Insert witty comment by Roger Lodge here...

I had a first date last night. Who really goes on dates anymore? Well, to be fair, the dynamic of the first date has changed since the days of guys named George dating girls named Susan.
I've stayed at her apartment three times, so it wasn't like there was a lot of ice that needed to be broken.
But I still needed to make a good impression. Yet, as of last night at 5:00, I still hadn't decided where to take her, and we were meeting at 6:00. I asked anyone within shouting distance if they knew of any good places, but nothing helped. After endless Citysearch/Zagat's/Menupages searching, I settled on a place called Radio Perfecto, which is in the East Village. It was a healthy walk, made healthier by the fact that it was raining. Nice start. But the place itself was perfect. It was inexpensive (by New York standards), it was intimate but not too romantic, it was small, it wasn't crowded, it was quiet, and the waiter was great. We had a table by the window, with Christmas lights and candles. Nice. But not too nice. Dinner was fine. Drinks afterwards was fine. I tend to have this standard where the most important feature I look for in a girl is whether or not she actually likes me. Well, I'm trying to move away from that. Instead of just saying, "I hope she liked me! I hope, I hope, I hope," I was thinking, "Hmmm...do we really have anything in common? Does she get me? Do I get her?" Maybe I've gone from underthinking it, to overthinking it, but at least I'm thinking it. Whatever. I'll just have to see what happens next.
My co-worker called me on my cell phone this morning to tell me he was sick and wasn't coming in, which would've been fine, but he called me at 6:30! When my phone started ringing, I rolled over and started pawing at my snooze button. Then I realized it was my phone. Then I realized it was 6:30. Then I fell back to sleep. I felt like the giant in Mickey and the Beanstalk. Just a big confused oaf.
Oh, and if you're reading these, please add a comment. I feel like I'm talking to myself. Which I probably am. Maybe I should just go back to writing bulk e-mails.