For those of you who missed my first attempt at speed dating (or “soft dating,” as they say here in Paris), you can catch up here. It was a complete failure, and I was hoping that attempt #2 last night would fare better.
Well, “better” is a strong word. The only way that last night’s speed dating was “better” was the fact that I actually got to go speed dating this time.
In every other way, this attempt #2 was much worse.
I was excited about speed dating at first. If anything, it was going to be a change of pace. Literally.
When I stepped off the metro, I felt great. I’d just had a nice steam and sauna at the gym, so I felt relaxed and confident. And most importantly, I had lip gloss on. So I felt like a wanton dating goddess. (Lip gloss doesn’t have this effect on everyone, but that’s what it does to me, so don’t you judge me.)
After a greeter seated me, I scoped out the man scene. None of them set my loins astir until the last two guys arrived. I zeroed in on the broad-shouldered one (I’m a shoulders/arms kind of gal).
The greeter told him to take one of the last two empty seats. One was in front of me, and the other one was across from the most busted chick in the room. (I’m not saying this to be mean. I’m just stating a fact, based on hair, skin, makeup, body, fashion sense, and overall upkeep. So don’t get your knickers in a twist.)
Mr. Shoulders locked eyes with me, and when I smiled…
… he made a beeline for the seat across from Ms. Busted.
I felt mildly disappointed and highly insulted. I quickly checked myself in a mirror. Nope, no warts, no scales, no horns… Yup, lip gloss was still fabulous. What the hell, man?
I suppose that it didn’t matter where he sat, since he would end up in front of me at the end of the speed dating round. But still. My ego hurt.
And so the speed dating began…
Date #1 – Matthieu
Matthieu was kind of cute. I just hadn’t noticed at first because he came in with Mr. Shoulders. Matthieu seemed nice enough (I felt no desire to run away, rip his face off, or vomit.) His only problem was that he suffered from what I’ve talked about in previous posts: munchkinosis.
He was small enough to fit in the pocket of a petite, 5’3″ Asian woman.
But it was all downhill from there. If it’s any indication, Matthieu was the ONLY guy that I put down as a “yes” in the end — if only to avoid coming away from this whole misadventure with no date at all.
Date #2 – Chan
Chan wasn’t hideous, but his French was incomprehensible. I just sat there looking at him blankly as he struggled to form simple sentences. It turned out that he was Indian, so we continued our date in English.
This didn’t make things much better. Now that I could finally understand him, he was so boring that I preferred it when he was speaking gibberish. Chan was proof that ten minutes is FAR too long for a speed date.
This also begged the question, why the hell would you go speed dating in Paris if you don’t speak a damn word of French?!
Date #3 – Charly
Charly just sat there in silence after introducing himself and kept scanning the room — as if he were on the lookout for something/someone better.
Date #4 – Gauthier
Gauthier was a troll. When he sat down, I had to suppress a shudder.
And he was obviously ill at ease and suffering from a severe case of verbal diarrhea. Even worse, with his word speed of about 592 words per minute, I didn’t understand a damn thing that he said.
His speech impediment didn’t help either.
Date #5 – Gwenaen
I think we wasted a full three minutes or so as he tried to tell me how to spell and pronounce his name. Unfortunately, that was the highlight of this date.
And he was wearing a t-shirt with suspenders painted on them.
Date #6 – Christophe
Another look-around douche.
And dumb as soup.
Date #7 – Jugo
Jugo was a Yugoslav Steve Urkel with bad teeth and even worse fashion sense. When he first said his name, I thought that his name was Gustave. Oops.
It could have been a great bonding/funny moment if this guy weren’t such a spastic fool. Everything he said was punctuated with such over-exuberant body movements that he almost fell out of his chair a few times. He, too, suffered from verbal diarrhea, and he thought that everything he said was riotously funny. It was as if he was on a date with himself, the way he laughed at his un-funny jokes.
If you could play back my thought process during this date, you’d hear, “Shut up. Shut up. SHUT UP. Shut UP. ShutupgoddammitshutupwhyareyoustilltalkingshutUP.”
Date #8 – Sylvain
He was Pee Wee Herman. He had those same, creepily rouged/rosy cheeks.
Pee Wee Herman terrified me as a child.
Date #9 – Mr. Shoulders
Speed date #9 was SUPPOSED to be with Mr. Shoulders, the one guy that I was excited to speed date. But he left early before the round ended.
Of course he did.
The universe hates me.
Bottom line: I paid 15 euros to drink one glass of wine and watch grown “men” drink cocktails with glowsticks and/or umbrellas.
What a waste of lip gloss.
This wanton dating goddess will save her lip gloss for more worthwhile endeavors.