Trader Joe goes Broadway!

For our third date, Trader Joe offered lunch and a movie and I accepted, thinking either (a) the previous date was a fluke, and he's actually a really mature guy who isn't at all desperate or clingy and we could have a great time and keep dating, or

(b) I could get a free lunch and movie, and would only have to talk to him for half of the afternoon.

So, we met at the train station and started walking towards a French restaurant I had suggested. As we were walking, he retold the same stories he had told me on the previous two dates...

Actually, let's discuss that for a minute. If someone is retelling stories on the third date, they either lead an incredibly boring life, or have an atrocious memory. Or both, and are pathological liars who cannot remember that they already invented that story to cover up for their otherwise boring life. I don't know which affliction Trader Joe was suffering from, but it was bad.

And perhaps contagious. I suggest staying away from all men showing signs of this disease.

Anyway, I zoned out until we reached Times Square, when he started gawking like a tourist (remember...born and raised in New York) and exclaimed:

"I know! Let's see a show!"

Ok...I thought. I would generally rather see a Broadway show than a movie, and I still don't have to talk to him. Sweet! This may turn out well after all!

"Sounds great! Let's go to the TKTS booth!" (where they sell discounted same-day tickets)

We went to the booth, and after talking with some of the volunteers, we decided to see High, starring Kathleen Turner. As you know from reading the link (or being one of the approximately 10 people who managed to catch the show before it closed), High is an intense drama discussing rape, drugs, prostitution, religion...name a controversial topic, it was in this show. There is also a scene featuring extended full-frontal nudity.

I was intrigued. Joe was giggling like a school girl at the prospect of seeing someone naked.

And (supposedly) he's the one who's not a virgin in this conversation...

So, we get the tickets. Ok, I get the tickets, because he had a heart attack with his eyes when the guy told him the price (which was 50% of the actual price, by the way). So he suggested that he pay for lunch. But not at the (delicious) French place I had suggested.

At the burger joint  down the block. Because it was "closer to the theatre".

By one avenue block.

*sigh*

So, we see the show, which was very powerful and very well-acted and contained a very large naked male penis.

By the way, I have now seen four Broadway shows with male nudity, and all four men were extremely well-endowed. I would really like to know how they cast these roles...

Wait...what was I doing? Oh, blogging. Right...

Remember when I said the show discussed things like rape and drug use? Romantic, sexy topics, right?

Joe seemed to think so, because he put his hand on my thigh at EVERY dramatic pause. And when do dramatic pauses happen? After something dramatic.

Like...

A character revealing that he was raped at the age of 14 by his mother's john.
Joe's hand goes to my thigh.


A character revealing that her younger sister was murdered by a man she invited into the house while high. Joe's hand goes to my thigh.


After the fourth time, when I was certain it could not possibly be a coincidence (unless he was too stupid to be following the plot of the show, which may actually be worse), I moved as far away as I could while still staying in my seat and tried to enjoy the rest of the show.


Afterwards, as we were walking back to the train station, I asked how he liked he show.


His response?


"Well...that guy...he was naked. Really naked. Wow."


Which he repeated like a mantra until I dropped the 28-year-old man-child off at his train.

Just when you thought it was safe

to re-enter the dating pool...

But it is not sharks we fear, is it? Sharks, after all, are awesome. They have an entire amazing week of ridiculous programming devoted to them on the Discovery Channel. And *identifying detail alert!* I have one tattooed on my foot.

It is, in fact, the frogs, lurking in their muddy bogs, waiting to pounce and give you warts.

Or at least a really awkward date.

So, as you may have noticed, I haven't posted (*cough* been on a date *cough cough*) in a while. Like I said in November, I started graduate school, and have been collecting part-time jobs like a 12 year old boy collects Pokemon (wait...do those even exist anymore?), so I haven't really had time to seriously pursue meeting any of the guys I've been speaking to occasionally online.

But Trader Joe (named for the location of a particularly weird story which Blonde Roommate loves to re-tell!) was very persuasive. We spoke a few times on OkCupid and GChat, and he seemed funny, interesting, and intelligent, and we had quite a few things in common. So, when he asked if we could meet for dinner, I was happy to agree. I was even more happy when he brought me a pink rose and insisted on paying! In any case, we had a very nice time, and I was actually excited to go out again.

I should have known better. The second date started out just as well as the first- nice restaurant, a rose, a promise to pay the bill. But the conversation took an extremely odd turn. He told me a story about his best friend and a trip he was going to take to visit him.

In California.

That's weird, I thought. He was born and raised in New York, and has lived here his whole life. How did his best friend come to be in California?

"So, you know him from college?" I asked.

He laughed. Loudly. Never a good sign.

"Oh, of course not. He's only 17!"

I'll give you the moment I did not have to process that.

Immediately, all of the horrible thoughts that could possibly come up when a 28 year old man describes a 17 year old boy as his best friend began galloping through my head, just in time for them to be replaced with the only thing that could possibly be worse:

"I met him playing Call of Duty on XBox Live"

Ummm...

Uhhh...

Well...

What?...

I literally have no more words for that.

The rest of the conversation was him describing the importance of XBox in his life, and other such fascinating subjects.

I tried to bow out of the remainder of the afternoon by telling him I needed to go clothes shopping for an upcoming trip (which was, incidentally, true). He asked to come with me.

Ummm...

Uhhh...

Well...

If you want...?

And we thus embarked on the fastest trip to Macy's ever, in which I ran through the Women's section, narrating my thoughts like a homeless person so that he wouldn't feel like I was ignoring him, and purchased the first things I saw that had a chance in hell of fitting (AND were on sale- even distracted by a bad date, the Jew in me will save money!).

And then I dropped him off at the train station and left, vowing never to see him again.

Did I keep that vow? Are you really even asking that? Have you read this blog? Go back and read a few entries. Go ahead. I'll wait.

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You're back? Excellent. Then you know that there is a part II to this story coming soon...