You know why the Olive Garden is primo for testing sexual gallantry? Because it's the middle of the road. You could go to some, fru-fru, du jour (wow, did I just use a French saying?) restaurant, and pay upwards of $100:
I mean, where's the justification in that?
The Olive Garden has nothing to do with romantization. It's about stuffing your face in a curt atmosphere; it's where loose, yet smooth guys such as myself go, wheras, the Alain Ducasse au Plaza Athne just sounds like a magnet for balding upper-middle-aged guys that drive royces wanting to finagle their way into pussy via philosophizing about useless shit. Let's face it, if they thought they might unzip, but were ultimately unimpressed with the restuarant, then they both obviously had ulterior motives. When I go out to eat, I'm going to eat heartily on my dime, and enjoy. I'm gonna go put on my chef's hat and prep some hamburger helper, now.
Seems like a nice dream with a nice chick, Vanillaknight. The reallity is never as good as the fantasy - disastersex is never good. I was thinking, "man, he had a good time!" until you revealed it was never so.
