It's not altogether appropriate that I start the real posts on this blog with pre-date ramblings. I'm supposed to lead with a clever book review, or a tale of personal woe and redemption, or something funny having to do with my work. But no. By puttering around on the internet before a hot date I consign this blog to the confessional. At least I can be pompous and call it a roman a clef, although I'm probably misusing that.
It should be obvious, by the way, that this blog is anonymous. If you know me don't be a jackass.
Several weeks ago, before Christmas actually, I spotted a pretty girl on Nerve. I paid to send her the usual brief e-mail, the usual basic hi with a touch of wit, the specifics of which I don't remember. The online dating scene is weird, not in the least because of the gender dynamics, which are positively Victorian. I've totally bought into it; I don't expect girls to respond to winks, and I don't sweat it if they don't respond to e-mail, ever. On the depressing side I appear to have no respect at all for the girls who contact me, which means I've totally bought into the system. But they're few and far between.
I'm holding some kind of perverse pride in that of the four girls I mentally placed as being the highest on the cute+interesting+sane scale, I've had dates with two. I feel like a bit of a catch, these days.
A second date with one of them is coming up in a few hours. She declared after a fun couple of drinks at the place downtown that she'd like to see me again, and further declared that it would be at one of DC's posher establishments. I of course reacted poorly to this, as I react similarly poorly to the whole East Coast urban-achiever vibe of men always paying. Being a bright girl, she sensed something was up and coolly informed me that it's DC's Restaurant Week, where posh eateries offer a $30.07 prix fixe. It's a total scam at the midrange eateries, but if you're going somewhere where the entrees are usually in the $30-$50 range it's awesome. Correspondingly it's the Wheel of Pain itself to get reservations at a decent hour.
We waited until yesterday to deal with this, so we're eating at 10:30; drinks in Georgetown beforehand. Outfit: khakis, black semi-hip dress shirt, grey sport coat. I'll admit up front that each of those three items are the only ones of their class that I own (although I do own several blue and white dress shirts.) My stated promise of preppifying myself after moving East hasn't yet materialized. My shoes are decent although scuffed. Hopefully she won't notice.