Yes, that is TGI Friday’s. And yes, I live in New York City. And no, I’m not complaining about ending up at an overpriced chain restaurant on a first date.
You know why? Because we only ended up there because it was cold and raining and we were both ill-prepared without umbrellas, and we were done at the bar but needed to eat and there wasn’t anywhere else in the barren Midtown after-8 vicinity that promised food and warmth.
And also because I was on a first date merely days after being completely blown off without a text, phone call, email, or in-person notification after dating someone for a month–which is apparently something adult men do, which I’m both surprised to learn and shocked I hadn’t already known. So going on a date was supposed to be some sort of progress vs. the typical stay-home-and-wallow-in-why-doesn’t-he-like-me-and-what-did-I-do-that-was-so-unthinkable-he-couldn’t-even-bear-to-give-me-the-courtesy-of-telling-me-he-didn’t-want-to-see-me-anymore strategy I usually employ after a tough blow to the ego that only a man who makes me laugh is capable of. If I pretend like I’m not hurt since I shouldn’t let myself be hurt by someone being rude to me after making me think he liked me for real when he didn’t, then maybe I will no longer feel hurt; this was the line of thinking here, I believe.
Of course, it maybe wasn’t the smartest line of thinking to follow, considering I found myself almost crying 3 times throughout the night (twice at Friday’s) when I would suddenly get a rush of, “Wow, that other guy who doesn’t like me is SO funny and we had SUCH great initial chemistry and who cares that he turned out to be a jerk because when I was with him I had A LOT of fun and he even thought I was funny.”
For the record, almost crying on a first date is also a new thing for me, but I thought it sounded more pathetic than having a first date at Friday’s. Typing it out now, I’m not sure that’s the case.