Dino is Greek, can't you tell? He blogs about it constantly. He's been to every Greek place in town and always writes a review afterward. He's a harsh critic, my nemesis. He takes points away for infractions like 'lamb a bit pink on the inside' and 'out of ketchup.' Go ahead; go on a date with him. It's his treat at The Acropolis. Watch him pat the hostess' bottom and slip her a fiver on route to his 'favorite table.' He'll order for you and insist you 'gotta try the ouzo at this place.' No, don't roll your eyes when he asks if you've 'read any Socrates.' Try to be patient when he sends 'this garbage' back to the kitchen and asks for 'some actual Greek food this time.' That's just Dino being Dino.
Whatever you do, don't ask Dino to locate Greece on a map.
It's safe to engage Dino in conversation, but don't be surprised when he whips out his blackberry and interrupts your story with, 'sorry, just gotta check on my capital gains real quick.'
Dino is 5' 3" but insists it's a solid 5' 8 3/4".
He universally addresses men as 'brah'
He universally addresses women as 'babe.'
Dino had a tryout for an indoor soccer team in 2006. You can read all about it on his blog. Five years later he trolls the over 30 soccer leagues of Cleveland. His fake ID has satisfied officials that he meets the league's minimum age requirement.
Dino has two nipple rings.
You may be surprised to learn that my arch rival campaigned for Obama, the candidate whose bumper sticker he deemed would score him the 'most tail.' Be careful! Whatever you do, don't let him seduce you. He'll tell you anything to get in your pants, but believe me, no matter what you may read on his blog, Dino does not:
love the Indigo Girls
want to paint you
worship his mother
own a Greek island
If you should chance upon Dino in the future, please do not let on that you know me or my whereabouts. My rival can be quite the clever devil, but for now I'd like to keep the upper hand.