Princess MoMo

Click here to read Princess MoMo’s Vampire Diary – Part I. 

Though we had exchanged 138 texts on the first day of our texting, the next day (date day), it was radio silence.  Around 7 p.m., I texted him, “Still on?”  He said, “Of course, I’m leaving now.  I should be a few minutes early.”

 

About 35 seconds after I exited my driveway, I spotted a creature roaming the street.  I thought to myself, “What ever could this creature be?”  I was on my way to meet a vampire, so it could have very easily been a werewolf or gargoyle.  I stopped the car and determined that it was a black dog.  The dog was wearing a collar. I put the MoMo-mobile in park and got out.  I wanted to try to get the doggie back to his rightful place.  However, the dog wouldn’t cooperate with me — a fact which caused me to assume that the dog is of the male persuasion.  He stared at me for a little bit and then ran off.  I stood still and attempted to convince him that I meant him good, not harm.  He was having none of it.  He sped further away.  So, I gave up.  I texted Mr. Dracula, “I’m going to be a few late.  Tried to rescue a dog.”  He said, “It happens. I’m here.”  I realized my story sounded fabricated..  I got back in my car and started driving again.  Then, I spotted the dog again!  This paragraph basically repeated minus the text to Mr. Dracula.

 

After my dog rescuing failure, I called Mr. Dracula.  I wanted to hear his voice before meeting him.  It was deep and manly.  The conversation was smooth.  I arrived, only about four minutes late.   He stepped out of his car — a little red porsche.  I was taken aback by his authoritative stature, coupled with his hair (which was longer than the shaved head he displayed in his profile pictures — I like guys with head hair — not long like Jesus, but long enough to be styled and grabbed).  Overall, he was attractive.

 

We sat down.  Suddenly, a heat wave overtook my being.   I asked him if it was hot in the restaurant.  He said it wasn’t.  I pulled up my sleeves and I began my inquisition because he had asked me to hold my questions until the date and there we were.  It turns out, he’s waiting tables while looking for a job.  He was unemployed for a while before deciding to take up waiting tables.  Part of me wanted to get up and leave because he withheld that information via text likely knowing that I wouldn’t have gone out with him otherwise; we (or, more aptly, HE — I’ll explain soon) hadn’t ordered food yet making it a viable option.  But, alas, I remained seated.  We kept talking.  The waitress came by to take our order several times, but we hadn’t looked at the menus.   Finally, he ordered for the both of us.  Now, that’s ballsy.  On the one hand, it was hot that he took control.  On the other hand, he had no idea as to my food preferences.  The final verdict is that I wasn’t thrilled with that decision.

 

There was clearly a power struggle at play.  He knew that I like being in control and he was actively disarming my control mechanisms.  This threw me off kilter.  For example he said, “You can tell a lot about a person by the way they hold their chop sticks.”  Of course, that made me self conscious about chop stick use.  Plus, the roll he ordered had spicy mayonnaise on it, which I do not like.  I told him that I am not a fan of white sauces.  Eventually, I decided I might test out this food he had selected.  I unwrapped the chop sticks and, of-fucking-course, one of the defiant wooden utensils attempted to fall onto the floor.  But, my cat-like reflexes grasped onto it before it was too far gone.  Needless to say, that didn’t add to my comfort level.  I removed the sauce from the top of the roll piece.  He scrutinized my actions.  The situation was too annoying for me.  I decided to go on a hunger strike.  Yes, I didn’t eat.  I announced my intended civil disobedience.  He had been kind enough to bring wine, so I just sat there and drank that.  When my bladder urged me to relieve it, I didn’t want to get up because I knew he’d be checking out my posterior and the thought of him further scrutinizing discomforted me.  But, eventually, I had to succumb to my bladder’s desire.

 

I couldn’t get a good read on this guy.  A large part of the problem was that he was more attractive than I had anticipated and my mind was under siege by the monthly hormonal demons.  But, he was pretty close to being dead to me at one point.   I explained that I decided to teach a writing class based on my grammar nazi ways.  He said something to the effect of, “Really? I wouldn’t take you for a grammar nazi.  I thought I was texting with Kei$ha yesterday.”  I almost threw up the food I wasn’t eating on the spot.  What. The. Fuck.  I became visibly agitated and asked him what the hell he was talking about.  He alleged that I typed “u” instead of spelling out “you.”  I assured him that there was no way in hell, in heaven, on earth, or in any other realm of existence that I had done that. 

 I scanned through our texts and as you damn well better have predicted, I had done no such thing.  He must have confused me with a grammatically defective specimen of his.  He might as well have stabbed me in the face.

TO BE CONTINUED….