I went to a speed dating event the other night. I went because I felt that single person pressure to be putting in more of an effort to meet that special someone. I went because they were offering a “just mingling” portion of the event and that didn’t seem like the worst way to spend an evening. I felt like Liz Lemon that time she decided to go to all of the singles events at her local Y. I had a hard time mustering up any kind of enthusiasm for what I was about to face. But I went.
The encouragement of my married friends who don’t understand how depressing this all makes me feel didn’t help. Remarks from said married friends, (who often can also boast of meeting their loved one in college), said things like “Oh, come on. Have a better attitude about this!” or “Keep on truckin” and they all make me want to punch them in the face. But I remind myself that these ignorant married bastards are my friends and I love them, and they say these things because they love me too, so I let it go.
I ended up speed dating because I showed up too early and they were short a girl and the woman slipped me an extra drink ticket and waved the additional fee and I thought, “Fuck it. Fine. Speed Dating.”
So I ordered a cocktail and I made the most of it, which is really the crux of what it is often like to be 33 and single. It’s facing situations, ordering a drink and saying, “Fuck it. Fine. I’ll re-download (insert whatever new dating app is popular).” “Fuck it. Fine. Speed Dating.” or “Fuck no! I will not go on OK Cupid again, I don’t care if you met your amazing husband there!”
Speed dating is exactly what it says it is. We were given 3 minutes with each fella before rotating. 3 minutes is not a lot of time. It’s 90 seconds per person, which is just enough time to state your name, occupation and maybe a hobby. Maybe. I didn’t learn enough about anyone to think, “Ooo, this guy is interesting. I want to know more.” Hell, I never even learned any of their ages!
90 seconds did turn out to be enough time to rule out one fella who lead with, “I bought Apple stock forever ago and then got a shit ton of inheritance, so I don’t work, but I got to coffeeshops and journal and stuff to like, pass the time.” I wondered if in a parallel universe the gold digging version of me would have been turned on, but this version of me spent the whole time thinking, “Am I rolling my eyes right now? Don’t roll your eyes! What does my face look like??”
The rest of the fellas were fine. Nice, I guess, though none stood out. When I posed the question, “would I rather go out with one of these guys or stay at home watching Doctor Who with Cooper?” it was clear that speed dating isn’t for me. It wasn’t the worst way to spend my evening, but I will probably (definitely) never sign up again.