Nice Italian Boys Hiding in Their Houses Playing X-Box

When we get there, it is packed. A line out the door. On a Tuesday. What the hell? Are they giving out free food? And the people at the host stand don't seem to know what to do. Frozen like scared deer. "Oh MY GOD, what are we going to DO with all these PEOPLE??"

I am in line long enough for Princess to go to the restroom and for me to chat up the neighboring "mature" ladies. They liked my shoes. And as it turns out, they were giving out free food. It was a "buy an entree, get an entree free" night.

It was a wine tasting showcasing Michigan wines. I know, I know . . . but I've had some drinkable Michigan wines, I swear. None of those wines were showcased, however. And it was totally disorganized. And the people surrounding us seemed to be more about the food, which wasn't all that great. I poured out four of the six wines I sampled . . . poured out, didn't drink them. And the bartenders were light pourers. Oh, and the place smelled like sewage. Evidently, from the Rouge River flowing next to the patio. And as much as I was trying to placate Princess with "it's all about attitude" . . . well, she was right, it was terrible. I was just thinking that it was funny, because it was so awful. Oh, and single men don't go to wine tastings. Duh. Because they are all at home, playing with their Playstations. But we were really wasting the pretty . . . because the poor dudes on their second dates weren't even cute or interesting enough to steal.

Afterward there was a lovely dinner. An excellent wine. Princess treated. She is too good to me.

And Princess has rallied me throughout this "hey, I might want to have an significant other" process. She has always been supportive. Always there to point out that it took her friend four years (which doesn't work anymore . . . it's been more than four years). So now, it's time for her to get out there. But as I am a matchdotcom disaster, I can only give advice about the Internet. . . not finding a "nice Italian boy" real time. I really am convinced they are at home playing X-box. According to SM, the barista was checking out my chest the other day (which is a whole other blog . . . which won't be written). So where do all the nice Italian boys work? I do need cement.

We had planned for "Table for Eight" but they won't let you bring friends or do anything in tandem. So perhaps we will pretend to be divorced Catholics . . . which wouldn't be too scandalous, as I am not really looking and Princess is Catholic. The divorced Catholic group has lots of mixers.

But please, offer suggestions.

Oh, and as an aside . . . or just a random thought . . . it is amazing me the lengths people will go to to make themselves unhappy, or quite miserable depending on the person. Why is it that people do that?