09/21/2010 12:02 pm ET | Updated May 25, 2011

Fifty First (J)Dates: The Second Date

Fifty First (J)Dates
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GASP. Well, I only made it to 20, and am now fishing for outrageous, awkward, hilarious, and painful stories from all the other FFJD-ers.

(Email them to Did I mention that yet? Do it.)

Anywhoozle, I owe you some deets and developments, my fellow JDaters and odyssians in journeys of awkwardness and Helmut Lang.

Where we went: Tabaq. Liked the venue, it was a really nice rooftop. Too bad it was hot as balls outside, I couldn't stop sweating, and the menu print was so small I couldn't read it. (What is this, a MENU FOR ANTS!?) My butt stuck to the chair. Well, sort of slid around on it.

What I wore: My amazeballs new Helmut Lang jacket, it's a cowl-neck, light grey, wool moto jacket that is faboosh. Meredith, wasn't it too hot out for that? Well yes. I didn't wear it on my date, but I thought it deserved a mention because I saw it and I had to have it. Also, maybe if I write about the jacket it will reduce my guilt.

For those of you who don't know me, or really care at all, my favorite full-contact sport is Discount Shopping. In fact, I was inducted into the Discount Shopping Hall of Fame for number of defensive tackles in pursuit of Phillip Lim. In the Filene's Championship Game against Becca Feingold I won. It was close, it came down to my ripping the Acne jeans from Beccas paws and going for her knees. Watch it, Becca.

Anyway, there's a ton of Helmut Lang at Loehmanns right now, including this coat, so I think that you should go to Loehmanns. I love lamp, almost as much as I love Loehmanns. Dear Loehmanns - I am giving you a free plug. Please give me your employee discount now. Thanks. Loehmanns Loehmanns LOEHMANNS.

What I REALLY wore: White ripped American Apparel jeans, (pretty soon the company will be dead), a blue Splendid tank top, and a denim motorcycle jacket from Argentina that I ripped the sleeves off in a fit of fury/joy and made into a vest.

So...which boy is this? Not revealing yet. Buuuut he's one who got a positive write-up.

I really liked him after our first date, and I was excited to go out with him again. I was semi-surprised when he called me on a Monday night. He called at about 6 pm to say he had a terrible day at work and wanted to get drinks. I think he had already begun drinking. I sort of feared that he was drunk already, but I decided to go anyway.

When he arrived, he was cuter than I remembered. Plus one. He might have been tipsy. Minus one. He was wearing a nice shirt. Plus one. I hoped I didn't have to carry him home. Minus one.

We initially sat down at a table on the roof and I literally couldn't stop sweating. Before I turned into a sweaty pool of bronzer, not unlike a seal, I had to decide if I was going to be that girl and make him move tables. I decided that for personal fragrance purposes, I would bite the bullet and move somewhere else. So we moved to a better-ventilated spot for our imbibing.

I had forgotten, but this boy only drinks vodka-sodas. I'm sorry, are you an SDT girl? Should we get together and pose with our arms out and then be sure to wear our matching Joie silk racerback tanks? And did I run into you outside of Palladium at NYU last summer? No, no, not Acapulco Palladium. But maybe there too.

The conversation was good, even though he was, let's face it, drunk. He was sweet and funny and nice, but not in an annoying get out of my personal space sort of way. I remembered from our first date that we had amazing chemistry, but I wasn't sure if it would hold. Towards the end of my scrutinizing the menu made for the Indian in the Cupboard, I decided I liked him.

Even though he was three sheets to the wind, he sort of owned it.

He ordered some chicken skewers, and I politely declined in eating multiple, lest I spill on my white pants, as I am known to do. He said he was excited to "share in the joy" of the chicken skewers with me. Sometimes it's the simplest of compliments that are the most meaningful. It was sweet.

Towards the end of our date he sort of scooted over his chair and put his hand on my knee. It was a mixture of creepy uncle and confident man, but I decided I didn't hate it. Without question or any ounce of insecurity, he leaned over and kissed me. His lips were squishy. It was nice.

As we walked out of the restaurant, he took my hand. Bold move, boy with a penchant for drinks normally reserved for women from the Island of Long.

As we walked hand in hand into the night, I decided I was love drunk. He on the other hand, was just drunk.