Ugh.
So yesterday was pretty painful. I decided to try speed dating again.
First I show up, and everyone’s full name is on the nametags. This. Is. Not. OK.
Then I skim the list of attendees and see the name of stomach flu guy. This is a good opportunity to use my new favorite curse: FUCK ME. I briefly consider leaving, but decide to stick it out.
Stomach flu guy arrives wearing a Tony the Tiger shirt that is rendered in Japanese and tucked into his jeans. He comes over and hugs me. Oy.
Finally, the dates begin.
My first date sits down and I warmly say, “Hey, we have practically the same first name, and your last name is actually my Grandmother’s last name! I feel like I already know you!”
“You do.”
This is going nowhere good.
He says we have a mutual friend, A. It all comes back to me: this guy had messaged me on a dating site and I wasn’t interested. Usually I’d just ignore such a message, but he had actually addressed me by name, said that A. had recommended me, and written a good three or four paragraphs–so I didn’t feel like I could ignore him without it coming back to haunt me. Gritting my teeth, I had written a short but friendly response in which I answered his questions, made a few comments, and then explained that for better or for worse, I have a thing for lanky guys and I didn’t want to waste his time.
Although the back story is awful, our few minutes together seem to go pretty well.
Soon after, I have my date with stomach flu guy. He says that he’s been rejected by about a third of the girls in the room, so he’s used to it. At the end, he says he’d be interested in getting together if I’m interested. I nod.
A few minutes later, there’s a 20-minute break. I flee to the bathroom. Then, as I start to return to the group, I realize I’m not ready to deal with more awkward interactions. I intercept a girl I befriended at the outset and walk her to the bathroom for a second visit. En route, she says one of her dates has confided in her that he had a terrible JDate experience. I perk up and say, “Oh really? What?” She proceeds to tell me that some girl had the nerve to him that he was “too fat for her to date.” I quickly realize that although he’s misremembering the dating site, that bitch from JDate is actually…me.
Well, fuck me again.
I return to my table and ask Deborah, a new friend of mine, what she thought of a particular guy. Does he also strike her as entertaining but perhaps not mentally healthy? “Funny you should bring him up,” Deborah replies. “He wanted me to watch out for you. He said you seemed deeply sad.”
O-kay…
The rest of the night, at least, is easy by comparison.
One date tells off the event coordinator, who seems to know he’s crazy and patiently weathers the storm. Very attractive.
Another date says he is looking for a woman who would blow his … dramatic pause … mind. He goes on to explain that his ideal woman would laugh at this joke. (Needless to say, I’m not his ideal woman.) Then he asks where I went to school and tells me he had gone there, too. “No, you didn’t,” I reply coolly. He then demands to know how I knew he was lying.
