Jason Mamoa -2.0

You get to a certain age, and suddenly you’re constantly in wedding season.   A few years ago I had 3 weddings, 1 bridal shower, an engagement party and 2 1-year-old birthdays to attend… all in 1 year!  Talk about exhausting.  Not necessarily because of how very audibly I heard my credit card say, “Phew!” as I bought gift after gift, after outfit, after Hotel overnight stays, after flight reservations.  The episode of Sex and the City where Carrie registers herself at Manolo Blahnik for choosing to be single has never spoken so clearly to me.  But this post isn’t about the financial aid that I would like to attain to celebrate the life stages of other people’s lives.  It’s about how these life events for other people make you look over your own board game of Life.  If only I roll a 7, then I’ll meet the man of my dreams soon.  If I roll a 5, I’ll get a parking ticket that I’ll forget to pay and will somehow result in getting my car towed and end up in the ER with a broken leg.  I hate comparing my life steps to others, but unfortunately it tends to happen from time to time.

This past weekend was OystaFingas’ wedding in Houston.  So my girlfriends and I couldn’t resist to make this a girl’s trip.  No significant others were allowed.  At least that’s what we wanted.  Unfortunately Sizzler and Carl couldn’t make it due to an engagement party and family being in town.  Although it didn’t seem right that our sextet couldn’t all be together for this beautiful event, we made all made the promises of taking too many pictures, constant IG posts, and Snaps so they wouldn’t feel too FOMO.

Now, I should mention that OystaFingas is about 10 years younger than me.  I’ve always had a very age diverse group of friends ranging from 15 years older to around 10 years younger.  I love the variance of ideas, thoughts and life experiences.  Needlessness to say, this means that all of her friends at the wedding will all be of her similar age range. Not necessarily how young I like to play around with, but we’re all the same age lying down, right?  Anyway, this is the first time that I’ve had the opportunity to go to a wedding while I’ve been single, so I’m excited for what’s to come.  I’ve always been curious to see why so many hook-ups happen during weddings, and if I would also be able to partake in the mating ritual.

What is it about weddings that makes everyone so easy?  Even my parents met at a wedding.  I mean, I guess it worked for them.  They’re about to celebrate their 40th Wedding Anniversary.  Maybe it’s all the “LOVE” that’s in the air.  But I think it’s also the fact that when these life stages occur, everyone takes a look at their own board game of Life and see how they are faring in comparison to their friends.  Here’s my recap, in case you forgot: I just ended my 4 1/2 year relationship that broke down because I wanted a wedding, marriage, 2.5 kids, a dog and Mrs. Buttersworth.  My dream was #whiteboy’s nightmare.  And the only real prospect I am having is Rebound Babe, in which my emotions are starting to develop pretty quickly for him.  I feel like I need to take a step back.  So yes, I’m in a different city.  I’m single. I’m going to a wedding.  Let’s play!

After our flight lands in Houston, J9 and I hop into an Uber to meet DD and her sister at a restaurant.  Of course the first thing I do, is pull out my phone and open Tinder.  I’m excited to see what Houston has to offer, since the last time I visited, #whiteboy and I were thinking of moving here.  And just like that, the quick left and right swipes begin.  I’ve also created a game with it, where I let my GF’s do the swiping and sometimes even let them handle the actual conversations with these boys.  It’s fun to me, kinda like they’re playing match maker to a bunch of boys that they think I should date.  Like the old days when friends actually used to introduce people to their friends.

A few hours go by and we’re wrapping up our first meal and 2 cocktails at a restaurant.  And suddenly I feel a quick vibrate, and a flame pops up on my notification bar.  I thumb down the notification bar, and notice it says, “You’ve been Super Liked!  Swipe to find out by whom.” For those of you who are unaware of how Tinder works, here’s the quick breakdown.  A picture of Homie-Lover-Friend is displayed; if you don’t like him/her you swipe left; if you do like him/her then you swipe right.  You’re only allowed to communicate with someone if you both happen to swipe right.  However, with a “Super Like” you allow the other person to let them know that you are interested without them also swiping right on you.  And there you go, swipe right enough times, look cute enough, and WALA…. one night stand.  Maybe.  Anyway, so of course, I was excited to see who this mystery person could be.  I open the app and take a glance. Ew.  Is all I can think.  Close down the app, and commence convo with my babes.

En route to the hotel, I get a few more buzz-buzz notifications, and they are all Super Likes!  This is amazing!  I don’t think I’ve ever had this much attention back home.  If I’m fairly active on Tinder, then I get MAYBE 1 Super Like a week. But within an hours time, I think I’ve received about 5.  I squeal to my GF’s about the amount of action that I’m receiving.  Unfortunately, every single one of them is gross.  So there’s no way that I would swipe right.   But it’s still exciting to see them all come through.  Self Confidence has boosted and my Ego is now through the roof.

The weekend continues as do the Super Likes of which only a handful warrant a response.  We decide to run an experiment and respond with just, “Tryna Fuck?” to see how many respond back.  And little to our surprise everyone responds back with, “Yes!  Where and When?”  I of course don’t want to do this dirty deed with any of these men, but it’s still fun to play.

As we are shuttled to the Church for OystaFingas’ ceremony, J9 and I are bored so we pull out Tinder and begin our usual game.  Not a whole lot of prospects, but one pops out.  Damn, he looks pretty goddamn sexy.  He has that ethnic, dark, beard, handsome thing going for him.  And just-kinda-barely he reminds me of Jason Mamoa.  My ultimate husband, fantasy, masturbation guy.  So of course, I swipe right, hoping for a connection.  The ceremony turns to the reception and my GFs and I make our rounds.  And just to my initial prediction, all the boys here are right around 25 and under.  Not usually that big of a deal, but 25 AND not really attractive.  No thanks.  So while I’m waiting for my dinner course to arrive, I open up Tinder and notice a few more Super-Likes, but also notice that Jason Mamoa 2.0 and I have matched!  Pitter-pat of a heart beat begins, and I’m excited for this connection.  We begin to chat and eventually make plans for a late night rendezvous.

As the clock approaches midnight, Jason Mamoa 2.0 sends me a message to see if I’m still game to meet.  Duh! I dash to the room to change out of my evening gown and into some jeans.  Holy shit… the butterflies followed me from LA to Houston!  My nerves are going haywire and these wings can no longer be taped down with additional shots of tequila.  Quick text to my girls and I tell them to get to the room ASAP.  DD barges in the door to see what’s wrong… and I tell her that I’m going to meet Jason Mamoa.  I wish I could remember half of what she was telling me, but I’m about a million cocktails deep and nervous as fuck.  Am I really about to try to have a one night stand in a strange city?  DD practically kicks my ass into gear and gets me out the door.

The usual shit bounces around in my head as I get closer to the bar.  I send out the address to where I’m going so my GFs know where to start the body hunt.  I walk slowly around the bar, and don’t notice my tall sexy giant anywhere.  I walk to the outdoor patio, and walk around some more.  Still no signs of my baby.  I try to do another loop, and still don’t seem to notice him any where.  The insecurities start to develop, and all I can think is, “Great, he saw me, and thought gross.”  Then I get a *knock-knock* notification and it’s my Love saying, I’m in the back patio.  So I walk over and see the same guy I walked past 2 times prior.  This is NOT my baby.  OMG.  What happened to fantasy that I was playing over and over in my head?  I was hoping he was going to be able to carry me across the room, and slam me up against a wall and just start making out with me.  But instead, here is. Jason Mamoa -2.0.  EW.  He’s smoking a cigarette, relatively short and skinny, and has an incredibly thick Curry accent as he tells me briefly about his day.  I don’t know where this came from, but the loud speaker in my head is blaring out, “ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!”

The only thing I can think to say is,”I’m sorry, I really have to use the restroom. Do you mind?” Luckily there’s a long enough line at the Ladies Room, and a few girls who are all chit-chatting with their GFs.  I interrupt one group quickly, and say, “Excuse me girls, I really need some help.”  I explain to them my situation and I remember telling them, “He looks EWWIEE!!” Who says that word?  Apparently drunk Mo does.  “What do I do?????”  I ask them.  And in unison, all the girls say, “LEAVE!”  I dash out the door and run around the first little corner I could find and quickly pull up Uber to take me back to the wedding.

So much for my spontaneous weekend getaway to get laid.  I’m really hoping that I don’t start creating bad dating ju-ju for myself with all the antics I’ve been up to lately.  I get back to the wedding, and it’s now moved from the ballroom to the hotel lobby bar.  As I walk in, the girls and some of the guys who knew what I was doing yell out, “Heeeeey!!!!!  How did it go???!??”  Considering I was only gone 40 minutes, there obviously wasn’t much time to do much of anything except for leave my self-respect at the bar.

The next morning as I look for good barbecue restaurants to try, I check Tinder one more time.  And notice a few more Super Likes have popped up so I decide to start screenshot their images.  Here’s just a few of the ones that I was able to capture in about 24 hours time.  I hope you enjoy the photos, as I will never be able to fulfill my Jason Mamoa fantasy.

 

The Good on Paper Guy

When we girls make our wish list of what we’re looking for in a man, it sounds a little something like this:

– respectful
– handsome
– funny
– educated
– faithful
– ambitious
– has money
– sensitive
– thoughtful
– clever
I’m sure that this list can just continue on and on and on. But why is it that when Said man appears… there’s no spark? There’s no YOWZA! Or desire to touch him.  It makes me first think that… maybe there’s something wrong with me.  But the other side of me thinks that maybe my wishlist is completely wrong.  And that the things that I THINK I want… aren’t what I want at all.  Maybe there’s an underlying side of me that wants the loser boyfriend who couch surfs and makes minimum wage for the rest of life. Or the boyfriend who says I’m the only one, and the tomorrow night he’s  saying the same thing to Susan.  Or the boyfriend who’ll never ever commit.  Or the boyfriend who doesn’t know how to control his drinking, drugs, gambling, or video game habit.

So this has made me want to do a little research on what it is that attracts us to one another.  Multiple articles from multiple sources such as Huffington Post, Men’s Health or Psychology Today all have similar stories ranging from physical appearance, aroma even the pitch of voice that draw the opposite sex towards one another.  The most interesting fact that I found was how a women can change her idea of what she finds attractive depending on where she was in her cycle, and even more so how much of that can change if you are on hormonal birth control.  Essentially depending upon which a women is looking for:  a women will chose a man of “better genetic stock” when it comes to trying to satisfying a need.  Unfortunately, this also means that they will probably treat you less desirably and will not be a good paternal investment.  Or, when looking to nest, a women will often chose a man with lower “genetic stock”, aka softer, more feminine features.  Essentially it’s saying that a woman will choose to settle down with someone she finds slightly less attractive than her hot, hot next-door neighbor.

This has also made me think back to many of the men I “dated” and compared them to my ex-boyfriends.  Did this research ring true?  Actually.  Yes!  None of my boyfriends were at first glance, HOT.  They were all the “Once you get to know them…” guys.  Or the “But he’s so funny…” guys.  Or the “He treats me really well…” guys.  All the guys I “dated” kinda fell into that “better genetic stock” category: tall, dark, handsome, strong jawline, muscular build, etc.  I hate to think that I am just like the rest… and I fall in line to a statistic like every other basic bitch.

This leads to me the point of this post.  So remember Brunch Dude who I flaked on?  Well, in my boredom this week I decided to reach back out and see what he was doing.  I casually sent a text something like, “Plans later?  Wanna go out for Taco Tuesday?”  He replies back almost immediately and says that he’ll be home a little later, but would love to.  Immediately after I get confirmation of my evening plans, I hop onto Tinder, in my usual re-investigative approach and peep some photos and review the little bio.  As I scroll through all the meaningless conversations, in search of ours… I realize that it’s no longer there!  I’m curious if he un-matched me because I flaked on him.  Or did he remove himself from Tinder completely.   Regardless of his decision, I’m pissed.  Great!  I don’t even remember WTF this guy looks like, except I remember that he was holding a camera in a lot of his pics.  Was he fat?  Skinny?  Tall?  How did he dress?  I really couldn’t remember a goddamn thing.  Which is making me regret making plans with this guy at all.  To which I lounge around the apartment, not even trying to give 2 Fucks about the outfit I’m supposed to wear tonight.  Scratch that.  I’m not giving 1 Fuck.  Which, as you all should know by now, means a lot.

He texts me around 9 and says, “Let’s meet across the way at the Hotel Bar.” I literally throw on a whatever outfit, which barely matches/goes together.  But I’m curious if it has that LA-Hipster-DGAF look, or it it literally looks like This-Bitch-Just-Rolled-Out-Of-Bed look.  Which honestly… is kinda what I did.  As I make my way across the street from our same apartment, I text my Good Good Girlfriends and tell them what’s going on.  They laugh at me as they can sense my lack exhilaration for the date. What’s wrong with me?!  I literally complain that I haven’t gone on any dates, and then when one arises, I’m bored before it starts.  As I wait for the light to signal “walk”, I glance over and see Brunch Dude half-way down the crosswalk making his way towards me.  All I can think is, “Yup, not at all what I remember his pictures looking like.”  We greet each other with a quick hug, and at that moment the light signals our safety to walk across.

The hotel bar is it’s usual Posh, Modern ambiance, which I love.  There’s something sexy about hotel lobby bars.  I’m not sure if it’s all the strangers in one room trying to socialize and get out of their loner existence locked up in their room.  Or if it’s a feeling that you get reminiscing about being on vacation.  Regardless, I love hotel bars.  Anyway, Brunch Dude and I make our way over to the lobby bar, and he takes charge by walking slightly ahead and leading the way.  He selects 2 chairs at the end of the bar, and pulls out the stool so I can easily sit in, and checks under the bar top to see if there’s a place to sling my purse.  That’s a new one for me, I didn’t think men realized that we looked for that the moment we sat down.  Ok, BD… you get 1 point there.  He greets the bartender and asks for a menu as I finally take a moment to peep his outfit.  Canadian tuxedo (with varying shades of blue denim), jeans slightly ripped/distressed, Patterned Shirt with a cool design and color scheme, NY baseball hat, and Dunks.  OK, BD, OK… you got some flavor.  Maybe there’s another point for you.

He makes small convo about the feel of the hotel, as we glance over the drink menu and chat about our favorite type of liquor.  Bourbon for him; and of course, Tequila for me.  He orders both of our drinks, and I’m a little impressed by the bourbon’s that he’s asking to make his Manhattan up.  Hm…. it’s been a while since I’ve been out with a guy who knows how he likes his cocktails.  Ok… one more point for you.

Our night goes on pretty fluidly, with no break in good conversation.  He’s eloquent in how he speaks, well traveled, open-minded, definitely seems educated. Is very thoughtful in how he converses, which is a little of a relief!  Most people I meet these days don’t quite know how to have a conversation.  Usually its like FuqBoi and his random ramblings of nonsense.  But this guy takes the time to tell great, descriptive stories that are captivating.  And then makes sure to ask questions about myself or how it could relate to what he just told.  BD tells me that he just got back from a 6-week adventure traveling all throughout Africa, describing to me about swimming with sharks, and taking all day treks to get to the top of an active volcano.  I’m mesmerized.  This hasn’t happened to me in a while.  There’s a few more points for you.

As I laugh and enjoy my time with him, he laughs as well, and throws out a litmus test, and reaches his hand out and touches my leg.

I don’t quite shudder.  But there’s definitely no sizzle of electricity.

I try not to make it a big deal, and continue on with our conversation, with no reciprocation of affection.

As I’m telling a story, the thoughts inside my head are racing and ping-ponging back and forth.  Glancing at his face, and I am seeing 100% no attraction to him, all those points he gained are now in the negative.  I want to say it has something to do with his eyes.  There was a yellow-ish tint to them.  Almost like he has been sick, or took a huge bong-toke right before he left to come meet with me.  I’m trying not to show my disinterest, but he’s really funny, and a great conversationalist.  All I can think was, “Damn, I hope we stay friends.” and “I really have to hook this guy up with one of my friends.  He’s too good of a guy, one of my friends has to date this guy… just not me.”

We end the night slightly early, and make our walk across the street to go home.  And I notice that he makes every effort to touch the cross-walk signals and makes sure that I’m walking on the inside of the street… a lot of that gentleman charm that I honestly don’t see very often anymore.  Damn!  Why can’t I be attracted to you?  We get to our gate and I give him the un-sexy Homie-Hug goodnight, tell him that I had a great time and good-night.  He wishes me the same and we part ways to our own towers.  Again, all I can think is damn… what a great guy.  Who can I hook him up with?

Premature L-jaculation

I remember when I was with #whiteboy, we would often be bored and were constantly looking for things to do.  Almost like we were outcast-ed from our friends because we were a couple.  Not necessarily because we were the obnoxious couple with the constant PDA… but I think possibly just because we were a couple.  So we had to find activities to do with one another, which I loved… no complaints here.  But I definitely remember there being a lull in our social engagements.

However now, in this #SingleLife… I notice how quickly my social calendar has been filled up.  Most of it is by my doing, often times double booking on days.  Possibly because I don’t want to feel the loneliness creep in making me miss the comfort of my DVR and #whiteboy nights.  Which to be completely honest… I am missing him quite a bit.  I’m not too sure why, considering Rebound Babe has been supplying me with more affection and attention than I expected.  But maybe this topic should be discussed on another post.

This past week I was inundated with a hectic work week that didn’t allow the Mo-Time that I need to feel complete and whole.  The time that I need to work out, veg out in front of the tv, compile my thoughts together to write a decent post, or to read a couple more poems from The Dead Emcee Scrolls.  On top of the busy work week, for the weekend I had scheduled 2 concerts, shopping at the Rose Bowl flea market, 2 dates and city bike ride.  Needless-to-say, a few things fell off, the most important being my sleep.  I told myself this time around in my #SingleLife, I would put myself first, and to never let my friends fall off.  And I’ve been struggling to try to find the balance of all of it.  All the while, I’m still actively trying to meet new boys on what ever flavor-of-the-week dating app I chose to be on.  I think I may be doing just a bit too much.

I had scheduled to meet a new boy (again, not even name worthy on here) for a Saturday brunch.  Am I attracted to him?  Ehhhh.  He Aiight.  I feel like all I want is some company, conversation and attention.  So I’m not even really being picky about the dates I chose. Plot twist:  he lives in my same apartment complex.  Ew.  I know.  You should never shit where you eat.  However, I already gave the guy my phone number before we established this.  Come Saturday morning, I roll over to pull the covers over my head, as again, it’s way to bright in my apartment. The pounding in my head rings a little too true of the fact that I’ve been over-doing it.  After last night’s concert, my best friend, Kimba and I decide to go bar hopping around Hollywood.  Leading to too many drinks that brings this hangover to it’s full light and some violent midnight puking.  I’m definitely not in any shape to try to put on coat of mascara or try to impress a boy, who I’m not even really impressed by.  With every intention of flaking on the dude… I send out a quick “Good Morning” text to see if we would still be on for lunch.   He doesn’t reply back right away to which I’m thankful.  5 minutes later I get a knock-knock text notifications and it’s Cover Girl hitting me up to see if I’m game for a shopping expedition.  Duh.  Bye Boy. As I hop into my car, I get a call from a number I don’t recognize, so of course I don’t answer, realizing later that it was Brunch Dude. Oops.  I’ve gotten a little too comfortable flaking on these boys recently, that I’m curious if I’m setting into motion some negative dating Karma in my future.

Originally I planned for a double-date-Saturday.  Brunch Dude in the morning.  Go home sleep.  And then evening date plans with Rebound Babe.  Unfortunately the bad friend in me, didn’t realize/think about trying to plan something fun Cover Girl since it was her birthday.  Oops.  So of course, cancelling all my plans with my boys to hang with my girl became the schedule for my Saturday.  The cancelling of my plans with Rebound Babe sets him off, and he immediately expresses his disappointment with the onslaught of a guilt trip.  I recognize the play.  Purely because it’s the same ball I throw when I’m trying to get it back into my court.  I apologize incessantly, and the promise of, “Please let me make it up to you” again exits my mouth.  It appears like I’m repeating the same mistakes from FuckYeah, I guess a girl doesn’t learn her lesson. The guilt trip texts continue through out the night as my trio of Good Good Girlfriends make our way though the City of Angels.

Sunday morning arises… and somehow through my old lady hungover state, I manage to convince Rebound Babe to come up to LA and take care of me. Damn, I’m good. However, he insists that we eat first and that he’ll swoop me up.  I Yelp to see what’s the best local pizza joint, and decide that the only thing that will help to settle my upturned stomach is some hearty Chicago Deep Dish Pizza! The silver Mercedes chariot awaits me as make my stumble down the street and hop in.  Glancing over at Rebound Babe, he gleams a smile at me that makes me forget that my head is literally in a vise.  With both hands he cups my face and gently presses his lips against mine.  What is it about his kisses that draw me to him?  How can something as simple as a kiss keep me coming back for more? It’s like a freshly baked chocolate molten lava cake.  Sweet, warm, delicious.  He turns onto Sunset Blvd and places his hand along the inside of my leg.  The warm of his hand acts as a barrier to shelter me from the whole world, and the vise around my head is slowly being turned lefty-loosey.

We park a few blocks away from the restaurant and begin our walk over.  Since we both are commiserating in our hungover states, we can barely walk together in unison as we usually do.  Taking off beat steps, our arms sway in the opposite direction and in every other step, our hands nervously bump each other.  There’s a pause in the sway each time, as if we don’t know whether or not to take hold of each others hands.  How strange this feeling is. Not 10 minutes ago, I felt as if there was no other place I would rather be.  But now, in the sunlight for all to see, I’m nervous about displaying our affection towards one another.  Which makes me believe and think that maybe I’m not ready for how quickly Rebound Babe is sharing his affection towards me.  Or, how uncomfortable that I am with publicly displaying the affection towards any man that is not my #whiteboy.

As we sit in the restaurant and sip on our cider and beers, the usual playful banter begins.  And of course, the fact that I cancelled our plans from the night prior comes up. He continues to poke fun, and makes bullet points of all the ways that I can try to make it up to him. We laugh at the ridiculousness of his requests, and he says, “It’s ok Momo… I still love you.”

Major loud PAUSE.

Uhhhh.

Is this just a friendly playful comment?  Or is he honestly trying to tell me something?  I of course, do not reply or even address the comment.  I take another sip of my cider and change the topic.

Later that evening we’re in bed doing what we do. And in that slow sensual dance that he does so well, in between thrusts, he whispers something like, “I love… “, then a quick pause, “the way you feel.”

What is it with all this LOVE talk?  Is he actually trying to confess the feelings that he’s had for me all these years?  Is he misplacing his love from his ex-fiance to the next girl? Is he saying what he needs to say just to get what he wants from me?  I really have no idea.  But it’s definitely way too soon for all this talk.  Even if we’ve known each other for 7 years… this is just a little premature for me.