Naan or None

I know you’ve been on the edge of your seat waiting for my entry about “speed dating”.   It’s one of those things that when people say they are going to do it, you want to find out how it went because it can either turn out to be super -fun or super-horrific. 

My friend whose idea this was, purchased the Groupon speed dating classification of “Individuals with Advanced Degree’s” which meant that I had to up my own personal education ante and have a Master’s degree ---  basically lie.  According to the confirmation email, the location would be in the bar area of an Indian restaurant on the Upper Eastside, oye vey.  The situation already smelled bad, or was that just the curry.

The moderator gives everyone a piece of paper and a pen, the women settle into a seat.  At the sound of a bell the men rotate clockwise, very musical chairs meets Pavlov.  Each party writes the name of the person they meet on their paper, there is a 5 minute chat, the bell rings and men rotate.  That continues until everyone has the opportunity to meet.  At the end, if you circle someone’s name and they circle yours then the two of you get paired up for an actual date.  The concept is pretty simple.

My friend and I settle into our seats with an empty one in between.  The bell rings and it’s OFF to the races!  I decide that if asked, I would give myself a Master’s in Sociology from Brown.  With a fake Master’s in toe, I decide to rotate between two fake professions.  First, that of Mortgage Broker and second, that of doggie clothing designer.  That was until my friend decided to tell people we were Wedding Planners!  With three full-blown professions I was I rather impressed with myself but already a bit exhausted.

The first guy, let’s call him “Prince” and no, I don’t mean Fresh Prince, Michael Jackson’s son, Prince Harry, William or newbie Prince George.  I mean Prince people, the Purple Rain Prince.  The Prince that one time in my youth I found to be sexy and this just happened to be his bizarre-o twin.  He was the googlie-eyed, lip pursing version of Prince.  Turns out he was a professor at Hunter and had a Masters in I have no idea because every time I said something or he said something, his eyes would bug out and his lips would purse.  Almost as if he was waiting for someone to apply lip balm on him while he was being fisted.  I found that to be too distracting and needless to say, he did not get circled.  RING!!!

Next person, let’s call him Tim, partially because that was his name.  Tim, a small Asian guy who smiled a lot and as you know I match behavior so I began to smile a lot too pointed to each letter on his name tag and said “Hi, my name is T-I-M.”  I pointed to mine and said “Hi my name is (fill in blank).”  He then proceeds to tell me that he attended....as he points to his name tag again but this time in reverse order.  He continues this motion three or four times until I say “nipple?”   He looks at me annoyed and we both say at the same time M-I-T.  Oh!  Now I get it!  I tell him how I went to “Brown” and he says, “Too bad you went to such a shitty school!” 

Listen, you can do a lot of things to me, you can call me broad-shouldered, you can say my hair is frizzy, you can even tell me that I can stand to lose a few pounds but DO NOT make fun of my Graduate school even if it IS a fictitious graduate degree! Needless to say, he did not get circled.  RING!!!

The next person sits in the chair and tells me his name, which I write down on the paper and spell incorrectly.  He notices that and corrects me.  I apologize and again write it down but on a second attempt to spell it I once again write it down incorrectly, at this point he is visually getting upset.  Finally on the third try, I write it down and this time it’s correct.  He then asks me, “What country do you think I’m from?”  I stumble and try to look at the spelling of his name and proceed to say “Pakistan”.  He rolls his eyes and says, “No, I’m from India!”   “At least I was close……” I said as he stomped away, but not before he turned around to say “Brown is a shitty school, you can’t even spell!”  Needless to say, he did not get circled.  RING!!!

Ransford quickly sits down to shake my hand.  He is a very polite African-American older gentleman who tells me he used to live in New Jersey and now lives in New York.  His Graduate degree is in Mathematics but doesn’t mention his school.  He asks me the standard questions, where I went to school, what I do for a living and where I currently live.  As I go down the line of answering each question, I explain the different areas of the City that I have called my home and use my hand to demonstrate the progression of locations.  I finally detail how now I reside in Harlem and while my hand is still up, he shakes it.  I look at him confused and say, “Did you just shake my hand because I said I lived in Harlem?”  He argumentatively says, “No, I thought you had your hand up for me to shake it,” embarrassed I then being to blush.  The conversation screeches to a halt.  Needless to say, I did not get circled by HIM!  RING!!

The end objective with speed dating is to find a date.  That objective, my dear friends, was not met.  However the evening was not a complete bust as I genuinely did have fun!  I allowed myself an experience that, if had it not been for my girlfriend, I would have never tried otherwise.  And I guess that is what it’s all about!  Life is about never closing yourself off to experiences.  Something I have to remind myself of every once in a while.  Those guys that I met were brave!  They put themselves out there to meet someone and even though I didn’t connect with any of them, and I created a fictitious back story, I’m certain that they will eventually find someone with whom they will have a great date.  If you’re curious about speed dating, I say do it!  At the very least, you’ll have fun and perhaps some Naan.

Fuzzy Bunny Slippers

Ok, so this entry has nothing to do with "fuzzy bunny slippers". Well, not quite.

I went with my friend and some of her friend's Upstate this past weekend and we all had a blast.  Given the fact that it was deathly hot in the city it was a welcomed relief to be someplace where one could canoe, hike, grill, ride classic cars and ehm shoot a rifle?

I personally have never shot a rifle before, although 4 years ago I did "hold" an unloaded .44 Magnum and that experience was pretty intense.  I was absolutely terrified, I couldn't even hold it for more than 3 minutes.  If you've ever seen a Magnum you know what I am talking about.  The barrel is as long as a foot-long hot dog at Nathan's and by sheer looks alone it conjures up the image of Clint Eastwood in every Western that he's ever done (including the Spaghetti ones, especially the Spaghetti ones). 

So, first thing's first, I consider myself pretty much a pacifist, I abhor violence of any kind.  However my inner hypocrite is screaming right now because I have a sick love of MMA and professional boxing.  Mainly because they are sports and I respect the strategic aspect of each. 

I also have a sick love of Spanish bullfights.  If you're ever in Sevilla may I suggest you attend.  At first I was skid dish and appalled by the imbalance of man vs. animal but by the end I found myself rooting for the sexy matador.  It was something about his confidence, his posture and those freaking pants!  I have never before found knicker pants attractive on any other male than the Spanish Matador and the bull, well it became an after thought. 

When learning to shoot a rifle, it helps that the person guiding you through your first target shooting experience is level-headed, highly experienced, calm and extremely detailed in their explanation.  That criteria was met by my ever so patient teacher, who put me at ease.  The rifle was extremely heavy and awkward to hold.  Both hands are needed to ensure balance and grip, one towards the front barrel the other on the stock or back .  "Never point the rifle at any living thing unless you want it dead" was repeated to me as a reminder of just how dangerous the item in my hands was.  That statement combined with everything else as I listened, really reinforced the seriousness with which to take the whole experience. 

My heart was pounding just  by holding this heavy object, the next step was to look through the scope, find the cardboard target and aim.  Safety off, finger approaching the trigger and BAAAAMMMMMMM!!!! I had hardly even touched the trigger and the gun went off.  The kickback was severe and powerful, the ground shook beneath me, my body trembled violently and the sound was beyond deafening even with ear protection. The instructor took the rifle from my hands and as he did, my hands were noticeably shaking.  The group took turns and I was able to shoot 4 rounds.  Each time was the same, it didn't get "easier" or more "fun".  Each time allowed me to realize the respect that firearms are to be treated with and I think that was the main reason why I elected to challenge my fear.  On my last shot, I took aim at the bulls eye and again just barely made for the trigger and BAAAAAMMMMM!!! The wooded surroundings went completely silent and out of nowhere a small white-tailed bunny popped out from behind a rock and quickly ran for the hills in terror.  The instructor came to take the rifle out of my hands and in an instant I realized that the fine line between life and the possibility of taking a life was super thin.  

It is an experience I appreciated having but do not think I would do again, I did it once and that was enough.  Although, as a result of that experience I learned that shooting a gun is not the same as playing a video game.  Guns are serious and to be respected, they are not glamorous or make a person invincible, they are not something to grab out of anger, they are not to be used as a careless tool and they are certainly not something you want to use in order to make cute "fuzzy bunny slippers".    

All this to say that baby------ I am a lover, not a fighter.  

Next week, SPEED DATING!

OKC or not to OKC...that is the question

Alright, for those of you that live under a rock, or are married and don't know what OKC is, it stands for OK Cupid. Or as my snarky friends like to call it, OK Stupid -very unoriginal, I know. It's a free mobile app and website for dating. Some people think the free aspect of this site is what lends to its mass grouping of cheap-O's who want to get some free easy tail.  The afore-mentioned "some people" is just one person and it happens to be me but that is just my pessimistic dating side talking.

So, a background on the site's ground rules: each party answers a series of questions that identify their personal beliefs, their preferences, goals, age, income etc.  All pretty standard these days on dating sites.  The system then assigns a percentile score of compatibility and on occasion presents them to each party.

My first system-presented Cupid was Mr. 98% and I was really excited!  Could this be the one? I mean come on, a compatibility of 98%, that's great!  It had been such a long time since I had scored a 98% on anything that I was dizzy with anticipation and I imagined that we would fall madly in love and run away to the Bahama's--I know what you're thinking-- this girl can dream big. 

His profile pictures, some of which were from a distance were from his exotic travels as he wore sunglasses in many of them.  OMG, he's a traveler, we would certainly be going on our honeymoon to the Bahama's after all!  I could tell that he had nice hair and was slim. 

He called me to set up a time and place for our first date which was a nice touch--no text messages for this gal.  He suggested a South African wine bar in Hell's Kitchen which was was perfect!  I had always wanted to go to this particular place and of course Mr. 98% would pick it, I mean, we were after all meant for each other.

Taking a deep breath I entered the restaurant, Mr. 98% was seated in the center of the restaurant, his hair looked as golden and curly under the track lighting as they did in his pictures!  As I approached him he began to stand.  All 5'4" of him.  I am 5'6" and with heels perhaps I am 5'8" so believe me, by no means can I dunk or be on the WNBA.  However, given our compatibility rating and the fact that I am really trying hard to work on my nasty pre-judgment habit, I sat down and gave it a chance.  Plus, I have been told by some good friends that sometimes short men pack heat. 

As we made our initial introductions, I couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be looking at the person behind me, so I casually turned around to grab something from my purse and saw the only thing behind me was a wall.  Turning back around to continue our convo I made the realization that he was slightly cross-eyed.  Hence all the pictures with sunglasses.

We talked about our upbringing, well actually, he talked about his upbringing. Detailing how over-protective his Mother had been throughout his childhood  and how he had decided to travel the world to show her that he could take care of himself.  I did the obligatory nod and continued with my active listening skills.  His stories seemed endless and the minutes lingered like hours.  My politeness radar was still working and I really wanted to stick it out but I have this condition that has haunted me since I was 17.  If at any time I am not comfortable in the company of another, my stomach starts to twist and turn resulting in my feeling faint and blood literally leaves my face and I look sickly and pale. 

This condition worked to my benefit in this case, Mr. 98% aka cross-eyed-traveler took notice and he asked me if I was feeling alright.  I admittedly said that I was not feeling so well and told him that I would be leaving for home.  He politely requested the check.   

The waitress came by, check in hand and he quickly snatched it.  How lovely, not only did he notice that I was not feeling well but he is enough of a gentleman to take care of the check!  Maybe I had judged him and his looks too prematurely, he could be a keeper, I mean he loves his Mom and she clearly loves him-- shorty pants, cross-eyes and all.  I told him how nice it was to meet him and started to get up from my chair.  He quickly grabbed my hand.  Is this his demonstration of a romantic gesture?  Go with it, no judgements TS.... I looked down in his direction.  "That'll be 38 with tax and tip" he said.  OMG, how rude, I didn't even eat anything I thought, plus didn't his Mom ever tell him it's rude not to make eye contact!  Oh but of course he wouldn't care about that because he's a rebel!  He's a world traveler!

As I handed him $40 bucks and briskly walked out of the restaurant, I vowed never to place value on technology to make my matches and any future 98% scores.