Brownies, Axe-Wielding Psychos and My Life Last Night

In the concern that this blog doesn’t turn into an online reality show soap opera, this will be my last entry in the on-going posts about My Lovelife (or Lack Thereof). Plus, I’m sure you guys are getting bored and ready to move on to better pastures now. Which is great because I have a fascinating topic in the works that I’ve entitled Etymology and the Study of the Origin of the Word Church: How Alleged Anti-Semitism Has Biased the Translation of the Bible and Why Certain Groups of People are Hacked Off About That.

Just kidding (you hope)! Anyway, I figured you deserved to know the sort of finale to my current little drama seeing as how I’ve strung you along this far.

As it turns out, the decision of whether or not to return Shy Guy’s call was taken out of my hands when he called me at work yesterday and invited himself over to my apartment that evening. I agreed, but arranged for my mom to be there so that:

1) If he turned out to be an axe-wielding psycho, he would have nothing on my mother, and she could protect us with one hand while hopefully making brownies with the other.

2) He wouldn’t think I’m the kind of girl who regularly entertains male visitors of the non-mosquito variety in the privacy of her apartment, while hopefully getting some brownies out of the deal at the same time.

Well, my mother arrived with Dad in tow, so when Shy Guy – who isn’t shy at all, by the way – arrived, it was more like a “Meet the Parents” kind of thing, minus the potty-trained cats. While I sat there and squirmed, my parents asked him all sorts of embarrassing questions like, “What do you do?” and “What kind of lawyer would you like to be?” and “Do you believe JFK was murdered due to a conspiracy theory?”

What I Wore (This One’s for Jody)
Well, I wish I had a whole story about having a closet full of nothing to wear so I ran to Wet Seal or wherever and found the perfect dress and shoes to match, but the reality is much more boring. Everything happened so fast that I wore the same thing I wore to work yesterday: an army green t-shirt that had the word “Rebel” and a skull and crossbones on it in very feminine silver and gold glitter, only I exchanged the denim skirt that made my hips look big for a black skirt that was more slimming.

You think I’m joking, but I’m not. That skirt really did make my hips look big.

How the Evening Went (This One's for Jody Too)
Much to my disappointment, Not-So-Shy Guy did not turn out to be an axe-wielding psycho (I’ve never met one before, and I think it would be a different experience for me); instead he turned out to be a very nice guy and a perfect gentlemen, and we had a lovely evening listening to choir music and having um, “lively” discussions about traditional vs. non-traditional points of view on certain issues of which I am remaining purposely vague. He laughed really hard at all my lame jokes, which scored him some major points with me. I figure he’s going to need a really great sense of humor should he ever run across these entries about him. Heh, heh.

So now that he’s graduated from Blogfodder to Real Person, this will be the last entry in which I go into detail about My Lovelife (Or Lack Thereof). Actually, I feel a little guilty about making him Blogfodder in the first place. While we were discussing the merits of authenticity, I sat there and squirmed, knowing there was no way I could tell him about these blog entries and feeling like a hippo-sized-crit, which he plainly stated he loathed. Let’s keep praying for a really good sense of humor!

An Interesting Twist
One final note for all you commenters who accused the poor guy of a lack of chivalry: He claims my mother asked him for his phone number when he mentioned he’d be interested in meeting me. A claim she vehemently denies, meaning someone got his or her story a little muddled. Ah, the plot thickens!

Actually, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she had tackled him, wrestled him to the ground, subdued him, then hung him up by his thumbs and tickled the bottoms of his bare feet until he screamed in agony and surrendered his phone number. Like I said, axe-wielding psychos don’t have anything on my mother. Never underestimate the power of a woman desperate to get her spinster daughter married off.

And we never did get those brownies, dag-nabbit.

Questions, comments, concerns? Please feel free to E-mail me!