The Italian Guy

I had a first date with an Italian guy (I'll call him D'Angelo) on St. Patrick's Day last week. Being part Irish I felt like I was messing with the universe, just a little bit, when I suggested our first date be on March 17th. But, it was my only free night that week (due to work not a booming social life), so what can you do? I had a brief phone conversation with D'Angelo the night before our date and immediately realized how poor his English was. From reading his profile I knew he had moved to the U.S. from Italy, so I wasn't exactly shocked by this. I found his accent to be rather sexy and was looking forward to our first date. D'Angelo suggested getting a bottle of wine and going somewhere to drink it. When he said 'somewhere' I just assumed he met a public place, but I would soon find out otherwise.

We decide to meet at a spot halfway between both of our apartments. For some reason there were no cabs on my street that evening (they were probably all in front of the various Irish pubs around the city...none of which happen to be in near proximity to my apartment). I called D'Angelo to let him know I was running late and having trouble catching a cab. At that point he seemed confused. Apparently he was under the impression our date was going to take place at MY apartment and he thought our meeting place was in walking distance to where I lived. Hmm..Before I knew what was happening I heard myself giving D'Angelo my address and telling him that I would meet him in the lobby of my building. Red flags started popping up all over my brain. Is it a bad idea to invite a guy I've never met to my tiny studio apartment where my bed takes up most of the space? Hmm...

Several minutes later D'Angelo steps out of a cab and I open the front door to my building and greet him. I immediately notice that he is not 6'0". In fact, he is barely my height (which is 5'9"). Dammit. Why do guys find the need to lie about their height to such a significant degree? Maybe women do it too, I don't know. What I do know is that I'm tall, so when a guy bumps up his height a couple of inches (unless he's super, super tall) I notice. I also noticed he wasn't as cute as his picture, but still attractive and appeared to be in good shape. I don't mean to harp on this height thing, but I like to feel feminine around a guy that I am dating and I find that hard when the man in question is shorter than me. Like Tom Cruise (before he became really weird) said in "A Few Good Men", I just want the truth! On dating profiles that is.

So, we head up to my apartment and D'Angelo tells me he brought 3 bottles of wine.

"Great!" I exclaimed. "I do enjoy a nice glass or 4 of wine". This could be a long evening.

After I opened bottle #1 and poured us each a glass, I asked D'Angelo how long he had been living in the U.S. Since his English was pretty rusty, I expected him to say not very long. I was wrong.

"About 10 years now," he answered.

"Wow. Really? Do any of your family members live in the area as well?" I asked.

"Yes, my parents and 2 brothers do," D'Angelo said. "Of course their English is much better than mine. They barely have an Italian accent at all". Then he started on a slight rant about how people born in the U.S. to Italian parents are still American, but since he was born in Italy and came to the U.S. after he was grown he considers himself totally Italian.

"Makes sense to me," I said in between sips of wine.

Conversation was a little rough, but, as we drank the first bottle I learned more about D'Angelo.

"I used to work in the clubs," he said. I always find it interesting when people say that they work 'in the clubs'. I used to know a girl who professed that she did the whole 'club scene' but got sick of it. What does that even mean?

Anyway, when I noticed we were almost done with bottle #1, I suggested we walk down the street to get something to eat. I was starving and the only thing in my 'fridge besides the Brita water pitcher was some grapes and a carton of liquid egg whites. Not much to work with there.

As we walked to the sushi place that is down the block from my apartment, D'Angelo mentioned he spent all his cash on the cab to my place and left his ATM card at home.

"But, I have this old credit card. I don't know if it still works. I'm so embarrassed. I was in rush to meet you and left my card."

"It's ok, no big deal," was what I said while the voice in my head said a string of curse words. I had only been working part-time and my bank account wasn't exactly thriving.

Since he seemed totally confused about the state of his credit card and whether it actually worked or not, I made a suggestion that he call to see if there was any available credit. After a couple minutes of him pressing a ton of buttons, he handed me his phone.

"I don't understand," he said, shoving his iphone in my face. After I heard the familiar words "you have no available credit", I hung up.

We ordered light and I paid the bill.

"I so embarrassed," D'Angelo reiterated.

After we came back to my apartment we had another glass of wine, but I was pretty much done with the date. It was almost midnight and was I definitely feeling the Chardonnay. However, I started get the impression that D'Angelo had no intention of going home that evening.

Damn those red flags, why do they always have to be right!

There was some/a lot of resistance on D'Angelo's part, but he finally left my apartment. I don't know how they do it in Italy, but I don't (usually) move that quickly on a first date. D'Angelo texted me a few times over the course of the week, but I didn't think a second date was in the cards.

Perhaps that's what I get for going out with an Italian guy on an Irish holiday.

Score: -6 points