At 8pm the Chicken Goes Half Price!

My last date with L. was supposed to begin at Huber's. I know, the Spanish Coffee, the Spanish Coffee, the Spanish Coffee. Everyone raves about it. But when I arrived downtown and poked my head into the restaurant and then the bar, I noticed blue haired ladies and felt a bit of dread. I'd picked a bad place. A bad place with old people! Luckily L. was fine with eating at a Persian restaurant around the block.

The food was decent with huge portions. My theory is that restaurants in Portland feel like portion size makes up for quality, when really it doesn't. Anyway, the date was very nice but we missed the movie I'd wanted to see, playing at 6:50 at The Laurelhurst, 500 Days of Summer. That left us with the other idea of watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. L. had been raving about this show. Because of certain logistical issues: he watches on a laptop, didn't have the proper adapter cord to connect it to a TV, etcetera, a visit to Freddy Meyer's proved useless yet amusing, we ended up in the "entertainment room" at his building, with an unsuccessful hook up to the TV there, and then just huddled around his little computer to watch.

Side note:
At FM's we run into a friend of his. When asked what he was doing in FM's (huge grocery store) at nearly 8pm on a Saturday night, he explained that at 8pm the chicken goes half price.

Well, that's one exciting way to spend an evening. I dearly hope it was the rotisserie and not slices of chicken. Slices of chicken at a deli counter. Does it get more depressing? I wasn't enjoying the florescent lighting - it certainly wasn't doing justice to my newly chestnut locks and highlights, but I was going with it. It definitely felt less romantic that visiting the opera and getting hot toddies at Caldera, as we did last week.

That said, after the show, which is gross and almost amusing and then gross again, "things progressed" and I can't quite explain it but something felt missing. I tried to explain this to L. I really like him, but between our last date and this one some enthusiasm felt absent both on my part and maybe his, some ephemeral piece of the connection. He said he felt it too and that he'd been a bit depressed since our last date.

Never a fantastic sign. I'm wondering if, now stop the presses, drum roll please....it's not all them. But me? Could it be me? Could it not be all the men I go out with? Ridiculous, I know. But evidence is pointing in that direction.

Still, I'm going to hold my ground: I want to meet someone I have fun with, who likes peace and quiet, who adores my dog, who is sincere, and cute and there's attraction. In the scope of the world, I don't think that's too outlandish. It just might mean more future dates.

On my drive home, I didn't feel terribly upset. But there was a part of me that felt like the half priced chicken. Like my value decreased after 8pm.