Hi, my name is Shine and I don't know how to deal with nice people.

As you possibly know, or maybe you don't, I started dating someone. An actual person. A guy, even. I call him Princess.

He's nice. I'm not. Obviously. What kind of nice person nicknames her boyfriend Princess? (But seriously, he takes longer to get ready than I do, which he claims is because his clothes are fancier. And okay, yes...he has to wear real live suits to work and I could show up in my pajamas and no one would care, but STILL.)

(I'm pretty sure his suits are dead. Sorry for the misrepresentation. Don't come after Princess PETA!)

And I'm in "oh, you're doing nice things what do you want oh you're just nice why are you so nice just say something shitty to me dammit!" mode. Because that's how I roll.

I don't recall having these issues in the past, but my last relationship wasn't exactly the stuff that romantic comedies are made of. So here we are. I live in horrible fear of being my last boyfriend.

The thought of taking advantage of someone's giving nature or of walking all over someone terrifies me. COMPLETELY.

So now I'm doing this new dance in which I've been complimented so much I feel like I'm about to puke rainbows and butterflies.

How messed up am I?

In other news, I went on my first grown up date (I even had to dress up a little! Hello little black dress, nice to see you.) a couple of weeks ago. Since I'm so fancy now, I'm going to write you a restaurant review (and not tell you how many tries it just took me to type "restaurant").

Without further ado, I present you with a review of Local (click the link, damn it):

Local, located in Deep Ellum, transformed the face (and guts) of Dallas's oldest standing hotel, the Boyd Hotel. While retaining the charm and coziness of the structure, built in 1908, Local has transformed the space into a modern restaurant. Chef Tracy Miller's menu of upscale American cuisine will certainly make your mouth and belly smile.

The amuse-bouche was a broccoli soup that nearly brought tears to my eyes. Seriously, broccoli should start using this soup as an advertisement. (I've just been informed that it was, in fact, broccoli rabe soup, which is an entirely different vegetable, so I guess broccoli is still out of luck unless it wants to get sued for false advertising.) It was creamy, but not heavy and full of simple, yet luscious flavors. None of which I can identify because I took one bite and my entire mind went blank save for the thought, "Get this soup in my mouth now PLEASE THANK YOU." So that's what happened. Only I continued to use my TEENY TINY SPOON, so no one would notice that I had reverted to caveman status.

Next we ordered an appetizer of lobster cakes. Hello, delicious! They were just the right amount of lumpy and crumbly and (god, it pains me to write this word because I HATE IT, but there is no other word) moist. I calmly forked my cake into my mouth at a slow enough speed to not cause alarm. I refrained from licking my plate, but don't even think that I didn't contemplate it. I did. About a dozen times.

Our server spouted off the specials and one of them involved cheese grits. Yes, please. When my entree arrived, I almost cried (again) it was so beautiful. Fresh, lightly sauteed spinach on top of a Fillet Mignon marinated in something blah blah vinaigrette, all of which sat on a love seat of cheese grits. It couldn't possibly taste as good as it looked, but I gave in, after staring at it lovingly for five minutes, and sunk my knife into the steak. This was the most tender steak ever to be put in front of me. On my fork, I assembled the perfect first bite. A piece of spinach, a small cut of the steak, covered in cheese grits. I brought it to my mouth and closed my eyes and...FOODGASM. This was possibly the most delicious bite of food to ever enter my mouth. Cue tingling in my lady parts. I put my fork down on my plate, both hands on the table, eyes still closed and just savored the moment. I wanted to make slow sweet love to this plate of food. I'm pretty sure I proposed marriage. What?

I was stuck between a rock and a hard place at this point. If I continued to eat my food, it would be gone. It, the new love of my life, the apple of my eye, the mac to my cheese. But I wanted to inhale it like a hoover vacuum because it was so delicious. I went back and forth for a while, but I finally managed to eat Every. Last. Bite. And I did so without yelling, "GET IN MY BELLY YOU DELICIOUS PIECE OF MEAT." It was close, but I made it.

You know that scene in When Harry Met Sally where Sally shows Harry that all the women he's been sleeping with have been fakin' it by fakin' her own in the middle of the diner? Yeah, it was like that, but FOR REAL. I'm pretty sure the lady at the next table said, "I'll have whatever she's having" and everything.

At this point, I was so full, I didn't think I could eat another bite. Possibly for the rest of my life. But oh no, dessert was upon us.

One scoop of homemade "mint chocolate chip" ice cream. It's in quotes because it's not the same ice cream you buy in the store. Chef Miller steeps the mint leaves in the cream for the ice cream for a completely explosive flavor of pure spearmint. The chocolate isn't too bold. Basically, in the words of Goldilocks, it's just right.

Then the banana Bundt cake, which was topped with roasted banana ice cream and chocolate ganache. I don't like ice cream and cake together. Ever. But this? Was heaven on a spoon. The cake and the ice cream went together perfectly. I almost jumped up on the table to hump the plate. I think ice cream smashed on my crotch would have made the perfect addition to my little black dress, thankyouverymuch.

And then it was over. And I didn't even make the sex with any of it. But I'm pretty sure Princess got a how-do-you-do kiss on the cheek later that evening. Our only wrong step was to go see Where the Wild Things Are after eating all of that delicious food, instead of going somewhere and having bourbon on the rocks, smoking a cigar, and humping like rabbits staring deeply into each other's eyes.

So this, my dear readers, is what happens when I get taken on a date. I nearly do the horizontal mambo with all my food and then force you to go to the movies afterward. Oh, and I leave on a jet plane the next morning at 6:45 am to go to #pbandtuna, so you don't even get to sleep in. Okay, that probably doesn't always happen.

Is it too soon to ask to go back? I should mention here that I put up a fuss like you would not believe when Princess said he wanted to take me to this, his favorite restaurant in Dallas (the man's got good taste...OBVIOUSLY). I don't accept dates to places I can't afford and friends and lovers, let me say that this was no McDonald's. I've had too many crappy dates and I just don't go places where I can't afford to pay at least my half of the check. But he convinced me that he wanted to take me, so I should shut my face. And after my orgasmic eating performance, I suspect he might not even mind taking me back there.