speed dating (round two)

If you're just joining us now, I highly recommend checking out my previous post ("how to meet a quality guy in three minutes or less") for the background on this story. Without it, well, you'll probably be fine, but do you really want to take that risk??

Stan L.
Keri describes Stan L. as "Russian Disco Guy" and I'd say that's being pretty generous. I saw him as more of an iguana that drinks through a straw by turning its head, reaching its tongue out for the straw and hoping for the best. Either way, we spent a good two minutes and forty five seconds discussing my name.

Stan: What is "Kate"?
Me: It's my name. What do you mean?
Stan: I don't know it.
Me: Aren't there any Kates in Russia?
Stan: No. (darts his tongue at the straw and drinks.) There are Katherines.
Me: Well, Kate is a nickname for Katherine.
Stan: What about Cathy? C-A-T-H-Y?
Me: Um, what about it?
Stan: Isn't that the nickname for Katherine?
Me: It's one of them.
Stan: Why aren't you Cathy?
Me: Because it's not my name.
Stan: You should be Cathy.
Me: Ok, but I'm not. I never have been.
Stan: Why not?
Me: BECAUSE MY NAME IS KATE.

The verdict: It's too bad iguanas don't speed date. I'd take one over Stan.

Patrick C.
Patrick gets credit for being one of the more normal participants. He was well dressed, not bad looking (aside from the mole on his right temple that Keri just couldn't get over -- I won't say I didn't notice it, either...) and said everything just right at all the right times. (Can anyone say "too polished"?) He told me that he had just come back from the gym, where he had been Spinning, and I told him that I hate spinning, that it's like "hitting some very important body parts with a baseball bat over and over again." He ran out of topics rather quickly, and I was forced to resort to something I didn't want to have to pull out if I could avoid it: cheesemaking.

I had agreed with myself beforehand that if anyone was really boring, and they asked me what I enjoy doing in my free time, I'd tell them about the cheese I made for Lisa on Wednesday. I only had to whip it out twice (thank god), but Patrick was the first.

The verdict: There's a spinning milk into cheese joke here, I just can't figure it out.

After Patrick came intermission, which started with the creepy sex story told by Alan F. and ended with Keri and I both throwing out the bland-ass cookies and Keri announcing, "They're just not worth the calories!"

For the second half, the men stayed seated and the women moved from table to table, which was fine, except that for that half, the guys were facing the tv screen full of gyrating, half-naked women. (Although, who am I kidding, pretending to care??)

Max
The first guy in the second half for me was Max. He was wee. Very very wee. He told me I looked "very sharp" and then talked about himself for the next three minutes. He'd ask me a question, I'd respond, and then he'd interrupt me to go on about himself. Since that's my favorite way to have a conversation, I think I'll be calling him tomorrow.

Keri hit the nail on the head, however, when she described him as "the guy who plays the oompa loompas in the new version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

The verdict: Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-do/There's not a chance I'd go out with you / Oompa Loompa doompa-dee-dee/ I'd really rather drink my own pee!

Oscar
A knight is shining armor is one thing. A guy in a shiny suit is another. I thought Oscar was German, but apparently he's Colombian. I recall very little of what we talked about, but I think there's a chance he was my second cheesemaking reference. He was also a very, very close talker. One of those intense, deep-eye-staring guys who's supposed to win you over with a glance, and when the glance doesn't do it, he works it with a lingering once over, which eventually just turns into a stare.

The verdict: I'd take him on my team in a staring contest, but that's about it.

Carlos Q.
Ah, Carlos Q. The Argentinian Asshole. (Keri's name for him, not mine.) All I know is that we talked about penguins (neither of us having seen any, but his country's full of them) and New York tourists. Keri, on the other hand, had an exceptionally pleasant interaction with him.

Keri: (sitting down) Hi, I'm Keri.
Carlos: Wow, you look exhausted. Are you ok?
Keri: (blink) (pause) (blink)
If only she had had the foresight to say, "Oh, no, I'm fine, it's only Lupus."

The verdict: I'd have to be one tired penguin to go out with this guy. (Although I did see him seriously try to chat up Keri as we were leaving. Maybe she liked it...)

Goutham R.
Wow. There are few words (if any) to describe Goutham R. Keri's notes read "Jesus H. NOOOOOOOOO!" and that pretty much sums it up nicely.

I saw Goutham as kind of a potato. He had a nice, brown outside like a potato, was kind of lumpy like a potato, and held a conversation almost as well as some potatoes I've chatted with in the past. He we definitely getting on the old side, but wasn't sprouting anything... yet.

The verdict: Smothered in sour cream and chives, the answer'd still be Jesus H. Nooooooooooo!

John O.
And last, but not least, John O. I glanced at him while he was chatting with Keri, and I thought to myself, "Thank god! Someone almost normal! He had too much facial hair for my taste, but I probably could have talked to him for a while without bringing up cheesemaking. (Excuse me, but when did Not Discussing Cheesemaking become a datable quality??) But when I sat down with him, there was this negative energy suck that took all nice things and made them frustrated, negative and antsy. I think he may even have accused me of "giving up the dream," and then admitting to doing it all the time himself.

And, oh, did I mention he was a lawyer? And a litigator to boot?

The verdict: In the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king.

We wrapped it up with these fellas, said goodbye to our poor female compatriots and headed out of the bar, waiting until we were a decent distance away to fall apart in laughter.

"International night? Who's genius idea was that?? We would have had better luck at Special Ed night!" I blurted out once we crossed the street.

"Special Ed night? No, we would have done better at Missing A Limb Night!"

That's when I fell down on the sidewalk and nearly peed myself.

The upsides of this adventure were many. First, it was an excellent bonding experience for Keri and I (not that working in a law firm together for a couple of years didn't do it), and second, it reminded me that if I can hold a conversation with a potato, I can hold one with a willing human being. We went to a friend's birthday party afterwards, and I felt so extremely socially competent, I almost walked up to strangers just to have conversations. (Keri, unfortunately, had to go back to work. At 9:30 on a Thursday. Good thing she wasn't tanked...)

Will I do it again? I don't know. It was a really fun experience, and made me laugh harder than I have in quite a while. Is it a legitimate way to meet people? That's a good question. Just ask Patrick C. -- he's just out of a two year relationship with someone he met speed dating. (No wonder he sounded so polished...)

One thing's for sure, we will never go back to International Night!