I wore: the Mid-June-through-Early-July Date Zero outfit (I promise I will find a new Date Zero outfit soon, because it’s all about the fans for me). New “hollywood” haircut. French manicure, OPI “International Date Line” on toes. Joy perfume.
He wore: black collared shirt with t-shirt underneath (a plus), black pin-striped pants (not a plus), black dress shoes (neutral), nice watch (plus) and glasses (neutral). TVPolitico should be an attractive guy, there is a Clooney-ishness to his appearance, though he is skinnier, but for some reason, it doesn’t quite work. He’s not terribly unattractive, but he is simply not as attractive as he should be given the sum total of his objectively attractive physical traits. He has a slight gooberishness to him, though certainly nothing compared to Mr. Goober. I was not embarrassed to be with him, which is always a good start.
We met at a restaurant in my part of town that is very old and somewhat reminiscent of an old skool Mafia hangout. It is the kind of place where you can still order liver and onions if you want. I got there on time, and went to the bar where he had said he would be waiting. Naturally, he was not there. This irritated me. But rather than stand out by myself on Hollywood Boulevard and perhaps have to turn away some would-be “customers,” I sat at the bar and drank a Diet Coke.
TVPolitico was about ten minutes late, a fact of which I reminded him several times just because I’m thoughtful. He sat down and ordered a Negrino, a drink of which I had heard before, but am still trying to figure out if I think is “gay.” TVPolitico works in the same building as Larry David, so we discussed their uncomfortable moments together in the men’s bathroom. TVPolitico was very excited to discuss gender politics with me, a refreshing fact in and of itself; however, I think he wanted to kiss my ass since he was agreeing with me profusely when I informed him that all we (women) really need men for is 1) lifting stuff, and 2) directions.
We were seated for dinner. I ordered a New York Steak, rare, and he ordered scallops. I asked him why he ordered scallops. He didn’t have a good answer. This is so clearly a place to order steak. When the food came, he agreed that he should have ordered steak. He ate some of my steak, as there was a lot of food. I allowed him to get the ketchup bottle to work for me, and he said, “You see, we [men] also help you [women] with ketchup bottles.” I said, “Yes, but we have squeeze ketchup bottles now,” and he said, “Probably another invention of a woman’s.” He is likely right.
Our conversation was good and reasonably intelligent. TVPolitico is SMRT but not as SMRT as he thinks he is–but this is typical for men. He kept making professions about the supposed “advantages” he would have had if he had gone to a school like “Georgetown, Yale or NYU” (odd grouping, but this is hairsplitting) instead of a state school. I let him go on for a long time about this topic, quietly questioning his logic but letting him think he was convincing me. It took him about twenty more minutes to ask me where I went to school, which was a delicious moment. Ordinarily I like to avoid this kind of thing on dates, but this was a special occasion. He got considerably quieter after this.
When the check came, the idiot waiter put it in the middle of the table. I really would have expected better from the waiter in a place like this. Clearly a Mafioso would not expect his goomah (spelling?) to pay for her own linguini. Whatever. The check stayed there for a little while, but I think this was just because TVPolitico wasn’t in a hurry to leave, not because he was going to expect me to pay. Finally, I said I needed to get home. We left and went outside to the parking dude. TVPolitico did not pay for my parking, but I have only had one Date Zero’er who did, so this is not unusual.
TVPolitico wanted to know if we could get together again. I said, “Sure.” He hugged me and kissed me on the cheek. I suspect that he would have tried a lip kiss, but I was too wily for him this time. Overall, a decent DZ. Not spectacular, but not disastrous.