My Sex and the City Episode 245 - Mama's Boy

I had a Sex and the City episode yesterday.

I had a date with this guy from Brooklyn whom I had met online.

Meet "Mike"
Mike works in the public school system in Brooklyn and is thankful for his family, friends, and his job. He likes going to the gym, going out to local bars and clubs, and watching the NY Rangers hockey team. The five things he can't live without are his Blackberry, his new Camero, Tivo, guitar and guacamole, but not necessarily in that order. He is looking for a girl that he can 'have fun and experience life with'. He is 29 years old,  5'10', Italian, muscular and has two large tattoos over both his shoulders.

We talked back and forth for a few days and finally decided to meet in person on a Wednesday night that was later forcasted to have a snowstorm of over 20 inches. I texted him earlier in the day before the snow started asked if he wanted a rain check.

     “Nahh, I'm not worried about the storm. I'll drive out there. I really want to meet you.”

     “Okaaaayyyy....”

     We decided to meet at 8:30pm at a local tequila bar on the Upper East Side, close to my place. I'd been there before and its a cheesy Mexican themed bar and restaurant with cow print benches and frozen house margaritas and a completely misplaced live band that played rock and roll music in the downstairs basement turned lounge. When I arrived, it had already started snowing and there was a couple inches of snow already on the ground, but it was nothing that commuters couldn't handle. The place was about half full which seemed about right on a Wednesday night, nevermind the shit storm that was about to fall out of the sky.

     Mike was at the bar and when he saw me coming, he stood up to greet me.

     “It's so great to meet you.” He smiled as he gave me a kiss on the cheek. I have to admit, I had the worst case scenario playing in my mind on the way to the bar. Of Mike being ten years older than his profile, 50 pounds heavier than his profile, maybe he talked nasally or had tourettes. Maybe he had a gimp leg and six fingers on each hand... much to my relief, he turned out to be surprisingly normal.

     We ordered beers and some guacamole (which we agreed was fantastic) and despite myself, had a really great time. We conversed about everything from South Park, religion, butt modeling, Ferraris and even about the type of tanning lotion that we preferred. He was a funny, witty and incredibly laid back guy that I thought I wouldn't mind getting to know on a second date. I may not marry him, but he sure as hell is fun company. Who knew online dating could be successful? Even our bartender was feeling our vibe and gave us a round of shots on the house.

     As the night got later, we realized that most of the other patrons had left the restaurant and it was now down to just a handful of us, buzzed at the bar and glad that we were indoors. The storm outside had taken a turn for the worst and the had been given a new term called the Thundersnow. The streets was completely deserted and the snow was everywhere and halfway up to the wheels of the cars parked along the curb. I vaguely remembered that Mike had driven from Brooklyn to meet me in the city... I checked my phone for the time and sure enough, it was after midnight.

    Then my phone rang.

     An unknown NY number popped up on my phone. Wondering who and where one of my drunken retard friends could have gotten stranded in the city to need to call me from a stranger's phone, I answered it.

     “Hello?”

     “Umm... hiiii.” A female voice said to me. “I'm so sorry to bother you right now, but are you out by any chance with a Michael?” I was speechless. Instantly, I ran through the mental list of potential callers: a jealous girlfriend, a crazy stalker, a wife??? I tried to pick my jaw off the ground and say something coherent...

     “Michael?” I stammered. His eyes shot open. That look of horror. Like you know shit just hit the fan. “Why yes I am out with him.” I confirmed while bracing myself for the barage of angry 'homewrecking slut' insults I was about to receive. “I'm sorry, who is this?”

     “This is his mother,” I was speechless for the second time in the span of ten seconds. “It's just that it's getting late and the storm is getting pretty bad, and I was just worried because he hadn't come home yet.” This sentence took me a full minute to register. With my jaw still open, I looked at Mike and handed him the phone.

     “It's your mother.”

     He took the phone and immediately turned bright red, obviously mortified. He turned his back to me as he proceeded to yell at his mother. I wanted to laugh. I wanted to cry. I wanted to ask him why he still lived at home with his mother. I wanted to know why she had my number. I wanted to make fun of his curfew. I wanted to do a lot of things, but when he handed the phone back to me, all I said was “We should probably get going.”

     I hadn't been on a date with a person who still lived at home since high school. I wondered briefly if she was sick, or if he was really unemployed, or if he had recently gotten kicked out of an ex-girlfriend's apartment. I couldn't decide if it would have been worse for him to have been cheating on a girlfriend or still live with his mother. At least cheating is a socially accepted thing to do. If you hear a man cheat on his girlfriend, you think 'that cheating bastard', you vent, then you tell the girlfriend that she's too good for him and move on. But a man who still lives with his mother? That can only be chalked up to three possibilities: 1) She is terminally ill and needs someone to take care of her which is noble and aww-worthy of what a good son he is, and most girls would still consider sleeping with him, but only at their place. 2) He is unemployed and lazy, down on his luck and broke, or any combination of the above which still makes him a potentially nice guy, but please don't call me until you find a job and an apartment. Or 3) He is a mama's boy to the extreme and suffering from some deep Oedipal issues that require him to garner her approval in every aspect of life from the clothes he wears to the girls he dates, but it's a lose lose situation because you will never be good enough to replace dear old mom. Nor do I think you should you really try...

    

     “Some people think it's weird that I still live at home, (Uhhh... cause it is) but I save a lot of money that way (you have a job). Besides, I'm Italian and family is really important to us. (you're a grown man) I thought about moving out and getting my own apartment (so why didn't you?), but I decided to get a car instead. (Cause you really need a car living in New York City...) And I only gave her your number just in case something happened. (Like if I was an ax murderer?)”

     “Check please.”

     We walked out of the bar into the howling night and I should have just booked it to the nearest cab, except there were none. There were absolutely no vehicles on the snow covered streets.

     “Let me at least take you home. It'll be an hour before a taxi drives by.” I looked up the street desperately for a glint of yellow, but he was right. I'd get home faster walking in this weather if I didn't die and get frozen til spring first. Mike had parked his Camero on the corner and when I glanced at it, I knew that car was not going anywhere without some effort. The snow was up past the wheels and bumper and caked at least 8 inches high over the hood, roof and trunk. Why he decided to drive a low sports car into the city on the night of a massive blizzard is beyond me. I almost wanted to tell him to forget about the car because it obviously isn't going anywhere, but then I didn't want him thinking that was an invitation to stay at my place because the last thing I needed was for him to wake up in the middle of the night asking for a warm glass of milk. I tightened my scarf and trudged into the snow. After dislodging the snow in front of the drivers side door, he started the car up and popped the trunk. From the trunk he pulled out a small shovel and started to dig the car out from the curb. Myself, not having a shovel, kicked at the snow in front of the car, half out of spite and half out of exasperation, trying to kick the mountains down so that the car would be able to drive over them rather than sink and spin wheels futily in the snow. After a good twenty minutes, he got into the car and tried to drive out. The car moved back and forth a few feet, but refused to clear the snow bank in front of it. The rear tires just kept spinning and the car would just sit defiantly. Finally, he put the car in park and looked at me.

    “How about I try and push the car while you try and steer us out?” Sure, it's only a 4800 car that's rear wheel drive so you can get sprayed by slush while you channel your inner juicehead... on second thought, that was strangely satisfying to me.

    “Sure.” I reversed the car back a few feet and rolled the window down and counted, “One, two threeeee!!!!” The Chevy inched forward in the snow and just when we feared it would get stuck, it roared over the low bank and we were free. I climbed out of the car into the passenger side and Mike triumphantly slid into the drivers seat. After all he's been reduced to in my mind, I thought let him have this small victory. He's still got a long drive home to mom.

     Mike dropped me off at the corner of my apartment and I gave him a quick peck on the cheek and thanked him for an interesting night. As he drove off into the Thundersnow, I suddenly wished it was the weekend, so that I could run off to another bar and keep drinking. Only the because of the snow, I used my better judgment and went upstairs, peeling wet layer after cold wet layer of clothes until I was naked and dry. I picked up my phone and texted Mike one last time: Get home safe and tell your mother I'm sorry I kept you out past your bedtime.