Date One with Mr. Rogers: Play-by-Play Commentary

by anna on July 14, 2004

I wore: the outfit that premiered at the DZ with WryConsultant (I can only be expected to have so many dating outfit possibilities). Changes: Herve Leger perfume, Laura Mercier Dry Rose lipstick. Sluttiness rating maintained.

He wore: jeans, some kind of loafers, an Israeli youth coalition (? I think that’s what he said it was) t-shirt, suede jacket, Omega watch (+1 golddigging)

Mr. Rogers picked me up at my house. Before I agreed to this arrangement, I asked, “Have you removed the handles from the inside of your car doors or anything?” and he said, “For you, I will put them back on.” Mr. Rogers drives a Volvo SUV with pretty much every option I have ever heard of and some I have never heard of (+2 gold digging). We went to a Thai restaurant that is known both for the excellence of its food and the headlining act, a Thai Elvis impersonator. The Elvis impersonator was not working last night, so we were treated to a Lebanese Beatles cover dude. Mr. Rogers asked me what kind of food I wanted, what kind of food I liked, and then chose the food items. All of it was good.

The waitress wanted to know if we wanted beer. This led to the inevitable Alcohol Issue:

A: Just water for me, thanks.
MR: I’ll just have water, too, then.
A:
MR: Do you drink beer at all?
A: Nope.
MR: Do you drink wine?
A: Nope.
MR: Never?
A: Is this a problem?
MR: No, no, I just . . .
A: Sometimes men aren’t happy when they find out I don’t drink.
MR: Oh?
A: Yes, I think they think it makes their jobs much more difficult . . .
MR: Oh, really? I just, you know, I am just curious. I mean, I’m just trying to get to know you.
A:
MR: I mean, I just want to know what I’m working with. I mean, if you were a recovering alcoholic . . .
A:
MR: Is that it?
A: We’re not going to discuss this right now.
MR: Oh, OK! You’ll tell me everything when you’re comfortable

The rest of the dinner preceded without problems. The food was good, the conversation was excellent. Mr. Rogers is a funny guy. The odd thing is, he wants to know all about stuff that I think he shouldn’t know about yet (i.e. past relationships, what kind of guys I like, my family relationships, etc.) and yet never asks about stuff that would be easy to talk about (i.e. work, my dissertation, free time activities). It’s all or nothing with this guy.

The good news is that if it doesn’t work out romantically between Mr. Rogers and myself, I believe we may have a future as a comedy writing duo. Our dating experience might make a good sitcom chronicling the cultural clash of a WASP and a Jew and oh the hilarity! that ensues as they try to relate to each other.

Like Dharma and Greg, only with better food and clothes by Michael Kors.

After dinner, we went to a coffee place, but this took a long time to find and involved an amusing run-in with the navigation system, which we listened to in French, and a debate about whether, if he were to murder somebody a la OJ Simpson, they would be able to locate him immediately because of his GPS (my stance) or if this navigation system merely gathered information rather than emitted information (his stance). This issue was not resolved.

At some point, although I was having a good time, the lack of sleep for the last few days got to me. Mr. Rogers sensed this, and said, “Do you want to go home? Do you need to go to sleep?” I said, “Yes.” He said, “OK, you don’t snore, do you?” Wah wah wah wawawwwaah.
We got home without incident. When we got to my house, he said, “Do you know I can drop you off and be home in like 30 seconds? That’s SO COOL.” He stopped in front of the Steps and then The Awkwardness began. I have a low Awkwardness tolerance. The conversation is as follows:

A: Well, thank you for dinner . . .
.
MR: This is where you make your escape?
A: Yep . ..
MR:
A: I mean, it’s up to you.
MR: It’s up to ME?
A: Yep.
MR: So this is the part where you run away and then I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do?
A: Yep.
MR:
A: But you know how to deal with it this time, right?
MR: Yes, I do.
A: OK, good, bye!

I am fully aware that I am emotionally retarded–no need to remind me. Time will tell.

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