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I mean, what, why can’t you ask someone what their reason for existence is or what five qualities they are most proud of about themselves in the first five texts? I need real interactions and body language and maybe another big glass of tequila.“Hello. The odds aren’t good, I realize, but who cares, just let nature takes its course. A man with a blue collared shirt and jeans sits down next to me and next to him a small Peruvian man that flies regional planes for any airline that will hire him.“Everyone is cutting back he says.”I ask him if there is a lot of math in becoming a pilot and he smiles and says yes. In the end, I’ll collect your cards, and you’ll be notified of when you have a match,” I hear her telling another man at the bottom of the staircase next to me.
People are just afraid to trust strangers with being themselves these days. But there must be some sort of strategy my conscience warns me. He cheeks are full, and he reminds me of a cute little field mouse stuffing an acorn into his mouth.“Have you done this before,” he asks.“No. ” I ask back.“First time.”The other man with the short brown hair and tinted glasses and carpenter jeans nods “yes” with us.
”Her smile turns into a frown.“I mean, not that you, um.
She works on the red wagon.“That is the number one toy of all time,” I say.“Oh my God. Thank you.”“But excuse me, why do they need toy engineers for the red wagon?
It’s a thing you say to a woman if you are an asshole who believes that, ultimately, what women really want is for someone to be mean to them. Far be it from me to deny a lady a good blow to her self-esteem now and again, if she promises me that’s what she wants and she’s really okay and she agrees to come hang out with me later, just girls. Lo and behold, a few bravely delusional spirits soldier on.
I just feel pretty safe saying that, as a whole, humans don’t like when people are nasty to them. Sometimes it’s clear they know what they’re doing, which is the worst possible type of neg. I don’t know.) Sometimes it’s clear that they are just hapless goons.
When a little message popped up in the bottom right-hand corner of my screen saying “Hello, tall girl,” I screamed. I say “around” because I deleted so many of them immediately (having them sit in my inbox felt contaminating) that I cannot report with scientific precision the exact count. I actually think it makes me decidedly un-special, because to many of the messages’ authors I was clearly no more than one more female-looking thing who might be intrigued by the dashing brevity of a message reading only “sup?
I had myself signed in to chat accidentally, because I didn’t even realize it was there. In a month on Ok Cupid, I received around 130 messages.
I don’t know what I’m doing, and that’s okay, I remind myself over and over and over. I can feel the nervousness in the way I take my steps, in the way my hand stumbles for the bar door. Sick of wondering who that person really was after my four “very original” questions creeped them out. I shut my eyes briefly and envision my heart maxing out at 200 as I explode into a heart supernova of blood and guts and arteries flopping around like baby worms on the walls of this suave dim-lit bar.“What’s your name? I see a larger broad-shouldered woman chewing her fingernails in the corner. I take a seat at the bar, and Michelle hands me a pen and pad of paper that has lines and checkboxes. Four lines and boxes read different things, “I fancy a go.” I can’t remember the other three. They will meet 30 men, and then make their five choices. “But that one was recommended to me, and I must say, it’s very well done.”“Well, great,” she says, picking up drink and returning back to her seat.“Good luck out there today,” I whisper somewhat sarcastically. If you like someone, please make a mark to remember them by and go from there. She tells and helps people learn how to play a speed-dating game that feels more like a torture game show. But the truth is, I’m still single, I’m 40, and I need and want to meet new people. But being un-single means, I need to let go of what “I think this dating thing is going to be and look and feel like.”Online dating is becoming laborious. Of waiting to meet fictional people that never really look like their profiles. ”“Yes.”“Well, here, let me get you a pen and a pad, and I’ll explain what’s going to go down.”“I feel like my heart is about to explode,” I blurt out. You have nothing to be worried about — everyone here came for the same reasons as you — to meet new people,” she says, smiling.“Well, that’s good news,” I say, looking around for the women. I get five choices, and I’ll meet upwards of 20 women. You have five minutes with each woman, and then you move to the next person. This is crazy.”“I know.”“Well, we just deflowered each other’s speed dating virginity,” I joke. I can’t tell how tall she is because we’re sitting. God, I feel alive, and it’s just my first-time speed-dating. I just don’t feel the need to wait to filter my thoughts. She has full black hair, wears makeup and has nice, dark oval eyes. I mean, there are always improvements to be made.”I wish I weren’t so honest with strangers.