Too soon! Too soon!

As has been documented, I have mad love for Tina Fey. If ever she has a job opening for someone to fetch her coffee and administer back rubs, I will be first in line in the hopes that some of her wit and talent will rub off on me. So, as one might assume, I never miss an episode of 30 Rock (I also have an odd crush on Alec Baldwin). It has filled a deep, deep void in my life left by Arrested Development, a show whose end had me weeping, rending my garments and questioning my will to live. If you haven’t seen last weeks episode of 30 Rock, I highly recommend that you download it as there are about 15 seconds of some of the funniest TV I have ever seen wherein Liz Lemon’s love interest finds her on the toilet. And it’s their first date. I have saved the show on my Tivo and shall watch that scene daily until the appeal wears off, which I assume will be right around the turn of the century.

But it got me thinking about my first dates and how none of them have been so hilariously catastrophic. I went to a highly religious and conservative college, so if you danced with a boy at a frat party, it was assumed that you were going to be picking out your wedding china posthaste. Additionally, you spent so much time asking for forgiveness of the Baby Jesus for any over-the-sweater action that you might have taken a part in, that between seeking redemption for hooking up and covertly making out in the arboretum, there wasn’t much time to go to dinner and movie. I had my share of boyfriends, three who stand out in any detail, one who I fell deeply in love with (and for those of you who went to college with me, it’s not who you think), but most of the time, you were surrounded by other people, and when you WERE finally, blissfully alone, well, I won’t kiss and tell. (I did get busted by the police once for “heavy petting” by the lake with one of the guys – at least that’s how the officer described it when he called us in. Let’s just say I didn’t get into a back seat again for years for fear of a flashlight shining in on me during a delicate moment.)

I did have a first date my freshman year with a guy who decided, during a lull in the conversation to share that he had webbed feet. I think my reaction was “Oh, does that make you swim faster?” which was not the right thing to say as he wasn't fluent in sarcasm. Instead, he took it as an invitation to show me his toes. At the restaurant. While we were eating. I think it was at a Pizza Hut, so really, it wasn't as though there were white tablecloths involved, but STILL. Ew. And then there was the guy who invited me out to what I hadn’t known was going to be a fancy dinner party in San Francisco. When I started to engage his friends in conversation, he told me, “I just brought you here to be quiet and look pretty.” Needless to say, I told him exactly where he could go, gathered up my things and found a cab back home. Mercifully, these are the worst I can think of, for which I should thank the good Lord in heaven. No, I tend to make an ass out of myself either in front of complete strangers – which is comforting because I will likely never see them again - or people who love me who go, “Meh…that’s just Jen. She falls down a lot. Have you seen her underwear yet? No? Give it time.”

But if any of you have good first date stories, I’d love to hear them. Come on! I’m on a deadline and need distraction! Plus, it’s really a holiday of sorts, so you poor sods who are stuck in the office need something fun to do. I’ll do a tequila shot with whoever submits the story that makes me laugh the hardest. Either that or I'm going to have to watch 30 Rock over and over and over...you don't want that on your conscience, do you?