Let's go live to my blind date at a West Hollywood Restaurant. The merlot is great, the gnocchi is inspired and the waiter taught me to say fork in Italian. The guy? Not for me. Marc is a rare blond Jew, but there was no click between us, no fireworks, no cell phone call from the bathroom stall to tell my girls I'd met my husband. Not that I've ever made that call or am looking for a husband. I don't even know how to spell husband. Or say it in Italian.