Ed’s Note: Calling an audible (Comeback, I’m sorry. It’s a football term that works. Sincerely, D-Money). Instead of the intended post, you get the Speed Dating story I promised long ago. Enjoy.
So I stroll into a place known as the Record Bar a few several Tuesdays ago for a speeding dating event. My eyes are so wide open that you’d have thought I’d just left the optometrist. I’m open-minded and curious to gauge this craze that’s boomed over the last few years.
Honestly, I should have kept them closed. The first person I see as I open the door is my female cousin Courtney. She’s here for speeding dating, too. Kansas City is that small. SMH. I’ll have a “date” with her. But in case you’re wondering, I don’t believe in kissing cousins. So yeah, get your mind out the sewage.
I still have an open mind — nowhere near thinking about material fit for a toilet or kissing my cousin. No, I want to know why people subject themselves to this popular dating fad. So by my fourth of seven seven-minute dates, I conjure up enough courage to ask that date just that: “Why are you here?”
She admits that she’s shy. Says this is an interesting way to meet people, and to pull her out of her comfort box. Another says it’s her first time and she’s curious, too. A third says she’s moving to Kansas City soon to start her professional career, and wants to meet people because she doesn’t know too many people in the city.
A few ask me the same question, to which I reply: “To ask you that question.”
Seriously. No joke. I explain to them that I’m not looking for anything serious. See, in a roundabout way, I’ve come to realize that you improve your odds of having a successful relationship if you’re platonic friends (don’t get any bright ideas about my best friend) with someone before you date them.
This method may not be for you. But I’ve learned that you’re able to decipher whether or not you actually like the person before you get emotionally attached — and aren’t able to properly detach yourself (see: Carrie/Big or Pedestal Patty).
Moreover, you need to figure out whether or not this person is a 6 or above on the 1-10 crazy scale without said attachment. Seriously, dating crazy people can take two-plus years away from your life and another several years from your life expectancy. Trust me, I know from experience.
The “speed dates” understood this theory when I explained it. We’ve all been there before. You know, dated someone’s representative for a few months only for he/she to show his/her true face (read: ass) to you at a later date.
Knowing that I was going into this speed dating thing looking for answers made asking questions like the following that much easier:
Did you enjoy your last “speed date” and if so could see yourself dating that guy? Date No. 5 said that she could see second conversations happening with most of the guys, but mostly because she didn’t have enough time to gauge what anyone was really about.
Oddly enough, it’s the same problem I was having. In seven minutes, it is impossible to determine who someone really is, and whether or not he/she sincerely deserves to converse with you later at a coffeehouse, dinner & a movie, an outing at the park or a skydiving trip. Yeah, skydiving. Right.
Most of the conversations were satisfactory (i.e., I couldn’t find many loose screws). And because I enjoy meeting new people and hearing other people’s takes on life, I could rap with any of them.
But that’s part of the double-edged sword of speed dating: You meet people, but you’re don’t get a chance to know them because of the accelerated pace, especially considering that we were all regurgitating the same information every seven minutes. It actually got annoying.
It’s a good microcosm of adult life best known as The Real World (not the non-reality show): Same stuff, different day. Just every seven minutes.
There were some good questions, though.
My first date had the second best one for me: “What’s your biggest flaw?”
My answer: “I’ve have a problem with taking vengeance into my own hands when crossed (20. The Girl Who Flung Spaghetti at my FUBU). But that’s a problem that I swept under the rug four or five years ago, after learning the hard way for the umpteenth time that it’s the wrong way.”
My candor shocked her. But hey, I am who and what I am. I never got to ask the question back. Because our date ended two seconds later at the sound of some whistle-like contraption. Damn, time constraints. It was a great question.
Not the best one, though.
The most shocking/best query came two dates later during my seven minutes with my cousin Courtney. This child had the nerve to ask me how many women I’ve slept with knowing full well that she’d get an honest response. Yes, I turned question around, and she answered me.
We don’t hide much from each other.
Sorry, though. My number of lustful endeavors is an answer you won’t get out of me. I’m real, but that’s real…ly inappropriate. Consider that between me, my God … and now my cousin Courtney. Damned speed dating. SMH.