Hello!
I present to you another guest writer, who has been kind enough to share his experience. Dating a stripper. Classy. You rock, SK.
my comments in red.
Our tale begins after a work-event when three professional friends and I decide to go to a "Go-Go" Club; and by Go-Go Club, I mean a strip club. However- in New Jersey if a strip club serves alcohol, then the dancers must keep their clothing on (why? does any body know?). Therefore, at these clubs the dancers wear sheer see-through clothing with thongs, and some sort of a lacy-type brassiere. Anyway, my friends and I go to this club, I end up talking to one of the dancers, Russian Rose, and she gives me her number. (were you sooo psyched? I bet you were - strippers are kinda hot in that dirty, nasty, whoreish kind of way :)
I'd never been to Union Square Cafe, and really wanted to try it out. I figured what better time than with the Rose. So, I call her up and we agree that I'll pick her up after work and then we'll go to USC. I get a car for the evening, because much like the Date Experiencer, I too enjoy partaking in social lubricant on dates. (awwww, you are such a gentleman! I've never had a date pick me up in a car. Good move S) The driver picks me up and we head to Brooklyn, where the Rose lives (ugh- strike one, for the Rose) (damn - bk no love). I get to her place and call her. She makes me wait for fifteen minutes inside her lobby (strike two- I mean really, how much smalltalk can I make with the doorman or the driver while waiting for you?!)
Finally she comes down and gets in the car, whereupon she asks, "So does this place serve food...?" (WOW. Ummm- we have a DINNER DATE. Of COURSE it serves food. Strike three.)
Me: Of Course (HAAA! seems like you've got yourself a SMART one, Mr. - she's like, a f-cking genius)
Rose: Well, the name of it is 'Cafe' so I didn't know if it was just coffee or something.
(Ummm- Zagat just rated it the most popular restaurant in NYC...?)
The rest of the ride was uneventful and we arrive at the restaurant, whereupon the host seats us and places 2 menus and 1 wine list on the table. I look at the wine list and say. "Were you thinking about a wine? Would you prefer a white or a red?" (good manners S, your mama taught you well)
Rose: How about a pink? (AAAAAAaaaaaaaa!)
(Long pause while I consider what in the HELL a pink wine could possibly be?!?! Then it occurs to me. She wants a Rose... UGH?! I NOW HAVE TO ORDER A BOTTLE OF ROSE WITH MY MEAL?! STRIKE FOUR!)
Me (to waiter, extremely depressed hee hee hee....): Uhh... we'd like a bottle of the...uhh...Rose please.
The rest of the meal went off without a hitch, and I chalked up most of the Rose's idiosyncrasies to the Rose having grown up in Russia/Belarus. (Ah, being generous. I'm sure her bizooms made up for any of the previous faux pas) She came back to my place for a few minutes, we had a drink and then she went on her way.
We made plans to meet up again the next week. I text message the Rose telling her I'm very tired, but I'd be happy to see her again and if she'd like to come over and order some food and watch me put together my couch (it had just arrived from Target) that I'd be happy to pick her up and take her home. To which, she responds, "It's not very polite to invite a girl to your apartment for a second date." (Strike five! LISTEN HERE STRIPPER- YOU'RE THE LAST PERSON THAT I WOULD EVER TAKE ETIQUETTE ADVICE FROM! YOU MADE ME DRINK A "PINK WINE" DURING DINNER, AFTER ASKING WHETHER DANNY MEYER'S UNION SQUARE CAFE SERVED FOOD) ( BOOO-YAAAA!!!!). Needless to say, I don't talk to the Russian Rose anymore, and the dream of dating a Russian stripper has died, at least for the time being.
I heart you. Thank you for contributing this bit. I look forward to sharing more.
Until next time
