Before we get to the juicy details, I need to address Shen's comment on the last post. In case you're too lazy to "click" on the comments at the end of said post, let me summarize: Could I please come up with a more suitable (i.e. shorter) nickname for each of the men involved.? Why certainly, anything for the Great Gor-Gor! (....thunder....)
We will call date-boy by the nickname "Van", since he's way into Van Halen. We will heretofore address graduate stoner boy by the moniker "Bruce", since he's got arms like Bruce Lee (drool). And thus, it begins...
I've decided to adopt a "3 strikes and you're out" policy for my date analysis. Each category will be scored on a 3 point system, 3 being the worst and 0 the best. Each time the date-ee improves his/her performance, a point will be subtracted. Each time the situation worsens, or does not improve, a point will be added. If the date in question reaches 3 points in each category, the dating will end. Let the scoring commence...
I didn't end up ditching my date on Friday after all, although, for about 15 minutes, I thought he had ditched me. Thinking it wise, I had called ahead and made reservations at the restaurant. I got all dolled up, in my black velvet dress, make-up, black-spiked collar and new bondage sandals. (The policy is the try to scare the crap out of them on the first date.) I was anxious to leave, but I remembered that you're supposed to make the guy wait for some reason. My cab driver took his sweet time picking me up. I arrived at the Olive Garden, checked in, and stood outside, hoping to intercept Van. There wasn't much of a crowd, but nearly everyone gave me odd looks. A little boy stared at me for about 5 minutes. Then, I was seated, sans date. I sat there by myself for a while, before all the dots were connected and the waitstaff realized that my date had already been seated at another table on the other side of the restaurant.
With a nervous and unsteady step, I followed the hostess through a maze of tables. Van sat alone, looking at his cell phone. I smiled, sat myself down, and promptly ordered a glass of the house red. I panicked for a second when I realized that Van wasn't as attractive as I had remembered from my hazy night at the club and I wondered if I was just as shocking to him. No, I'm not going to score the man on looks, because I'm hardly that shallow.
He was all dressed up and although he wasn't wearing Versace, at least he bothered: 3 points.
Conversation progressed tentatively at first. We talked about Bruce a little and how I managed to track down Van's number. I told him about my "series of operatives" working under cover. I was thankful that he didn't order a big, buttery steak. Intentional or not? We talked about why I don't eat seafood.
Food: 1 point.
He picked up the check. Paid with a debit card. I'm not going to score on that, since I can't decide if I'm more impressed by cash or suspicious of it. At least it shows that he has a bank account, unlike myself, who is way to shady to have the credit required for a bank accout. He didn't ask if I wanted dessert, but he didn't bitch when I ordered several glasses of wine. I asked if he wouldn't mind driving to the club where we were to meet my step-sister.
When I followed him out to the parking lot, he couldn't find his car! Although he expressed his embarassment, I thought it was really cute!!
Cute: 0 points.
He drives a red Dodge sportscar with a sunroof. I'm thinking that it might be early 90's.
Car: 0 points.
(I'm going to post this now, because I was just rudely disconnected and barely had time to copy this much)
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