Must Love Animals

Last night, for the first time ever, I decided to try speed dating. It was a Match.com speed dating event that I paid for weeks ago and was totally going to skip in favor of sitting on my couch in sweats with no bra watching Sex and the City reruns while drinking Barefoot Moscato, but my friends convinced me that if nothing else, at least there might be some blog-worthy material. Oh how right they were…..

So my first challenge was what to wear. I finally decided on a Lauren black and white color block dress and black faux suede boots. I determined that I didn’t want my ample assets to distract from the conversation, so I purposely chose a dress that showed zero cleavage. Not gonna lie, I may have had some livelier conversations if I had shown cleavage, but I digress…

I arrived on time, as the reminder email warned us, numerous times, that anyone who arrived late, regardless of whether or not they had paid, would be blocked from the event. The venue, a wine bar, was a 30 minute drive from my house. As I got closer to the bar, I could see flashing police lights and an ambulance ahead…..not a good omen. I pulled into the parking lot and found that the bar was in a tiny strip mall with one vacant storefront and a convenience store with a name like 6/10 or 8/12 or something like that….either way, it looked suspicious. The bar, however, was quite nice, and there was a piano player there that night. I walked into the separate room that housed the event and met the host, a teeny tiny Asian girl who seemed a bit ill at ease. The tables were already prepared for the speed dating; each one was covered with a black tablecloth and a number. The young lady checked me in and proceeded to explain the process. There would be 16 rotations of five minutes each, with the men rotating while the women remained seated. After the first eight rotations, there would be a ten minute break; we would start promptly at 7:30. We were to use our time now to mingle or to get a drink, but before we did, we were told to write one thing we’d like to do in 2016 on a name tag/sticker as an icebreaker. After I learned that Happy Hour was from 4 – 7 and it was already 6:57, I decided to forgo the name tag for now (especially since I didn’t know what to write) and go get myself some liquid courage (have to say though, after checking out the men who had already arrived, I didn’t need any courage…..just sayin. What? I’m shallow, and I readily admit it. If you’re not physically attracted, you’re not physically attracted. No amount of brown paper bags or light switches can change that. And yes, I realize that getting to know and love someone’s personality can make them appear more attractive. Can we focus please? We’re talking about speed dating for heaven’s sake). Even though it was a wine bar, I settled on a Shiner Bock because while I had dutifully taken my Pepcid AC prior to my arrival at the bar, I knew wine has a tendency to give me raging Asian Flush even after taking Pepcid. As a bit of explanation RE: Pepcid, even though I’m only half Asian, my face turns flaming red when I drink alcohol (commonly known as Asian Flush), but if I take Pepcid AC about half an hour prior to drinking, it lessens the effect (Google is your friend….I never would have known that since hardly any of my full-blooded Korean cousins get the Asian Flush….yes, I’m cursed). I didn’t want my flaming red face to scare away any potential suitors. But I digress……I stood at the bar waiting for my beer and wondered what to write on my name tag. “Be a cougar” came to mind, but technically I’ve already done that, and was a puma before that in my 30’s, so it’s not exactly something new. Plus, the age range for the event was 37-49 for women and 37-51 for men; no chance of being a true cougar with that group (shout out to my cougar sisters out there. JJ Watt, if you’re reading this, I’m available. Just saying). After I received my beer and started a tab (I’m no dummy), I wandered back into the event room. More people had arrived, but there still didn’t appear to be any men I would swipe right for. I decided then to make my 2016 goal a serious one (as opposed to something incredibly sarcastic and snarky, which was my first instinct….always trust your first instinct), so below my name I wrote “Apply to TAMU College of Veterinary Medicine” (TAMU is Texas A&M University). I looked around and saw things like “travel more” and “learn to tango.” If I really wanted to have some fun, I should have written “try not to piss off my parole officer,” but, again, I digress.

The $35 fee for the event included appetizers. Our host informed us numerous times that the food would be “out at 7.” She continued to repeat this, even after 7 when the food still had not appeared. When it finally did, the “appetizers” turned out to be a thin crust pizza that looked like it had sat under the heat lamp at Chuck E. Cheese for far too long. Why they would choose a food like that instead of some sort of finger food, I have no idea. You only have five minutes with each person; why not provide a food that’s bite sized in order to foster more communication between people? By the way, apparently the host was concerned that I never ate, because she literally told me four times that there was food in the corner if I wanted some. I would just smile, raise my beer to her, and say, “I’m good, thanks.” All right, let’s move on.

Instead of mingling in the event area (honestly, I was trying to avoid talking to most of the group for any longer than the prescribed five minutes), I went back to the bar. I was also becoming slightly overwhelmed by the amount of sequins on display by my fellow female speed daters and by the shine coming off the heads of the men sporting their very best male pattern baldness. Just saying. Nothing wrong with bald heads, they just clash a bit with fluorescent lighting.  Finally, it was 7:27, and I made my way back into the room, but not before taking a deep breath and telling myself this would be worth it if for nothing other than the entertainment value. It seemed that almost everyone was already seated and beginning the first “date.” The host took me to table number four in the corner (one of my lucky numbers! yay! although maybe not so much anymore), which was lovely because it provided me with a great view of the entire room, allowing me to observe and silently judge the rest of the attendees to my heart’s content. As I sat down, she said, “We had some men not show up, so three of you ladies will be without dates during this first rotation.” Great. Thanks, guys. I decided to use the five minutes to my advantage and went back to the bar to get a glass of water (hydration is important).  I need to mention here that instead of using something like a bell, which would make perfect sense (and for me would have invoked an image of Pavlov’s dogs that I probably wouldn’t be able to shake out of my head), the host walked around and tapped each man on the shoulder to indicate when it was time to rotate. This caused a ripple effect that was a bit irritating; she would also occasionally forget to tap someone, which shouldn’t necessarily cause confusion, but inevitably would. Needless to say, it was a bit disorganized.

I honestly don’t even remember the first guy I talked to, but I do remember what he said after he read my name tag: “Vet school. So you must like animals!” Yes, I realize that they’re probably nervous, but for the love of all that is holy, we have FIVE MINUTES. How about instead of asking me if I really like animals, or stating that I must like animals, you ask me why I want to go to vet school? What’s my motivation? Has it always been a dream? Work with me here!!! As a friend and I discussed last night, we seem to have lost the art of oral communication; perhaps if these men had more time to think about their response, they wouldn’t have said something that I then turned into a secret drinking game for myself for the remainder of the event. I had to go get a second beer because I swear, of the 12 men, at least eight said that (yes, I counted the people there…..before the break, there were 27; 12 men and 15 women). And if you’re giving those eight men the benefit of the doubt because they were nervous, I suppose I can grudgingly accept that for a few of them, because the second guy I talked to was sweating so profusely that his hand was practically dripping when I shook it. I wiped my hand off as best I could on the black tablecloth (no, not so he could see…..I’m not quite that mean), but wondered why he didn’t do the same, or at least wipe his hand off on his pants before he shook my hand. Or, I don’t know, apologize for his sweatiness and turn it into a joke about how nervous he was. Ugh. Anyway, this brings me to the topic of handshakes.

If I shake your hand heartily, please shake mine accordingly. My hand isn’t going to break (of course, on the other end of the spectrum, please don’t demonstrate your strength by trying with all your might to crush my hand). I appreciate a firm, decent handshake. I definitely did not receive many of those (although I shook hands with quite a few fish……yes, gross is right). As a matter of fact, only the next to last guy, who was also the only one I was even remotely interested in, had a decent handshake. We actually spent most of our five minutes talking about handshakes, because I thanked him for his. He told me that quite a few women there had that handshake where you basically shake fingers, which makes me absolutely crazy. We’re not royalty; shake hands like you mean it. When other women try to shake my hand like that I purposely grab theirs and force them into a real handshake. That’s just how I roll; imposing my will on the unsuspecting masses and on women with princess complexes.

But here I am getting distracted and ahead of myself again. Not only have we lost the art of oral communication, we also don’t know how to LISTEN. Again, we have FIVE MINUTES. Please do not waste precious seconds asking me questions I have ALREADY ANSWERED. I say “I was in the Army.” They say, “Oh really? What branch? Army? Air Force? Navy?” This happened THREE TIMES. You have no idea how badly I had to suppress my natural tendency to respond sarcastically. Never once did I say, “I was in the military” which is a statement that would naturally evoke the question “What branch?” I NEVER say “military,” I ALWAYS say Army. It’s not complicated. And yes, I am all too aware that my indignation over this may seem a bit harsh, but I have no patience for anyone who cannot actively listen. I’m not getting any younger. Stop wasting my time. I’m getting cranky again just writing this. Since I’m cranky, let’s talk about my favorite speed date of the night…..

I do wish I could share more about this “gentleman,” but in order to protect the guilty, I shall not. Suffice it to say that he also had military experience in his country of origin, and was fascinated that I was in the US Army at one point in my life. After numerous questions as to whether or not I was “trained for combat,” he finally asked me why I wanted to be in the Army in the first place. I told him that my Dad was in the Army, and I always wanted to be like him. I said that I was an only child, and that my Dad probably thought of me at times as a little boy instead of a little girl. With a smile on his face, he responded with “Well, maybe you actually are a man. Have you checked?” ARE YOU FU*KING KIDDING ME??????????? Every single fiber of my being wanted to reach out and throat punch this guy, then take a tampon out of my purse and choke him with it, but I was saved by the tap on the shoulder. Or he was. I can’t make this stuff up, seriously.

After the break, another man left after apparently realizing there was nothing there for him, so we were down to 11 men and 15 women. Let me tell you, five minutes is an interminably long time when you don’t want to talk to someone. It is physically taxing (all that smiling and nodding) and mentally exhausting. I also believe now that my honest answer about vet school turned out to be a source of intimidation for a majority of the men; they just couldn’t comprehend it. You could see it in their body language and hear it in their voices. And here I thought my Alma Mater was the most intimidating factor! You learn something new every day. Anyway, not all the men were bad. One man had just lost his wife a year and a half ago, and was about to earn his PhD. He was extremely sweet, but felt more like a Grandpa to me than anything else. There were only three guys who were truly arrogant asses (yes, Mr. Have You Checked was one of them). It was my next to last guy, as I mentioned earlier, who was the only one to even slightly pique my interest. But I’ll get to that in a minute.

Our host, using her very best inside voice (i.e., we couldn’t hear a single word she said), finally told us that the evening was over, but we were free to mingle in the bar area and tomorrow we would receive an email with the profiles of all the attendees actively on Match in case we wanted to pursue a favorite. I decided to take a chance and head to the bar for one last beer in case Mr. Firm Handshake decided to hang out as well. I walked up to the bar, found an empty spot, and waited for the bartender. The guy next to me, who seemed nice enough, struck up a conversation with me, asking how the event went. He was a very nice guy, but there was zero physical attraction, so there was no way it was going anywhere. However, I kept talking to him because Mr. Firm Handshake sat down on the other side of him and ordered a wine while staring intently at his phone. At one point in time, I tried to introduce Mr. Firm Handshake into the conversation with Mr. Not Attractive, but I failed. I guess I should have used my stadium voice and been more interesting than his phone. When I finally finished my beer, I excused myself to use the restroom and to give Mr. Firm Handshake his next to last chance to talk to me as I walked by, but he did not. When I came back to the bar, I said good bye to Mr. Not Attractive, and he said, “So do you have a number?” Again, my first instinct was a sarcastic response (no, I don’t, I only communicate using pigeons), but this is where I reveal to you, dear reader, that even though I talk a tough game of throat punches, righteous indignation, and zero tolerance, I am, in fact, a big fat chicken. I absolutely hate rejecting a nice guy. It makes me feel like a terrible person. So what did I do? Ask him to give me his number instead? Oh no, because that, friends, would have been the smart thing to do. I am most decidedly not smart in situations such as these. No, I instead pulled out a business card and handed it to him. Yep. Then I left, hoping Mr. Firm Handshake would follow. He did, but not until after I was in my truck. I know some of you may think that he observed the exchange between me and Mr. Not Attractive, but trust me, dude was so engrossed in his phone that not only would it have taken too much time for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bar had he ever looked up, but I also never saw him take his eyes off that phone. I drove home and went straight to bed.

Epilogue: Upon receipt of the email from Match, I learned that Mr. Firm Handshake is only here in Houston for a short time due to work, and actually lives in another major US city. However, I did reach out and message him just in case. As I could have predicted, and as per my track record, he read it (Match shows you when someone has read your message…..which is great, infuriating, and humiliating all at the same time) but has not responded. He hasn’t even checked out my profile (yes, it shows you that too), which is not a good sign. Eh, oh well. His loss, right? Sure! Oh, and Mr. Not Attractive emailed me the next day, saying that he enjoyed our conversation. I have yet to respond. I can definitely be less of a chicken if there’s technology between me and the nice guy. Perhaps his email got filtered to the junk folder and I never saw it. Or my pigeon got lost. Yes, that’s what happened……..