A bunch of few years back, I was reeling from one of the worst heartbreaks ever and those closest to me were all trying to “help” by convincing me to jump right back into the dating pool. One girlfriend made me sign up for the free 30-day Match.com trial, which resulted in two weeks full of first dates that felt more like a job than anything and made me busier than I had ever been in my life. Another girlfriend hooked me up with one of her husband’s closest friends which did nothing but deflate my ego because he was just not that into me. Yet another (male) friend offered to provide me with whatever “physical” needs I may have until I found another lover, since in his opinion it was best to keep the wheels oiled if you know what I mean.
Then there was my mother.
I must say that my mother had never attempted to meddle into my love life before this. She kept a safe distance, only trying to keep up with whatever relationship trials and tribulations were going on at the time. Yet this time she decided to take matters into her own hands. She had become a regular at a local gym that was also frequented by a certain ridiculously famous rock star. She had noticed that there was a strapping young man that always accompanied Mr. Famous Rock Star to the gym, and thought that this young man would be perfect for me. She chatted him up, turned on that charm that she only usually uses when company is around, and proceeded to get him to agree to meet her wonderful daughter at a local watering hole that evening. Alright, maybe it wasn’t that evening, it may have taken a few days to get him to agree to meet a total stranger’s totally strange daughter, but whatever you get my point.
After she informed me that I suddenly had plans, I desperately tried to recruit one of my girls as a wingman, for I had never gone on any blind date before, let alone one my mother had set up for me. I didn’t have any luck with securing a wingman, and after debating whether or not to even show up I said what the hell. Nothing could be worse than a couple of the recent Match.com dates that I had been on. When I walked into the bar, I circled around trying not to make it obvious that I was looking for someone, but after three circles I felt stupid and found a seat so I could order a drink. I definitely needed some liquid courage. After about ten minutes I felt a tap on the shoulder and I turned around to see one of the most handsome men I had ever seen up close. He introduced himself as, um, let’s call him Iceman, and asked me if I was called Mamba. I was smitten from the start.
One thing led to another that night (no, not like that you perverts) and we had a wonderful time. He had been more successful at bringing some wingmen with him, but after a while he dismissed them and gave me his full attention. By the end of the night we had decided to see each other again and made plans. We went out again, and made even more plans. We ended up seeing each other a lot over the next few weeks, and I remember I even watched the final episode of Friends from the comfort of his living room couch. Of course my mother couldn’t get enough of the juicy details, but I played it cool.
Not long after that he suggested we go to the movies together, something we had yet to do since we met. I should have known when the movie he “really wanted to see” was Van Helsing. Wha da fa? Anyhow, we all do crazy things when there’s good action in the bedroom, and I went along with it. We had arrived at the movie theater a little late (see bedroom, above) and I said I would get the tickets if he would grab the snacks. When we met up to head into the theater, I saw that he had bought a child’s size portion of popcorn and the smallest bottle of water EVER INVENTED. OK, I thought to myself, this guy’s all into being healthy and god knows my ass doesn’t need a bucket of movie popcorn and a 64-ounce soda. We sat down and of course the previews had already started (one of my biggest pet peeves – I love movie trailers). Well. This guy proceeds to start stuffing fistfuls of popcorn in his mouth, and after 4-5 times I notice that he’s got the popcorn in his left hand (the opposite side from where I am sitting) and he’s chugging bottled water like a camel. The movie is about to begin and he hands me the almost-empty-except-for-unpopped-kernels bag of popcorn and the bottle of water that had maybe a sip left in it but you could see some popcorn-infused backwash floating around in and asks if I want some. Gross! And after all of that THEN I had to sit through Van Fucking Helsing. I know it’s Hugh Jackman and all but still, that shit was horrendous.
Needless to say there was no way I could continue on with Iceman, no matter how cute he may have been or how decent he was in the bedroom. He was selfish. And that’s just not how I roll. When I told my mother the story the next day, she laughed hysterically. When I told her what movie we had gone to see, she laughed even harder. Of course I didn’t tell her about any of the bedroom antics, otherwise she might have tried to convince me to get over it. I don’t know what made me rehash this whole thing, but the moral of the story has to be:
Buy your own damn movie snacks, and don’t ever see Van Helsing.
