sampling the wares

This whole not having the internet in my home thing is really harshing my buzz, y'all. Because I have SO, so very much to update you on and there just aren't enough minutes in my lunch break to get it all out. But I know what you're waiting to hear about, so I won't keep you waiting on it any longer -- the results of my second adventure in speed dating.

The event was fairly small, just eight guys and eight gals, but there was a good variety of ages and ethnicities represented. Among the men, that is. I'm pretty sure every girl in the place was white as milk and between 22 and 26. There were eight five-minute dates with a short break after the fourth date, and each of us was given a card with all the names printed so that we could just tick the box next to the people we connected with and hand it back in at the close of the event.

I checked four boxes and, drumroll please, had two mutual matches waiting for me in my inbox this morning. Mostly I wrote those four names down because I felt like the guys liked me, and I wanted to find out if I was right. Two out of four ain't bad.

And there's something you should know about these two guys. Well, if you've been reading this blog for any length of time, you'll have already guessed what I'm about to tell you. What do you imagine these two gentlemen have in common? Don't overthink it, kids. Neither one of them is white.

And why is this not at all shocking? Because it is the story of my life. I wrote about this exact same thing following my first crack at speed dating in New York and it looks like being in the south hasn't changed anything. I did briefly see a Colombian man following that, but the only thing I really aimed to gain out of that was a few free drinks, a good meal and some sassy Latin compliments. What I said then still holds -- I pretty much know my type, and he's the type that will allow me to pop out little blond Hitler babies that look just like me. It's not that I don't think non-white men are attractive, I just don't want them to impregnate me. To each his own.

So will I pursue anything with these two matches? Mr. November is a week shy of being Mr. December and I'm pretty satisfied with letting him reach that milestone, so no. The pursuit wouldn't come from me. If they wanted to buy me dinner? I might just go for that, but officially the jury is still out. Things are new and early with Mr. N, and I don't quite know what the boundaries are yet -- mostly I think at this stage there aren't any boundaries, because DTR-ing (defining the relationship) has yet to take place. And I'm okay with that. Slow is a good speed for me.

The matches have my contact info, just as I have theirs, so we shall see if any attempts at communication are made. I will obviously keep you in the loop on any and all developments in this department.

I wish that this time around I had some hysterical story to regale you with, like last time around when Vlad asked me kindly to mention his ten-inch you-know-what. Mostly the dates were enjoyable and chatty -- only two of them stared at me like a bull looking at a new gate and literally forced me to ask, "So...what do you like to do for fun?" It was worse than pulling teeth. It was a five-minute root canal.

But I think my comfort and ease throughout the whole thing was largely facilitated by the fact that I was going out with Mr. November that night. It's like going to the store when you don't really have anything in mind and finding the most fabulous outfit ever. When you're looking for something in particular, it's never there. I hope this is a lesson I can put in my back pocket for the day in the future when I need to take my own advice and stop searching. For real.


cheers,
elizabeth