Narcissists R Us!

I am so happy I live in this time and era. It allows me to be self absorbed, shallow, and entitled! I have the most interesting things to say! Let me tell you what I ate on Facebook! Do you know I run marathons? Don't I look like I'm having so much fun with all my fabulous friends in this picture?

Sure, our grandparents lived during the Greatest Generation, but we live during the "Can You Believe that person wore THAT outfit on the subway? No, don't believe me? Well, let me post their picture on Facebook so we can mock them!" generation.

This is why our grandpas fought in Guadalcanal!

Now, I am absolutely not calling the kettle black, especially I like pots. I mean . . . I write a blog about my trivial pursuit of free food.

For a yellow piece of the pie can you tell me who invented Cobb Salad?

I know that everyone, especially my 4 readers, want to know about my life, especially since I have not written in almost a month. The horror, the horror!

But I have to tell you about a traumatic experience that I endured in my quest for free food.

I went on my first ever Internet date.

People who know me have the privilege of hearing me whine. I haaaaaate being single! I want a boooooyfriend, but I also really want to stay home and catch up on my DVR! I need to see what is happening on the A-List and Real Housewives of Atlanta!

Unfortunately, I recently learned that discussing Hoarders is no way to attract a good mate, so I decided to, gasp, join a dating site, let's call it suredevil.com.

A 35 year old, 6'1 European man (which could mean 5'3 and a leprechaun, you never know) e-mailed me saying he wanted to go running with me. I'm all, hells no, I want a drink! Well, he must have read my mind because he started instant messaging me and we made plans to meet at a bar in the Village. I agonized all day and passed his name and number to several colleagues in case I did not return to work the next day. What can I say, I watch too much 48 Hours Mystery.

So I met Angelo (not his real name nor nationality!) at a bar in the Village. He was 6'1 and European, to my knowledge, unless he was faking his accent. I ordered a glass of pinot noir which made me feel very adult and mature. Thank you Sideways! We talked about awkward Internet dating things . . . our families, jobs, what we want out of life. He ordered sliders and mini hot dogs, although I'm sure they were called something fancy like Frankfurters en a baguette. I didn't look at the menu. Surprisingly, I did not drink my wine too fast and I only ordered one more glass, and he got a club soda. I don't judge. We finished up, he paid, and he walked me to the subway. We did the two kiss on the cheek thing--he's European, in case you didn't know--and made tentative plans to meet again. Why not? I want a whole dinner the next time.

So I survived and my pride is somewhat still intact. And to all my married friends who are so jealous that I get to do this, divorce your husbands and try it for yourself!