A short digression on the etiquette of first dates. Do you have any transgressions you want to share?
So in the Golden Age of Match.com (2001-2003) I made a deal with myself - I wouldn't give them any money, but I'd go out on at least one (1) date with any girl who approached me.
This took mere weeks, actually, before I had a date with a girl who had no picture. The plan was to meet her at her place and figure out next steps; her place was downtown, in a condo with a lovely view of the Space Needle, but the inside was kind of like a polyester explosion that hadn't been vacuumed in a couple months. I briefly met a gay male roommate who glared at me, and we started walking (I had a car but she didn't and was only used to her local sphere of influence).
We wound up going for a dyke bar (that charged cover on a tuesday) where buttery nipples were readily available but bourbon wasn't. So as I'm drinking my not-Bushmill's irish whiskey on the rocks, I'm trying to find out what the hell I've attached myself to that evening.
It should be noted right off that she was unattractive. I was there only because of my cosmic bargain with myself. She was maybe 40lbs overweight, stringy black hair, and an inability to look me in the eyes. So - what does she do?
She goes to school. She's in math right now. Like, calculus? No. Pre calc? No. Algebra? Algebra was a word she recognized; she mentioned that she was only five classes away from algebra. I tried to do the numbers in my head and deduced that she was currently making her way through Numbered Blocks 101 or possibly Carry The 4 200.
So you're old enough that this isn't a right-outta-high-school adventure, I say (I was 26, she was a little older, I think). Well, yes, she says, she dropped out of high school and only recently got over a crippling crystal meth habit. Hmm. Best not discuss that.
I'm not even sure how it came up - we discussed travel. She mentioned that she really liked New York City. Oh? And when were you in NYC?
...she says, and sips her green cocktail.
Beg pardon? I say.
"When I was on Ricki Lake."
Now she looks me in the eye. As it turns out, she thought she'd been flown in for a makeover (don't they always). And she found herself on a show titled "I'm Your Gay Roommate And I Want You To Have My Baby." So... you had a gay male roommate... and he wanted you to have his baby, I say. More than somewhat incredulously.
"Have," she says.
This was when? I ask.
"About four months ago."
Drained the whiskey. Tabbed out. Walked her back to her apartment. She invited me in - you can bet I had to work early the next morning. Roommate glared at me again. And I went home and had still more whiskey. She called me two weeks later. She'd been laid off from her job in the call center at Qwest. She wondered if I had any leads for her.