You All Only Want the Juicy Details About Rome, Huh?

Last Thursday, I went on a blind date with someone who asked me out via a travel social network I’m a part of. I probably shouldn’t be blogging about this, but he did mention that he had read my blog and wanted to be a part of my “life in translation” (his words, not mine). And, at dinner, him and his friend asked if I would blog about the dinner, so I guess I have free reign.

After a few email exchanges and some flattering words on his part, we’ll call him… “M” and I decided to meet for dinner at Piazza Navona. Having acclimated fine into Italian culture, I suggested dinner at 10pm and I was sufficiently late enough to meet him to be considered an Italian local. We met, said “Ciao” and I noticed his friend (we’ll call him “G”) came along as well. Since I only know one woman in this city and she had not wanted to come on the date, I was officially on a date with two men. In Italy. Awesome, right? (They are so going to read this and I’m going to be embarrassed, but WHATEVER.)

M and I walked through Piazza Navona and found a hidden restaurant to sit and have dinner. G arrived shortly after and both of them tried to translate the menu for me. We laughed at my inability to understand anything on the menu besides “ravioli,” in which they said, “Well, ‘ravioli’ is… uh… ‘ravioli!’” They spoke to the servers in Italian and I sat there probably looking like a deer in headlights until I finally just said, “You know what? Order me whatever. Porcini! Yes, I like mushrooms.” M and G ordered for me and I absolutely had no idea what I was going to eat, but I mean, really, who cares?

We had, what I would call, ‘chilled girly pink wine’, and an appetizer of cheeses that included a very aged Parmesan with some amazing mushrooms. Both G and M were joking around about how they wanted to come work for my company in San Francisco and kept competing over who would get the position that wasn’t even open. G, at one point, goes, “You know what? I’ll work for free. And I’ll make coffee. And I’ll work seven days of the week for 24 hours.” Um, ok, WHEN CAN YOU START?

At one point, G mentioned that he loved New York City and that he would want to live there. I told him that he’d need to marry an American in order to do that, because Visa’s are extremely hard to come by in America. Then, he asked me to marry him, of course. And, for the rest of the dinner, he tried to convince me of why I should marry him, including things like, “I love my wife. I’m a good lover. I’m the opposite of the movie Unfaithful. I’m Richard Gere in the movie, but not A MURDERER!” He emphasized that point quite a bit, his not being a murderer and all.

Then he asked me on a scale of 1-10, how much I am in love with him, because, for him, it was love at first sight. Even though he didn’t have an expert grasp on the English language, he still knew the right things to say. Which is funny, because, he WASN’T EVEN MY DATE. I was supposed to be on a date with M, but G hijacked it with his marriage proposals and wanting to work for me and how much he was in love with me. I mean, not that I’m complaining… here I was with two very attractive Italian men having a fantastic dinner with amazing wine in ROME at Piazza Navona. A girl can’t complain. (And this girl’s standards have been raised, so take note any of you out there that want to date me!)

Eventually, the dinner winded down, we said our goodbye’s and G walked with me to the taxi stand. And, for the love of god, people, don’t judge me when I say that I switched dates by the end of it. It just kind of… well… happened!

And with that folks, all I will say is… had a wonderful night, but come on, a classy girl like me? Well, she doesn’t kiss and tell…