expecting you to find a really silly reason to run and hide. So this is as good a time to chicken out as any.
MoMo: Run and hide?
MoMo: Chicken out?
Mr. T: I kind of thought date number two would be a 4 or possibly 4.25.
Mr. T: Leaving room for improvement.
MoMo: If you would like to speak, call me. I don’t want to text about this.
Then, a call ensued. I expressed my annoyance with a facebook conversation we had the previous day. The conversation focused on skateboards, guitars, lawyers and BMWs. (I’ll post it eventually.) We decided to call it quits.
After the call ended, more texts were exchanged:
Mr. T: I’ll be submitting another post.
Mr. T: It would be a waste not to use this.
Mr. T: Your followers will eat it up.
MoMo: Guest submissions are always welcomed.]
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