Speed Dating Part II: It’s Not Me, It’s You

So I told myself I was going to both start and finish my Christmas shopping this evening, since I only have to buy for my parents.  Sad little life…don’t worry, I’m aware.  Whenever it rains, my NJ Transit bus is automatically at least 45 mins late, forcing me to stand on a massive line in disgusting Port Authority and have to repeatedly tell homeless assholes that I will not be giving them $30 “because they need to buy a bus pass to get home to their families for Christmas.”  Look, if you had families that cared, they would take you into their homes, and you would not be masturbating in public while sprawled out on the ground under the payphones.

To add to my evening, I was forced to sit next to the fattest idiot on the planet because that was the last seat on the bus.  Maybe it was my messy bun, or the bags under my eyes that made me so appealing but every time we hit a bump, he would grab my thigh and say “Oops!”  Like, c’mon dude.  I had the worst day imaginable and now I have to deal with you being a total pervert.  My life.

After that enjoyable commute home, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in my 7th grade plaid pajama pants that say Cheerleader on the hip and not go anywhere near Bed Bath & Beyond where there would be more fat and hideous strangers.  BB&B is conveniently located next to the local Walmart and I knew there would be a plethora of jerkoffs in tight hoodless maroon sweatshirts, sporting the gut of a whale and walking in front of me wheezing and snorting.  No thanks.

Which ironically brings me to Part Dos of speed dating.

I left off at the pregaming portion and to no one’s surprise, it was downhill from there.  After a couple shots, and ordering ourselves a grown-up drink or 2, it was announced that we would need to take our places.  And by places, I mean girls on a white couch that lined the perimeter of the wall.

As I glanced around, I noticed that most girls were with friends (as was I) and totally excited to begin this slew of mini-dates.  I was feeling pretty loose from the shots and was ready to start.  The guys were then ushered in (and I use the term ‘guys’ loosely) and were ordered to sit on a tiny little round ottoman in front of us, which pained me to have to move my drink for.

Here was the scenario.  Nicole was to my left and Jess was to my right, which meant Nicole got to “date” the guy first, then he went to me, then to Jess.  By the time he got to Jess, he was already told by Nicole one of the many fake and absurd stories of what she did with her life, already had to endure my “I don’t give a fuck about you” attitude, and poor Jess has to throw these guys a bone and act interested because they were just put through the ringer.

Here’s how most of my conversations went:

Guy:  Oh, so I see your name is Amy (nametag).

Me:  Genius

Guy:  So, where are you from?

Me:  I don’t even care

Guy: OK, so I’m from Russia, and I like to travel and I’m a banker

Me: No shit.  Every guys here is foreign and looks like a douchebag.

Guy: What do you like to do in your spare time?

Me: Put myself in awkward situations and then make fun of you excessively with my girlfriends when I’m finished.


OK, so that’s not exactly how it went down.  I was very cordial for the first 10 dates or so and told them my real name, my real job, and the real town I live in.  But, because of my excessive drinking that night, I can’t name every creature that I talked to, but I’ll give you some gems that stand out in my mind months later:

The skinny white Mona Lisa who sold cheerleading shoes for a living.

The music teacher who looked like he could be a rapist but doesn’t know his own strength yet.

The 400 pound guy with a goatee who I got into a legitimate fight with over where the best cupcake shop in NY was (Shocking.  Guess what buddy, judging from your weight, you win).  I later found out that Jess and he were also arguing about feminist theories.  Don’t even.

The black man who just moved over to the states from Haiti with a very thick accent.  OK, so I’m not wonderful with accents, and pretty much just smiled and nodded politely the entire time, not quite realizing at that moment that he was asking me what my name was and what I do and I’m just sitting there nodding my head like a huge lunatic.  After I was done with him, he moved on to Jess where I noticed they were speaking French the entire conversation.  So, so baffling.

And so on, and so forth.

At one point in the evening, I heard the words Miami and Baby come out of Nicole’s mouth (remember, she is sitting to my left and I get this weirdo next).  When time was up, he looked extremely concerned and immediately asked how I knew Nicole.  I mentioned that I went to high school with her, not understanding why he was looking at me so strangely.  I later come to find out that Miss Nicole has told this poor innocent man that she has a 2 year old daughter (with picture evidence of her real-life 2 year old sister) and went on to say how her father is in jail in Miami.  Good God Nicole.  I can’t even handle this right now.

By the time the guys got to Jess, they had heard some of the most fucked up things come out of Nicole’s mouth (another one was that she lived in South Africa for 3 years in the peace corps, and when confronted by an actual African on where she resided, she immediately contracted amnesia and was left speechless).  Many of Jess’s first questions of the night by the men were, “How do you know these two???” with a look of fright mixed with delight because they had finally found an intelligent woman on the white couch of horror.

10 mini-dates pass, then 20, then I am honestly squeezing my legs together so tightly because I am so afraid I am going to pee all over these guys.  I am about 3 drinks deep with no bathroom break in sight.  I look to my left and Nicole is gone, but a lonesome dork is left sitting on the low, round ottoman looking utterly confused.  I look to my right and Jess is speaking in different languages (which I missed the memo on that she could).  What the hell is going on?  I politely excuse myself from my guy, whose face I clearly can’t recall, and literally run to the bathroom.  As I was finishing up, I looked at myself in the mirror and decided there was no in hell I was going back to the white couch.  The white couch was filled with shame and embarrassment (mostly from having to keep up with Nicole’s ridiculous stories) and I was to politely seat myself at the bar and wait for my friends to finish up.

But first I had to have a cig.

I go upstairs to the real world and out of the tiny dungeon of lies, and who do I find??  Nicole, of course, chatting it up with the HOT bouncer who had just bought her a drink!  Bitch!

We unanimously decide to sit at the bar and wait for Jess (it didn’t take long) and had one more drink while chatting with the 3 best looking guys there.  And by best looking, it meant that they weren’t balding or foreign.  After an awkward exchange of telling them what bar we were going to after and a lot of false “see you there’s,” Nicole, Jess, and I were finally alone.  We did not have to say one word.  The guttural laughs that emerged from deep down inside each one of us was amazing and so heartfelt that it was magical.  We had survived speed dating and would go down telling our stories, and checking this monumental event off of our bucket lists.

The rest of the night went as follows:

My friend Alyssa met us at Green Rock (are you fucking surprised?) and we had probably the most serious dance party you have ever witnessed in your life.  We decided vodka was the drink of choice, and in copious quantities—shocker.  Jess’s crush and his 2 friends met us at the bar, I proceeded to tell their friend that I hated him for no reason, Nicole got physically choked out by a drunk girl while waiting for drinks at the bar, I cried while dancing because I was hangry (so hungry that you get angry), and Alyssa and I ended the night with 2 big slices of pizza next door.

And THAT’S how you do speed dating.

Until next time…

Speed Dating Part 1: The Pregame

This might have possibly been my best/worst idea to date.  It’s a toss-up, really.  Best because I got an awesome story out of it and worst because I would gladly take back those 3 hours of my life in a heartbeat.  In a nutshell, the experience was so awkward, that writing about it now makes me feel really awkward and I almost want to end this post right here.  But apparently, people think my minor misfortunes are entertaining so here goes the story on that fateful night.


A couple of months ago I came up with the idea to go speed dating and I was going to drag every single friend I could think of to accompany me.  I proposed the idea to about 10 people.  1 agreed right off the bat, 4 girls were “on the fence” about when in reality they were thinking “no fucking way,” 2 of my guy friends thought this was awesome, and the other 3 girls made a pact never to talk to me again because I was a huge loser.


I started googling where to go in NJ, and Hoboken immediately popped up.  Sweet!  There were a lot of successful and good looking men residing in Hoboken (well, the view from my weekend beer goggles can be a little hazy at times) and thought I hit the motherload.  I immediately shot out an email with the link to buy our tickets to my co-worker Jess, and my 2 guy friends who also agreed to be my support system.  I dropped $35 on this bullshit but that was a low price to pay for what would become an epic story.


So, it’s the Friday of speed dating.  Jess and I have been psyching ourselves out for a couple of weeks, googling “what to wear on speed dating,” “questions to ask while speed-dating,” “should I be ashamed I am going speed dating?”  Ya know, the usual.  Every website tells us to wear wrap dresses (cleavage), ask the basic questions like where the person is from (are you rich or poor), and to be very very ashamed because this is an idiotic thing to do.


Low and behold, that stupid bitch Hurricane Irene rolls into town and IT’S CANCELLED!!  Jess and I are upset for about 45 minutes and then decide to go into Hoboken after work anyway and see if we can conjure up some winners of our own, and reschedule speed dating.  Where to?  Green Rock of course!  The skinniest bar in all the land where we are bound to run in to some good-looking guys and have to physically brush up against them (aka, sexually molesting men as we walk through the bar). 


So we do some casual molesting–nothing too grand and decide the $1 beer special sounds sublime.  We start pounding beers and I start to think chubby guys with glasses are appealing.  So I whisper to Jess that I think it’s a good idea if we go over and talk to them.  Well, it’s not a good idea.  The whole thing is awkward and they are clearly not interested in us and we have had about 1 million beers at this point….then comes the question of the night with the response of a lifetime.


Chubby guy with glasses:  What’s your name?


Me:  Irene


Chubby guy with glasses friend to Jess:  And what’s your name?


Jess:  Katrina




Me:  Kayyyyyy, ummmm, we are just gonna go over here now, ummmm see yas later!


After that, we had a massive dance party, I fell on the dance floor in a puddle of beer, and the rest was history…………………until the actual speed dating night went down.


So, another Friday rolls around again, and Jess and I pretty much have diarrhea scares all day because we are so nervous.  We are ACTUALLY going speed dating.  There are no freakshow natural disasters to stop us this time.  5:30pm hits and we run to our work bathroom and start throwing on the makeup, our heels, and straighten our hair.  Jess has a cute dress on and I’ve got my fave tight black pants on and a long flowy shirt (I had no choice on the long shirt…my fave black pants have a huge hole in the ass and I refuse to do anything about it).  Game on!


Oh yes, and remember those 2 guy friends I was telling you about that agreed to come?  Ummm, both magically got sick on that very day and told me at about noon that they weren’t coming.  I immediately called bullshit, got soooo angry that I told both to GFY, and then told them that if I got raped that night I would blame them and they would feel the guilt forever and ever.  Amen.


I then somehow coerced my friend Nicole to come with us (who somehow forgot to wear underwear that day), buy an outfit at the local Strawberry, and get your fucking game face on.  Needless to say, she did.


5:45pm- Hop on the subway, talk about how we might shit our pants, nervously joke around, actually shit our pants, and then we arrive to Hoboken.


6:00pm- Go back to Green Rock to pregame (since we had sooooo much luck there last time).  $1 beer specials again, order 2 each, drink those, order 2 more each, drink those, shit our pants, order 2 more and SHIT!  We gotta be there in 5 mins!


7:00pm- We are standing across the street from the speed dating location, just watching these male creatures pour into the doors.  All 3 of us look at each other and ask ourselves, “Why?”  What the hell did we get ourselves into?


We then drag ourselves across the street and have to wait on a line.  We immediately start laughing, pretty much in every one’s faces because we are in a little alleyway, and the smell of all of the outdated leather jackets is nauseating.  Just get us to the bar!


Let me just preface this by saying that the caliber of men was laughable.  I’m no supermodel but you know that feeling when you KNOW you’re the best looking one in the room?  That feeling was extremely apparent, both on our faces and in our own minds.  We didn’t even have to say anything to each other because the 3 of us were all telepathically communicating at that exact moment.  It was extremely magical and I will never forget it.


Oh yes, back to the bar.  We ordered shots right off the bat, because why not?  When in Rome, or When in an extremely awkward and weird situation, we turn to shots.  Time does not heal all wounds, shots do. 


Sidenote:  As I sit here and write this, I just got an email to my phone from the website we used for speed dating, letting me know that there is a 4th Annual New Years Eve Singles Party!  Over 500 singles expected!  I will take it upon myself to now respond with “Are you out of your god damn mind?”  500 of these creeps would put me into a wildly out of control panic attack and cause me to be placed in a high security institution for violent females.


Moving on. 


We order as many drinks that we can get our grubby little hands on in this creepy little basement club.  The bar is literally underground, so the feeling of what we are about to do is even eerier…..


**Shit, Once Upon a Time is about to come on so I’m going to end this blog right about here.  Perhaps I am single because I choose to drop whatever I am doing and watch a show about fairy tale characters in the present day.  Part 2 will probably have you peeing your pants, because I literally did that night on my 14th mini date.


Until next time…


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