Week Two: Our Hero Goes Speed Dating
“Squeeze!! SqqquuEEEze!!
Squeeze like you’re holding someone you really freakin’ love!” As I
silently burst into tears in the middle of Richard Simmons’ Wednesday night Sweat!
aerobics class, I wondered if I was the only one. Did anyone else get a picture of someone they
really want to hold, but can’t, and feel a wave of sadness and longing as we
dutifully counted reps along with Richard?
That brief silent emotional outburst happened, and I felt a
little sorry for myself, but I’m not going to dwell on that here. Partly because Sojourner Ruth told me I’m not
allowed to mention He Who Must Not be Named anymore, and partly because this
year of Admenture and this blog is about me moving forward in my quest for love
in Los Angeles. And with that, I’m happy to report that Week One featured an Admenturous
thing I have always been curious about:
Speed dating.
I love the idea of speed dating! It removes half of the things about dating
that I’m dreading the most as I embark on this quest. In the last few months,
before I became Admenturous, I only went on two dates with people I met online,
but my biggest fear came true on each of those dates, so I am taking that as
evidence that it’s fair to be worried.
The thing I’m referring to is that sinking feeling after meeting someone
and realizing that I am either not physically attracted to the person or have
nothing to say to that person. That sigh
“back to the drawing board” feeling. I don’t have a penis, but I imagine that
this feeling might be akin to losing an erection? Probably? The feeling of excitement and promise
followed by immediate defeat. Anyway,
speed dating is great because if you are forced into conversation with a guy
and either of those things happens, you get to stop talking to him in 5
minutes. And then it’s on to the next one. The other thing I think is so hard
about dating and dealing with the opposite sex in general, is not knowing if
the other person is into you, or to what degree, and how to proceed
accordingly. Most speed dating places
have you fill out a worksheet with the names of all of the men you met, and you
circle YES or NO. The men do the same,
and the following day, the place emails you and they tell you if anyone of the
guys you circled circled you back. So
you don’t have to lose any sleep wondering whether or not he likes you. Not that I would engage in anything that
pathetic or trite, but one theoretically might.
So anyway, I was excited.
The event was held at a small lounge on Main Street Santa
Monica that no one has ever seen or heard of.
One of the first ones to show up to the low-lit cave, I was greeted by a
sassy black lady who took my information and hurried me along with a “Go head,
sexy girl.” And “Go talk to Matt, he’s CUTE and sitting by the bar.” As she
said this, I felt a sudden flutter of excitement. Could it be possible that Matt really IS
cute? I wondered. Could it be that a guy I’d be attracted to might
randomly find himself at a Speed Dating event, maybe by accident, but decided
to try it, because he is open minded and adventurous like me, but he doesn’t
actually expect to meet anyone, he’s just doing it for a gag, or maybe a
performance art piece? Is my edgy, funny, cynical but not a downer, self-aware neo
hipster here because he is interested in finding love on some level, but is
really just intrigued by an opportunity to watch our species at play? Maybe
he’s speed dating as a sort of journalistic endeavor like me? And we’ll meet
and have a drink and a laugh, I’ll playfully touch his arm and we’ll each discover
that we’re soul mates? Let’s get out of here, Matt, and go to O’Briens, it’s
more our style. Or maybe your place? No,
no, let’s take it slow. This could
really be something. In those few
seconds, in my imagination, Matt became totally hot and wildly promising.
And then I went to the bar to actually meet Matt in real
life and he was…weird. And sort
of…pointy. I took a breath and flopped onto a nearby stool as he eagerly
introduced himself and promptly asked “Do you speak Italiano?” I replied “No,”
and he began to regale me with his Italian, before going on to wonder out loud
why it is that people won’t give him the time of day when he’s wearing athletic
gear, but they usually want to chat after he’s showered and put on normal
clothes. Huh. This was going to be a
great night.
Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t necessarily expected to find my
dream man that night. In fact, I expected that most of the guys would most
likely be oddballs. But remember, the
inevitable awkwardness was going to be quelled by the speed. If I was stuck with a
weirdo, it would only have to be for a few minutes, and I could handle that. But it didn’t exactly turn out that way. The event, as it turns out was not only a
speed-dating event, but also a magazine release as well as someone’s birthday
party. This meant that, In short, the Emcees were too busy vacillating between
the different matters at hand that they periodically completely forgot to yell
“Change!” So that lovely ingredient in speed dating that makes it so doable, the
speed, was entirely eliminated, and I
was stuck having excruciatingly long, not to mention odd, slightly creepy conversations
with not only the occasionally rotating men, but also the large, 44 year-old
black woman with the red patent leather peep toe heals who sipped cider and
languidly lounged next to me. Kim, who
learned about the event through her Jenny Craig coach, was actually really
nice, but I didn’t go to this thing to meet chicks! The event was so
disorganized, that the company over-booked women and under-booked men, which
left the ratio at about 40:6. So I had
to sit next to Kim on the small leather lounge couch while the paltry number of
suitors came to interview us both at the same time. And they stayed
FOREVER. To facilitate conversation, the
organizers left cards on each table, with questions like “What would you do if
your partner had a homosexual affair, but vowed that it would only happen
once?” Or “Is it OK for your partner to take out a Life Insurance policy
without telling you?” This decision to have conversation starters was not
entirely bad, but they didn’t exactly spark the kinds of conversations I would
have chosen to have on my own. What’s a Life Insurance policy?
The Men aside from Matt, who seemed age appropriate, all
appeared to be over the age of 40, and largely decided not to use their real
names but instead to go by funny, provocative ones like “Super Freak” and
“Prince Charming.” The former lived up
to his name and the latter did not. And
remember, the Emcees did not have their shit together. After getting a copy of the magazine that PC
was inexplicably featured in pushed on me and sitting through what felt like a
thousand year conversation with Super Freak, wherein he explained his feeling
that women were put on this earth to please men, I had had enough. I actually had to leave my seat and beg the
Emcees to yell “Change,” twice, which
is maybe sort of mean, but this was supposed to be SPEED DATING, and they
weren’t holding up their end of the bargain!
Needless to say, I did not find love that night. Not with Matt, or Super Freak, or the cross-eyed shorty with no job, or even the Aussie who came to LA to work on a video
game that was going to change the world. Not with the guy who SKIPPED US
(whatever) or even Henry, who was actually the nicest but about 60, and even
though I’ve dated a Silver Fox and my best friend half jokingly encouraged me
to “go even older next time,” I think I’d like to find someone closer to my own
age. Sorry, Henry. Best of luck to ya. You should call Kim, there seemed to be a
spark there.
I circled “NO” for every one of the speed dating guys, but I
did find both of the bartenders to be super hot, so before handing in my paper
to the Emcees at the end of the night, I wrote BARTENDERS in big letters at the
bottom of the page and made emphatic circles around the word YES. Neither has called yet, but it’s OK.
At his famously sweaty aerobics class, Richard Simmons told
us to take care of our bodies, because we have only one. It’s a reminder that we only have one life,
and this simple fact leaves me with no other choice but to be as fearless as
possible as I pursue great things.
Despite this epic speed dating fail, I trudge onward with positivity and
Admenturousness. I’d even try speed dating again. And I’d be especially into it
if they actually remember to include the speed
part next time.
Yours truly,
Joan
*Does anyone have ay ideas for Admenturous things I
should do? This week I got two great
suggestions for dude-filled, love possible events:
Let me know, I’d love to hear your ideas, dear
readers!
What do you think of this
book? I just re-read it, and am so glad
I did. It’s not for everyone, and many
think it's sexist and superficial, but I have to admit that I found it, along
with its companion It’s Called a Break-up
Because it’s Broken to be must-reads. If you’re like me, you’re prone to
fantasy and imagination and need a voice of reason like this guy Greg Behrendt
or your very own Sojourner Ruth to occasionally screw your head on straight. I'm prone to overthinking. That includes my own behaviors as well as the
object of my affection’s. I’m just as
likely to obsess over saying the wrong thing or acting the wrong way as I am to
wondering why he acted the way he did.
And I’m usually attracted to “complicated” men. These are guys that seem exciting,
interesting, brooding, bad boyish, alcoholic or all of the above. Like my college obsession, the largely mute alcoholic line
cook with an eye patch and arms covered in tattoos. Swoon. My propensities mixed with those of my “type”
usually make for these murky grey situations that are on the surface
comfortably ambiguous and seem initially exciting and offbeat, but become
wildly unsettling then devastatingly painful. 
