Friday Night's Alright (For Dating)

So, tonight was the night. I went out with Chatty Cathy.

Actually, perhaps I should just drop the nicknames (i.e. the aforementioned Chatty Cathy, J-Date Girl, Omaha Girl, etc.) for now and just call her by her name: Nikki.

So, tonight, Nikki and I went out on a date. Nothing too fancy. In fact, some might call it less of a date and more of an initial meeting (we both insisted on sporting very casual attire). I mean, all we did was go to a movie ("In the Land of Women"--I'll get to that in a bit). I picked her up, we went to AMC and watched the movie, and then I took her home. Bing, bang, boom...The End. Right?

Come on! When are all of you going to learn that nothing is ever that simple when it comes to Yours Truly?

For starters, once I got to her apartment complex, I couldn't find the piece of paper that had her actual address. I looked fucking everywhere: pockets, the different consoles in my car. Hell, I nearly stuck my hand down my pants to make sure I didn't stick it there (I didn't, in case you were curious). However, I talked some sense into myself and just decided to bite the bullet and call her. Lucky for me and little did I know, I was actually in front of her place when I called. Of course, it might have been nice had I actually parked on the right side of her building. I had parked in the back, rendering her unable to buzz me in. So, I had to do a little walking. Hey, nothing wrong with a little exercise!!

So...first impressions. For starters, on a physical level...totally beautiful and not in an overwhelming, holy-shit-what-is-this-girl-doing-with-me type of way, but just--she had this natural radiance that I was really attracted to. That, and she is, by far, the shortest gal I've ever met who wasn't a little person. That should not, by any means, be taken as some sort of criticism. I'm just stating the facts. Besides, I thought it was really adorable, especially when we walked side-by-side. Plus, it was kind of cool actually being tall for an evening. Don't get me wrong, my ex was shorter than me, thus making me taller, but last night, I was TALL!!

So, after about 15 minutes or so of chit-chat, we hopped into my car (apparently, I was so nervous, I forgot to park between the lines--which she didn't fail to point out) and headed toward the thee-ay-ter. The drive there was an interesting one. I'll be honest...I'm not the best driver at night, especially if I'm driving in an area that I'm not as familiar with (or, at least, haven't been around to in a while). So, it came as no surprise that I went the wrong way and that I ended up having to make an illegal U-Turn (at her urging). All the while, we're immersed in conversation which, you know, I'm good at.

So, we got to the theater and I parked. No, to those who are asking, I did not park in the handicapped section. In fact, I hid my tag in the glove box, if you really want to know. Hey, insecurity is insecurity! What are ya gonna do? As for the traditionalists out there, yes, I paid for the movie.

Okay...mini-review time.

"In the Land of Women," written and directed by Jon Kasdan (yes, the son of Lawrence--the writer/director of "The Big Chill" and writer of "The Empire Strikes Back") in his debut, is a sweet little film that's better than it has any right to be, thanks to a sweet, charming lead performance by the Jewish Geek God himself, Adam Brody (TV's The OC), a graceful, wise turn from a now middle-aged Meg Ryan (in what has to be her most complete performance yet) and an emotionally vulnerable, honest one from the lovely Kristen Stewart (whom you may recall from "Panic Room" as Jodie Foster's diabetic daughter). The movie tries really hard to be The Next Garden State, but on that level, it fails. It lacks the latter film's edge and the ending is awkward and pat. I also agree with many critics in that, with as much melodrama that ensues during the film, it really kinda is a Lifetime movie writ large. Still, between the terrific performances and a lot of the witty, intelligent dialogue, the film earns a solid B.

Okay...that concludes the Movie Review portion of this blog. Back to the date.

I must admit, watching the movie was a frustrating experience. For one, the audience was as fucking annoying as shit. I think we were the oldest ones in the crowd. Now, I was a huge--HUGE!!--fan of The OC and I love Adam Brody, but did I talk through the entirety of the film?!?! NO!!!! OF COURSE NOT!!! Maybe that's because I'm not 15 or 16 years old, goddammit!!!!!!! The dude behind me must have been under the impression that watching a film is akin to watching Monday Night Football, where everything must have a running commentary. I wanted to be like my boy Mikey B. and yell, "SON, IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP, I'M GONNA COME UP THERE AND KNOCK THE TASTE OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!!!"

But, um, I didn't. I gave a lot of stern, harsh looks at no one in particular, though!! That has to count for something!!

The second reason that the movie-watching experience was so frustrating was because I just didn't really know how to just...be. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to do the yawn-and-put-your-arm-around-her-shoulder thing or lift the arm rest up. I was clueless. Now, mind you, I've never had any game and, ya know, it was only just the first date, but come on! These are things a guy should know how and when to do. Needless to say, I just kept my eyes peeled on the screen. Like I said, pretty good movie.

The ride home was fine with lots of lively (read: we were both so tired--me from my usual lack of sleep, and her because, well, she's a lawyer/law intern who works her ass off--that we couldn't stop yawning) conversation. And then came the awkward, End of Date portion.

I parked the car (this time, in front of her place) and we talked for a bit. I walked her to her door and she held it open for me to come in. I stopped and said, "oh...I, um, thought you were tired. I don't need to come up." She goes, "ummm...I am. I thought you wanted to come up." I replied/stammered with "No...I was just kind of getting overheated in the car and thought we could talk outside, get some fresh air." She comes outside for a moment and I go on a mini-Hal rant about how my mom has taken on the nasty habit of using the phrase "biotch." I went on to say that my mom has never sounded quite so white or Jewish as when she uses that phrase. It's like the equivalent of an African American saying "dayenu" (which means "enough" or "it was sufficient" in Hebrew) or "oy vey" ("Oh, G-d," in Yiddish). Anyway, she thought that "biotch" was less a Black Thing than it was a Rich, High School Cheerleader Thing. I asked her if she ever used that word and she answered, "No, I was neither rich nor a High School cheerleader."

Duh.

At the end, I asked if she wanted a hug and she expressed that she wasn't much of an after-date hug person. She seems to be a person who kind of has her own little Personal Space bubble. Fair enough. I know what that's like. I used to totally hate being hugged by people. That's a totally different can of worms, though. So, I ended the date with a handshake, commented jokingly on how awkward that was and we parted ways for the evening.

And that's The Date. The. End.

The big question is this: Was it a good date? Honestly? I dunno. Seriously...I've never been good at gauging the quality of dates. And my ability is even worse now because I'm a little bit more insecure and a little bit more lacking in the confidence dept. than I previously was (which, ya know, is kind of saying a lot, if you think about it).

Now, did I have fun? You bet! I had a great time with Nikki and I really hope she's up for Round 2, date-wise or, at the very least, up for continuing to chat on the phone. Truth is, I don't know where to go from here. Then again, it's less than one complete day later. So, for right now, I'm just going to play things as they've been laid.

I mean, I had a great time, this week. I really did. We had some great conversations (FIVE HOURS ALONE JUST ON SUNDAY!!!), a lot of laughs and if that's how it ends, well, that's how it ends.

Que sera, sera.

Of course, I'd be lying if I said that I didn't have my fingers crossed. Well, at least just a couple of 'em.