First off, let me say that I have some complex traits, I’m a little weird, but deep down, I’m a simpleton. If I don’t sleep, I’m cranky. If I don’t eat, I get really cranky. A good night’s rest and a plate of food makes this Fernando Quinones Joe Average.

And women amaze me. I love women. They change the way men act. I love to go out to eat with women on a date, because I can honestly say that it is the only time I use any decorum whatsoever. The only time I actually enjoy my meal.

Have you ever seen a dog eat? When they just shove their snout into their doggie dish? That’s me. Filet Mingnon or Spaghettios, doesn’t matter. I eat............fast.

When I’m on a date with a woman, I can’t do that. They would leave 2 minutes into the appetizer. So now, another transformation. The Cookie Monster has become Martha Stewart’s legitimate son.

Our waiter, Henri, (Hank to me) approaches the table in a coy manner, his waiting career has provided him with the perilous powers of perception, so he picks up instantly that this is a date, and Fernando Joe here is in the midst of transforming.

He capitalizes and recommends their best bottle of hooch.

No sweat. I dig vino, oops..... I mean I enjoy an aromatic glass of wine, or better, I love to sip the fruits of the labors of Monterey, it completes me. (Damn, I’m good). Hank gives the wine presentation and I lightly inhale the vapors, and shake my head like Erykah Badu in complete satisfaction, but if I was alone, I’d snort the stink outta dat glass like cheap cocaine.

Our appetizer arrives, and how dainty it is. I comment on the sumptuous presentation, and offer my date the first nibble. Damn, my mom Martha would be proud. I flirt with the bread, I flirt with the appetizer, and I flirt with my date. My problem now is that everything is moving way too slow. I want to be the guy in the old McRib commercial, you know, CHOMP! But Alas, I must restrain. Our sassy soup course is to be served. How decadent it appears. Sip, sip. Divine. I rather be the 8 year old who is at the bottom of the bowl of his Cocoa Pebbles. Bottoms up! Again, restraint. My lovely date is impressed, and perhaps, a little tipsy by now.

By now, my date has to attend to the calling of nature, and I calmly nod my head in acceptance, meanwhile, the wheels of transformation in me are turning, and I return to my beloved alter ego, the Cookie Monster. I feel like General Patton overlooking his army who just pissed him off, and now he’s going to eat them. The bread is my prey, for it can be replenished. I casually fill my face. The people in the nearby tables look at me in disgust, and I don’t care. I’m busy developing my Dizzy Gillespie impression.

Once my date returns, back to normal. I relax, and casually indulge. Hank promptly refills the bread, and gives me a wink. All you men out there, do you relate to this? There’s more material in this, and it will come soon, in future issues. Bon Appetit.