Wednesday, September 12, 2012

Blindfolds, Whips, and Chains

My mother recently visited me in the city, and since this post could become its own paperback, I'll share just one story from the experience.

The woman talks. A lot. She loves engaging in conversation with just about anyone (I'm still surprised the Hot Nuts cart guy didn't follow us home). One discussion from her travels that stands out above the rest is one that lasted five hours.  Fortunately, it was a conversation had neither with me nor in the presence of me. As she recounted the lengthy exchange she had with the passenger seated next to her on the flight from Vegas (poor bastard), I realized this wasn't just a "for-shits-and-giggles" tale. There was a motive in her tone, and I'm disappointed it took me as long as it did to figure it out.

She was trying to set me up.

I don't understand what it is about me that suggests "can't find a guy on her own," but apparently I'm swimming in it. It's one thing when your peers try their hand at matchmaking; it's completely another when your mother does. It's worse when your mother concludes that a man she met on a cross-country flight from Vegas, a man I'm sure got fewer than five sentences in on the conversation, is the man I should be with.

During much of her visit, she kept boasting about Jonathan. "He's such a kind soul." "He's so good looking." He's successful." It was more than apparent that she already liked this Jonathan guy more than she liked me. What could she have possibly learned about him in the five hours they sat next to each other that would lead her to think we were a match made in heaven?  It almost sounded as if she was interested in him.

She retold her story to my friend over dinner, in attempt to further encourage me to reach out - if she had one more person bending my ear her hopes might turn into reality. Apparently, my mother had forgotten I write a blog - if reaching out to the guy turned out well, no harm, no foul. If it was a complete joke - viola! - blog post! And here we are.

After I put  my mother on a flight back to Vegas, I emailed Jonathan the following:

Hi Jonathan,

I would start off by saying, "You don't know me, but..," however, because you were subjected to sitting next to my mother in a confined space for multiple hours, you surely know more than you'd like to about her family members.

I decided I would reach out to apologize on behalf of my siblings and me. We know, better than anyone, how much our mom can talk. When she and I were walking around the city during her visit, she started so many random conversations I feared she wasn't even here to visit me at all. God love her.

If you're ever in the city, let me know. I think I owe you a drink (or seven). I'll expense them back to her - no worries.
Hoping your future travels include noise-canceling headphones,
That's really as good as my game gets. More often than not, my game consists of getting myself drunk enough to look appealing to guys at a bar: "Hey, she won't put up a fight - let's go with her" (Maybe the case for illegitimate rape can be made in this instance? Is it rape if the "victim" is on top?).  I felt good about the email, though.  I mean, what else is there to say really?

He wrote back and was much too kind when referring to the amount my mother talks - already a turn off.  We made plans to meet for happy hour at a place of my choosing the following week.

I'm never on time for anything, in fact, it was the earliest I had ever been late when I showed up to the date, and he wasn't even there! Strike two, buddy. When he finally arrived, I realized I hadn't drank enough at the bar across the street beforehand.  Really, mom? I decided the only thing I could do was entertain myself. He was barely keeping up with my banter, which made my sarcasm that much more aggressive. He wasn't a terrible guy, he just wasn't a guy I would choose on my own. We both drank away the awkwardness. The last thing I remember was returning an empty shot glass to the bar counter, looking around and being unable to locate Jonathan anywhere. I waited it out for a while then headed home.

The asshole pulled an Irish-exit on me.

Obviously, I'm my own worst enemy (or liquor is his). However, instead of blind dates, I'd much prefer actual blindfolds and possibly whips and chains. Yes, I'd rather be beaten than go on another blind date. Where's Chris Brown when you need him?

And mom, just because a guy is hungover polite enough to put up with you on a long flight, does not mean he's the guy for me. So, unless you're sitting next to Joe Manganiello, set them up with your other single daughter - the one you like.

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