Segregation Now, Segregation Tomorrow -- But Not Forever? A Discussion.

From: Gweepay
Subject: Re: friends in Richmond
Date: August 28, 2007 9:06:18 PM GMT-04:00
To: BeforeISleep.net


As Matt pointed out in a recent email to me, now that Sweetie, Gweepay, and Matt the Red are all in different States(!), we are likely all experiencing a dearth of friendships. When I first arrived, I was given false hope when, on my first Friday at work, lo and behold, one of my coworkers suggested we go grab some beers for happy hour. Little did I know this would be a two-time occurrence, and would cease and desist just as soon as his fiance moved in and took over his life. Since then, I've been doing lots of staring at stationary objects, just like Matt, who reportedly stares at the wall. For me, it's the ceiling, as I prefer to lay. So I figure I should try and find a girlfriend, because that way I won't need friends AND I get sex AND...well, there has to be some other benefit to all of that.

One possibility is Stacy, this girl at work that I was originally sitting next to on my first project. At first she didn't like me. I could tell because she looked annoyed whenever I asked questions. In fact, I think she was generally annoyed to be sitting next to me. But eventually, Stockholm Syndrome set in and she began to actually smile and converse and all the other things people do when they cease to dislike someone. I often suggested that we go grab a bite when the clock struck twelve and that bird-thing from the Flintstones squawked, indicating that it was lunch time. T'wasn't much longer until Stacy gave me her number, and by "gave me," I mean that SHE offered it to me. As in, I never even asked. I was just sitting there, minding my own business, coding documents, not really bothering anybody, when Stacy, who was feeling quite ill that day, began to pack up to leave early. At that point, she asked me for a pen. I obliged, expecting her to jot down a recipe or some other domestic communique to herself. To my astonishment, she returned the pen with a piece of paper donning her cell number. She informed me that this was in case she was dying and never came back to work. Mission accomplished, she left for the day.

Here's the thing, though. There are two potential downsides to Stacy, or at least to a Gweepay/Stacy dating situation. And no, it has nothing to do with looks. She's cute. Very nice hips and all that. But there may be some cultural differences. And that, of course, is code for the fact that Stacy's lineage began far from the region where the Anglos met the Saxons. She is, in fact, black. This means that my Racist Grandparents, all four of them, would have not one, but two grandsons dating, oh, how do they put it, outside "the race," and that may just be too much for the lot of them. And that's not the half of it. As Chris Rock so aptly points out, the most racist people in the world are old black people, because they were the ones who bore the brunt of all the racism in their day. I can just imagine what HER family would think. Holidays would be horrible. I can envision her grandmother, staring me down across the table, making jokes about white meat and dark meat, and forgetting that she had made the same joke for the past five years. And everyone would laugh, because everyone always laughs.

The other issue is temperamental. Stacy is best described as a good listener. She's not the sort of person who carries the conversation. This is problematic, because I, also a good listener, never can think of anything to talk about. I still don't know what people are always talking about as I pass them in public. What could possibly be so interesting to so many people at all times? As such, I often find myself bringing up inane topics with her such as my various theories as to why I get headaches on the weekends but not on weekdays.

In any case, if any confirmation was needed that she is "interested," it came two weekends ago when I asked her to see the Bourne movie with me, and she showed up with her hair done and dressed as if she was going to a fancy restaurant, while I had on khakis and my "popcorn eating" shirt, i.e., one that I care little about, as there is a 100 percent chance that buttery popcorn will make contact with it several times throughout the night.

So the question is, now what?

---

NOW WHAT, dear Gweepay? Now what, indeed. I invite my readers to weigh in. (Ha! Get it? Weigh! Because we're all so fat.) By the way, in the absence of companionship, I don't just spend my time staring at the wall (preferring to sit). I also spend my time surfing over to CampusFood.com, which has Gweepay's credit card number saved! So not only am I getting lonely, I'm getting fat. As the following video portends:

A Mysterious dream indeed...

I had a dream last night that Mystery was sitting with me in my living room back in Michigan. I had just watched the latest episode of The Pick-Up Artist and apparently a movie that had come out, and of course i was familiar with his books. In person, Mystery truly is like a Jesus-like figure. He radiates confidence and caring. Even if you disagree with His method, you still want to listen to the things he says, because he is so charismatic - and ultimately successful.

I told him that I wanted to meet somebody. He said, No you don't.

What do you mean?
No. Look at yourself. Why aren't you wearing contacts?
I haven't worn contacts in years.
Well, you would look much better in contacts.

I walked into the bathroom, and looked at myself in the mirror. I took off my glasses, and looked at myself as though I was wearing contact lenses. I did look good... Mystery was right. Time to ditch the glasses.

I am not certain what Mystery's appearance in my dream means. All I know for certain is that I did watch "The Pick Up Artist" last night on television, and was very good. The eight misfits were starting to apply some of the techniques they have learned that, and they were surprisingly effective. No one got any girls' phone number, but they were getting close. And they were starting to learn to have some charm.

They showed a preview of next week. One of the trainees was actually successful in making out with a girl at a club. They had hidden camera video of it. It was amazingly impressive.

Why did Mystery appear to me in a dream? Is he the Messiah? Does my subconscious mind want me to learn something from Mystery's teachings? Or was his appearance just a product of some random neurons firing, coupled with some bad pizza?

When I originally read "The Game," I was extremely impressed. I thought, here is a group of guys that has actually figured out the key to unlocking women's desires. And yet a small voice inside me had its doubts. But now, after seeing Mystery's teachings in person (well, on television), I dare say, I may be a believer.

Here is a great 3-minute snippet from Episode 2, in which our protagonists, after having practiced their openers at home, go "in field" to see what they can do... (To see the entire show - minus commercials and filler - go to the web site. )

Answering Our Own Questions

(This is a joint blog entry, composed by Matt and Sweetie.)

Most people know Matthew Lesko as Question Mark Guy (or some derivation), the man who screams about free money on infomercials late at night. But for my Sweetie and I, he has long been a metaphor for our sometimes uncertain relationship. The first time we saw him, Sweetie and I were just starting out. It was September 2005, just a few weeks into our nascent relationship, and we were taking in a movie in Chinatown. At the time, I was uncertain whether Sweetie, a Latin teacher, was playful and quirky enough for me, or whether her "magistra" tendencies (magistra is Latin for "teacher") would dominate. A question mark lay before us. That night, for the first time in our lives, we saw Matthew Lesko.

Fast forward to December of 2006. We had already broken up, but Sweetie came to my Christmas Concert with the Choral Arts Society anyway. During the concert, she sat alone, wondering what would become of us. At intermission, from the balcony, she saw him: a man decorated head to toe in question marks -- dress question marks, no less!

After the concert, Sweetie brought the sighting to this tenor's attention, feeling it was a terrible omen. Sweetie was distraught, because she saw Question Mark Man as symbolizing the end of our relationship. It had now come full circle -- questions in the beginning, when Matt wasn't sure if she was right for him -- and questions in the end, when Sweetie didn't know if they would ever really spend time together again. We spotted his question-mark-adorned car in the parking garage, and decided to wait for him, intent on questioning the man ourselves. What do you mean?? we wanted to ask. Why are you always here during times of discernment? Do you have any answers for all your questions? We would not get the chance to ask. After waiting in an empty parking lot for half an hour, we realized the Question Mark Man would remain a mystery that night. As we drove out of the parking garage, we noticed yet another question-mark-adorned vehicle, and realized that the man had decoys, likely to prevent insane people like ourselves from stalking him down and trying to squeeze out of him answers to the greatest mysteries of existence.

The third time, Sweetie saw the Question Mark car through tears. I had just returned from London, and we decided to go to dinner and the theatre together. It was Sweetie's favorite kind of evening, full of feelings of love and affection. This night was an experiment: We wanted to see if we could still go out and enjoy a nice evening together whilst remaining single. The experiment failed. As we sat in my car at the end of the night, Sweetie consumed by emotion, we looked across the street and our jaws dropped as we saw the Question Mark Car yet again. It was parked right in front of Sweetie's building. It was definitely a sign. But a sign of what? Alas, there would be no answers to these incessant question marks.

Fast forward yet again. Although the future remains unclear, the Sweeties find themselves in a place of relative calm, having made plans to take an educational road trip next weekend and teach Matt a little bit about our nation's history. Today, just after Sweetie dropped off Matt's lunch at his place of employ, she happened to glance into the Starbucks across the street. She left a frantic voice mail on Matt's phone.

"Sweetie. I just happened to pass Starbucks, and -- Guess. Who. I. Saw. Question Mark Man." Her voice didn't sound surprised. In fact, it sounded like she completed expected to see him. "I swear, every time something exciting happens for us... there he is. This would be a great time to talk to him. Call me back."

I bolted through the stairwell door, confident I could run six stories down faster than it would take to wait for the elevator. I couldn't let this chance to talk to Question Mark Man -- to get some ANSWERS -- pass us by.

I ran across the street to find Sweetie pacing outside the door of Starbucks. "He's right in there!" she shouted breathlessly. "What should we do?"

"We should go in and talk to him, of course!" I said, calmly.

"Sweetie, I can't go in!" she said. "What would I say? I'm scared!"

I laughed and rolled my eyes. Sweetie was scared of everything. Now, at the prospect of finally getting answers, she was scared to find out the truth. I told her to Wait Here, and I walked inside.

Question Mark Man was on the phone. I beckoned Sweetie in, and had her grab a table just across from him, as I waited in line for a perfunctory iced chai with which to wait him out. I returned to the table where Sweetie was conducting not-so-covert surveillance, and there we waited.

"Sweetie," I said, "stop staring!"
"I want to make sure he doesn't leave."
"Sweetie, we don't want him to think we are stalkers."
"But we ARE stalkers! We need to know the truth!"

I sipped my chai and glanced at the newspaper as I waited for Question Mark Man to get off the phone. He had the handset pressed to his ear, doing so little talking that Sweetie wondered aloud if perhaps he wasn't really on the phone, but was just holding it up "to look busy." I responded that if he wasn't really on the phone, he was holding it up so that he could avoid being accosted by people like us.

"Maybe we should leave," Sweetie said.
"WHAT?! We get so close and then you would have us leave?"
"He could be on the phone for a long time."
"He's RIGHT THERE! All our questions, waiting to be answered!"

She looked a bit sheepish and agreed that, as usual, I was right. [EDITOR'S NOTE: Sweetie disagrees with that line, calling it "revisionist history."] After a few more minutes, Question Mark Man ended his conversation. Sweetie and I looked at each other excitedly, and then, after quickly arguing about who would speak first, we approached him.

"Excuse me, Mr. Lesko?" she said.
The bequestioned man looked up and smiled, knowing a fan when he saw one. He stood to greet us, shaking our hands.
"We have been wanting to talk to you for a long time," Sweetie said.
"Really?" Question Mark man looked surprised.
"You have been present at every important stage in our relationship."
His eyes widened as he realized he was going to be here a while. Boldly, pulling up a chair, Sweetie told him, "Take a seat."
I chimed in. "Do we have a story for you."

Several minutes later, after recounting his fortuitous appearances throughout our entire relationship, and offering him sound business advice ("You should ride around on a question-marked Segway!"), it became apparent that he had no answers for us. In telling him the story, we had answered our own questions. Instead of him telling us what his purpose was, we told him what he meant to us.

He looked a bit overwhelmed. In person, this friendly man was not wild and crazy at all, but rather soft-spoken and contemplative. He paused, as though taking it all in. Then he smiled.

"Gee," he said, "usually people just want to tell me how I helped save them a lot of money!"

(Under my breath) "Sweeeetie.... why aren't you waaaaaviiing...."

A Tale of Speed Dating: Second Time's a Charm!

Good day everyone! Welcome to another installment of "Hurry Dating on U Street!" Last year, the subtitle was "OR: Hurry Up and Get Me Outta Here!" -- but this year, things were a bit different.

That they were, Gweepay, that they were. Whereas last year we had to deal with several incredibly unattractive women, and one who may or may not have been the Biggest Witch of All Time, this year... well, I can't think of a single girl who would take the new crown as Bitchy McBitchBitch. They were generally pretty pleasant, with a couple definite winners in the bunch.

Gweepay: The girls this year were, in the aggregate, highly preferable to the motley crew whose presence we graced at the last event. First, the median level of physical attractiveness was much higher at this event than the last. Of 13 girls, I would say that I found all but 2 fairly attractive, and even the two that I didn't find attractive had great personalities. There were no Bitchy McBitchBitches at this event. You won't get to hear me utter my catch phrase, "what a bitch!" on this post. It was just that good.

Matt: That it was, Gweepay, that it was. But I'll bet I can make you utter your catch phrase yet!

Gweepay: Ho ho, go ahead and try! But why don't we get started. Let's go through the girls one at a time. When we were first asked to take a seat, I decided to sit as far away from Matt the Red and the Tough Talkin' Texan as possible. That's not because I didn't want them to hear my game. As everyone knows, I don't have any game. It was largely because girls would get freaked out by meeting three lawyers in a row, two from Michigan, two who went to Georgetown Law, and at least two who had many of the same jokes. I headed to the far left side of the room and sat across from this Indian girl, Virpal.

Matt: Dave, is that pronounced like "Purple"?

Gweepay: No, Matt, I believe it rhymes with "Beer Call." Anyway, because it took a few minutes for the event to start, I was able to converse with Virpal for a far longer period than the 4.5 minutes typically allotted for each girl. My experience with her was very positive. Since I was the first one that she talked to, she had tons of stuff to talk about, and I found her charming, pleasant, and generally the type of girl I like, complete with a love for banter and sufficiently assertive without being bitchy. I checked yes for Beer Call. Er, Virpal.

The next girl I remember talking to was a cute Asian girl. Yes, yes, Young Shin. She was very much an Asian girl... and I don't mean that as a pejorative! She seemed upbeat, fun, cute, and playful. I can't remember a thing we talked about, but I did get a good impression.

Now, the guy directly in front of me was a real piece of work. Every time the moderator blew the whistle, we were all supposed to end our conversations, get up, and move on to the next table. Well, this guy took his sweet old time, trying to make sure he got a few seconds of post-whistle conversation in with each girl. This meant that I had to stand over the table and wait for him to move. This also meant that I got to hear what he was saying. As he got up from one table, I heard him tell the girl at the table that he was an archeologist/oceanographer. Then, I sat down across from her. This girl reminded me of Matt's ex-flame, Sweetie. She was a stately brunette dressed in a very dignified manner. She was from the south. She was very sweet. Anyway, we started chatting and naturally she asked me what I do. I replied, "Oh, I'm an archeologist/oceanographer."

• "Really?!" she said as she looked at me in shock.
• "No, I'm just playing. I just heard that guy," I said. She laughed and laughed and laughed. She had a great laugh.
  

Matt: That she did, Dave, that she did. There's nothing better than a great laugh. Her name was Amanda, which is a pretty good name, despite the fact that it has the word "Man" in it. That kind of gives me pause. You may remember that when we saw her before the event, I mentioned that it looked like she was wearing a wig... she was all dressed up and looked kind of like one of Jennifer Garner's spy characters on Alias!

Dave: Yes, I do recall you mentioning that! You two seemed to get along well... Tell us, Matt, was it a wig?

Matt: Funny you should ask. During our HurryDate, I specifically questioned whether her hair was real, or whether it was a wig! She feigned shock and told me it was real. But I wasn't convinced, so I actually reached over the table and tugged on it! Admittedly, it wasn't the most gentlemanly thing to do, but she was my final HurryDate, and by this point in the night, I had already consumed a very well done Long Island in addition to those three Yuenglings, so my impulse control was not exactly operating at peak efficiency. Anyway, her hair was on there pretty good and tight, so I'm assuming it was real. Now, by this point, I had established a rapport with her, and negged her as recommended in The Game. My four minutes were almost up, and so it was time to use my Gold Material.

Gweepay: The wig thing wasn't your Gold?

Matt: No! That was just a way for me to A) be memorable, and B) physically break the plane, so to speak, that was separating me from the end zone. So, as all BeforeISleep visitors know, I purchased a Segway a couple weeks ago, and it's awesome. Just passed 100 miles. So I ask Amanda if she knows what a Segway is. She perks up and says of course. So I say, "If you circle Yes to Number 27....... you get to ride a Segway." She laughed and laughed! "Do you say that to all the girls?" she asked. I nodded and smiled mischievously. Ah, that sweet laugh.

Gweepay: Wow, sounds like you won't forget her anytime soon. Now, the girls I definitely won't forget were a group of three sexy chicas who were apparently in attendance only for purposes of general amusement. One conversation went something like this:

• Girl: So, this your first time?
• Me: Nah, I've done one of these before.
• Girl: Oh. Get you laid?
• Me: What?
• Girl: Did the last event get you laid?
• Me: Heh. I wish.
• Girl: I mean, that's why people come here.
• Me: You're telling me.G
• Girl: What's your favorite position?
• Me: Sexual?
• Girl: Is there any other?
• Me: The bottom.
• Girl: Really? Why?
• Me: The top is too much work.
• Girl: Hahahahahaha. That's horrible!
• Me: So are you gonna mark me down?
• Girl: I told you, I'm leaving town. I'm not marking anybody down.
• Me: Come on, just mark me down and we'll do some of those things we talked about.
• Girl: Hahahahahahahahahaha!
  

The last girl I spoke with is the Girl Who No One Remembers. Neither Matt the Red nor Tough Talkin' Texan remember anything about her. Her name is Jodie, and she was very shy. She is a major introvert, or an "I" to the Myers-Briggs groupies, and she told me that she was exhausted having to talk to so many people. I can relate, I'm a pretty solid "I" myself, but I doubt she'll get many matches. Especially since I had to explain to her that she had to go home and enter her choices into the system in order to even, you know, receive a single mutual match. But she was still cute. And I still checked yes.

Matt: Yeah, I remember her now. She was very cute, but very quiet. I think I circled Yes, but only because if I don't remember someone, that means they weren't HORRIBLE. So I give them the benefit of the doubt. Actually, I think I circled yes for 12 out of 13.

Gweepay: I checked yes to 10 of 13 girls. Two of the three I didn't select I just wasn't attracted to, and the third got off on the wrong foot with me. I told her I found it interesting that she was from the Bahamas, and she got all defensive and asked me why it was so interesting. Perhaps I just touched a nerve, but it rubbed me the wrong way.

Matt: Wow, what a bitch.

Gweepay: I know, what a -- ooooh, you almost got me!

Help edit my Match.com profile!

Have you always wanted to know what it was like to create a "Match.com" profile but been unable to act on the impulse due to fear and/or shame and/or your significant other? Do you secretely wish you could peruse Internet dating sites while your lover is away, with only that wily Internet history function thwarting your plans? Well friend, your pal Gweepay feels your pain. And that's why I've decided to give you an excuse to both visit America's premier web-based dating site AND take part in a fun project by helping me, Gweepay, edit my Match.com profile.

You see, my profile has gone through a number of iterations, with each enjoying varying levels of success when it comes to luring in Match girls. Indeed, this latest profile has been far more successful than most of my previous ones, generating at least a few electronic "winks" from females, as well as an email or two. But generally speaking, my conversations with these women are all for naught, as the vixens who do choose to correspond with me usually fall off the face of the earth after nary a few emails, apparently changing their minds irrationally, as women are wont to do. And in the unlikely event I DO convince one of these girls to accompany me for coffee or equivalent, the result is almost always an utterance of my official BeforeISleep catch phrase: "What a bitch!"

So, gentle reader, here's your opportunity to give your old pal Gweepay a hand. Help me help you help me.

The profile can be found here.

Some common critiques include the following:

1) At least two individuals have questioned my sanity for including anything relating to "September 11th" in my Match.com profile. Apparently, this is sort of like having a "Pearl Harbor. We remember." coffee table book as a conversation piece at a party.

2) At least one person thinks that much of the implied humor is only effective if one already knows my personality, and that without that foreknowledge, many of my tongue-in-cheek remarks could cause me to come across as an asshole.

3) A number of critics have suggested that instead of using the "what you do for fun" section simply to amuse myself, I should probably include activities that women could imagine doing with me. I'd prefer simply to amuse myself. Hmm, maybe it's not so surprising that I'm single.

4) At least one individual suggested that it was a clear and blatant lie that I exercise "1 to 2 times per week." I suppose this is true, but show me a relationship that's not based on massive amounts of deceit and I'll show you a, well, a functional relationship I guess.

I think my single biggest problem when writing such a profile is striking just the right balance regarding humor. Considering that my quirky take on life is integral to my personality, it's probably important to try to display as much of that as possible in my profile in order to accomplish the twin objectives of weeding out women who would be turned off by that as well as reeling in those who find my sense of humor the ultimate aphrodysiac. The problem is, most clever commentary by nature has a double-meaning. There's the intended figurative meaning, which is funny, and the unintended literal meaning, which is often downright offensive. Knowing women the way I do, I suspect many of them, when faced with this double meaning, will naturally assume the worst, especially without being able to analyze it against the backdrop of my personality and temperment. But the only alternative is to write a completely mundate, boring profile that will simply blend in with all the others.

So, what are your thoughts on all of this? Feel free to comment in the, er, comments section. If the revised profile ends up generating a great deal of success for the Gweepmeister, you'll be rewarded with a glossy new holiday card this December!

A tale of speed dating -- HurryDate on U Street, or, Hurry Up and Get Me Out of Here!

"So, I went speed dating last night."

That statement has provoked several reactions: amusement, confusion, laughter, and most of all the question, Why??? Well, I went because I wanted to get out of the house. I wanted to meet some people in real life as opposed to just clicking through them listlessly on match.com. I wanted to dip my toe in the Dating Waters. I guess -- if you wanna look deeper -- I wanted to find a Soulmate.

What I found was more like a Krispy Kreme donut: a creamy center of 2 or 3 genuinely nice girls, surrounded by a boring and pedestrian cushion of cardboard cutouts with no personality to speak of, and covered with a sprinkling of Total Bitches.

Speed dating is supposed to let you figure out in 4 minutes whether you're interested in seeing someone again. Although it does perform that function, I'm not sure that's how I would phrase it. Let's try this: Speed dating lets you figure out, within 1 minute, who you absolutely NEVER want to see again.

I know that's rather a negative construction, but it's accurate. The girls for whom I circled yes, I can't say for sure whether they're a "match." All I can say is that I wouldn't mind hanging out with them to find out. But it takes a lot longer than 4 minutes to open up, lose the nervousness, ignore the absurdity of the 4-minute date, and really start to get to know someone.

But 4 minutes is PLENTY for figuring out who you never ever for the rest of time ever want to talk to or see again, ever. Period. Ever. Some people are so humourless, so devoid of spirit and playfulness, so fundamentally evil and bitchy, that their very existence is an affront to all that is Fun and Just and Good. These are the kinds of people who could scare a puppy simply by looking at it, or who kill plants and drain all the color out of flowers just by walking past them.

It's time for some examples! And for help recounting the evening, I hereby introduce everyone's favorite ne'er-do-well, the jolliest man you'll ever sit next to on the Metro, it's none other than the Earl of Gweepshire, the El Senor Gweepay himself, in the flesh!

Dave, why don't you get us started.

Thanks Matt. Direct from Alabama was the woman I like to call the Stealth Bitch. I give her this moniker due to her initially sweet, fun demeanor that evaporates upon any sort of male contact. But don’t just think this girl is a man-hating feminazi; oh no, it goes much deeper than that. Nay, this particular female falls into that rare but seemingly all too frequent category of individuals who possess the uncanny and likely diabolical ability to suck all of the energy, fun, and goodness out of a person, situation, or room. It’s the Midas touch with a twist, and to say it’s not pleasant would be an insult to unpleasantries.

Unfortunately for me, Stealthy was my last “speed-date” of the evening, meaning I had to end things on a bad note. I had high hopes for the Stealth One --- she appeared relatively cute from afar and seemed fun if a bit demure. As Ursula the Sexy Sea Witch blew her whistle-of-sorts, indicating that it was time to move to the next table, I happily took my seat across from Stealth. I introduced myself and shook her hand. She smiled. Then she dropped the bitch bomb.

“So, what do you do for a living?” said I.
“Oh, I’m a math teacher,” she said.

I then attempted to impress her by telling her all about the magnet program that they had for smart kids in the crappy part of the crappy state which I hail from, and how I was placed into that magnet program in high school, and how I was good at math, but I ended up hating it. Naturally, I thought this story would accomplish two objectives. First, it would allow us to develop a connection based on a shared experience: she teaches math; I had a neat story about being taught math. Secondly, it allowed her to learn more about me, where I’m from, and so forth.

Bitchy’s response? A look. A sort of bitchy look that communicated to me: “Stop trying to pretend we have things in common.” She then moved on to another topic. I tried to soften her up by pointing out that I could read her subtle accent, and that she was obviously from somewhere down south. For a moment, she let her guard down. She was from Alabama, she reported. I told her I was from Michigan.

“Yeah, you have a northwestern accent,” she replied.
“Northwestern? You mean like Washington and Oregon?” I said, knowing that she misspoke and really meant “midwestern,” and trying to add some joviality to the situation.
“No! NORTHWESTERN!” she said, defensively.
“So…Washington and Oregon?” I asked again.
“Oh, I meant midwestern,” she said dismissively, almost offended that I dared to point out her mistake, even in a fun way.

Now contrast that with the many more pleasant vixens that were present, all of whom may or may not turn out to be less than perfect for the Dynamic Duo of speed dating, but all of whom brought a certain sort of charm to the speed dating experience. Like the second grade teacher from Baltimore who was as inquisitive as she was perky, asking all sorts of interesting questions that made one pause to think and ponder.

Oh, I liked the second grade teacher. Of everyone there, she made me smile within the first ten seconds of talking to her. There was just something about her demeanor that radiated friendliness -- requisite, I suppose, when dealing with little kids all day. I can tell you this: If Bitchy McBitchBitch had to deal with 2nd graders all day, there would be no 3rd graders. The 2nd graders would all die from lack of sunshine.

Let's keep talking about the Bitch for a few more minutes. I asked her for three words to describe herself, because, you know, we've only got four minutes and I'm trying to figure out what makes people tick. Now, I've had problems in the past with this question -- a few years ago, someone's three words were "honor, duty and loyalty." Somehow I didn't think that Marine answer would go well with my "creative, musical, curious." The next few minutes were spent in near silence. Ugh!

Hoping for the best, I asked what her three words were. "Loyalty," she said. I started having flashbacks to the Marine. "Feistiness." Coming from the 2nd grade teacher, that would have been great; coming from this one, it didn't bode as well. "And I'm not going to give you a third word."

Me: "Why not? Too many to choose from?"
B-McBB: "I'm just NOT. It's just those two." No smile.
Me: "Okayyyyyy..... well, um, explain a little. How are you loyal?" I say, in my best grin-and-bear-it style.
Her: "I'm very loyal to my friends and family."
Me: "That's great. But let's test it..." I say with a mischievous grin. "Let's say your best friend got into an argument with somebody, and things got chaotic and she ended up somehow pulling out a dagger and--"
Her: "That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
Me: "Okay okay but let's just say--"
Her: "No, I am not going to answer your question. My friend would never pull out a dagger."
Me: "Okay, then let's say it's just a regular knife, not a dagger."
Her: "I am a mathematician," she says with an icy stare. "We don't speculate about things that would never happen." I didn't tell her that as a law student we speculate about this stuff all the time.
Me: "Well, as a mathematician surely you study probability, so what if, though it's improbable--"
Her: "I'm NOT talking about this."
(beat)
Me: "Well I sure see the feistiness."
Her: Icy stare.
Me: Shudder. "Speaking of loyalty, did you hear about the homeless guy in Dupont Circle and his dog, Precious? Apparently they used to be there all the time and the dog was very friendly. Well a couple days ago he was chasing squirrels in the Circle and a cop came to the homeless guy and told him to put the dog on a leash. The homeless guy hesitated and the cop started shouting, going ballistic. So Precious is curious and runs up to see what's going on. She stops a few feet from the cop, who by this time has pulled out his GUN, and suddenly shoots the dog!" This really did happen a few days ago. I was trying to see if she was at all sensitive, or if she would feel any remorse for the dog or his bum master.
Her: "I'm not surprised," she says coldly. "It was a police officer."
Me: "I always thought police are supposed to help."
Her: "They DON'T. They just harrass. I was harrassed three times this year by police!"
Me: "Wow, what happened?"
Her: (Very angry.) "The first time, I was driving and a cop pulled me over for NO reason, and started HARASSING me. Just because my registration had lapsed or something. The second time, I turned when the sign said not to, and again a cop came up and started YELLING at me and TOTALLY harassing me. I didn't do anything! And then..."

She went on to talk about another time when another cop "harrassed" her for "not doing anything," but by this time I was so fed up with this bitchy girl and her warped sense of reality and her inability to be playful or funny or even SMILE at all, I was wondering how the laws of physics had inexplicably altered so as to turn four minutes into four YEARS, and I was wondering why I had shelled out $35 for this.

What a bitch! But there were some good ones... like the spunky architect, also from Baltimore, who had a quirky temperment mixed with a no-bullshit attitude, which your humble correspondent loves, because that means she’ll do all the stuff in the relationship that requires confrontation (which I hate), but also won’t be a bitch to me personally (which I also hate). In that sort of relationship, everybody wins! And by “everybody,” I mean me.

And who could forget the Italian minx from Long Island, who now lives in Baltimore, who was sweeter than, er, something incredibly sweet, and who loved San Francisco. And then of course there was the Asian architect, and she too was from Baltimore, who was a proud INTJ. Once again, is it too early to say whether any of these girls would be even a halfway decent “match” for our Heroes? Absolutely. But were they eons and eons more pleasant to chat with for four minutes than Bitchy McBitchBitch? You better believe it.

I really liked the Asian architect. I didn't know she was an INTJ, but as a fellow INTJ, I'm not surprised we clicked. I met her by the end of the evening, and after two hours of meeting a bunch of random girls, I was done with it. I told her as much. I told her I'm an introvert and I really would rather be somewhere else. She asked why I would come to one of these speed dating things, being an introvert and all. I explained that my introversion gave me even more of a reason to sign up -- it would force me out to meet people! All in all, we had a good chat and it was a pleasant way to finish the evening. She was a definite Yes... I wonder if she said Yes to me too? But wait a sec -- even if she did say yes, she's in Baltimore! What's up with that? Am I going to have to drive all the way out to Baltimore??

Why were there so many girls from BALTIMORE present? Look, I got nothin’ against B-More. It has a certain charm to it, if charm can be measured in gunshots and drug deals, and I’m sure it’s a fine city. But come on, Hurry Date, do you know how FAR B-More is from DC??? Me? I’d have to take the Metro, and then switch lines, and THEN take the “MARC” train for an hour, and then, once in B-More, take a cab to my damsel’s place. That’s too many transfers for me to even calculate.

I don’t want a girlfriend who lives in another city. Because, as the guy, we all know that I’d be the one having to sacrifice and go up to friggin’ Baltimore every friggin’ weekend. At that point, the only way to sustain the relationship would be to talk on the phone for an hour or two a day. I run out of things to say on the phone in 7-10 minutes. This is all very upsetting.

In any event, with just hours to go until I find out which of our fine Hurry Daters selected me as a match, I am being realistically optimistic. I’m hoping for 2-3 mutual matches. I predict that the following girls will select me:

1) One of the three quirky architect girls from Baltimore. Hopefully that spunky gal, but probably not.
2) One of a) Long Island chick or b) inquisitive 2nd grade teacher, but not both.
3) One random girl who I haven’t thought much about, possibly even someone I marked “no” to, like the girl from Nigeria named after a brand of shoe.

I said no to the shoe also. Overall, I marked yes for seven of the 14 girls we met, but a few of those were pretty borderline. I am also hoping for 2-3 mutual matches -- actually, I want the same ones as you! The 2nd grade teacher or one of the architect girls. They seemed to like me. I went up to them after the event was over and said, "Now, I know you're all friends. And I just want to tell you: Please don't fight over me."

But ultimately, if no one picks me, I won't be too down about it. After all, HurryDating, SpeedDating, FrenzyDating -- whatever you wanna call it -- is fundamentally unnatural. I much prefer to meet my women the old-fashioned way: On the Internet.