As fast as I can

Have you ever noticed that the better looking a Danish is, the worse it tastes? I rarely eat Danish, but this morning I grabbed one with my coffee. Unfortunately, it was more concerned with looking pretty than tasting good.

Oh, wait. You don't want to hear about my breakfast. In case anyone was worried about me, I've been on the run, trying to get things done at work, staying out late at night and without a computer at work for many hours today.

The late night last night was due to my ushering gig at Arena Stage. We saw Damn Yankees. Go see it. It's a great show. The songs are wonderful, it's funny, the acting and dancing are fantastic. I loved it--loved it! It had me laughing and crying all at the same time. I'm sentimental that way.

Oh wait, you didn't want to hear about Damn Yankees. Dating, right. Let me get to the dating.

On Tuesday night, I went on eight dates. Eight, eight-minute dates. That's right, I took the plunge into speed dating. It wasn't my idea. My friend was excited about it and she sold Pele, Kristin and me on the idea. We were IN. As the day approached, and we heard nothing, I found myself wishing that I would not be confirmed. I figured I was one of the last to sign up, so if anyone wouldn't make it , it would be me.

On Monday, the confirmation email came in and all of us, even a fifth friend, were confirmed EXCEPT for the instigator. Sigh. I was still recovering from my wild weekend, but I promised that I would get my head in the game. Head IN the GAME.

I wondered what it would be like. Given my chattiness and lack of shyness, I thought it might be a good venue for me. I also wondered if there would be a clear "winner" among the guys--one who was cuter, hotter, smarter and more interesting than all the rest.

I'd say it was a fine venue for me, though it felt a bit forced and artificial. At the beginning of the second round, I felt like I was losing my mind. I was overwhelmed and unable to stop saying whatever popped into my head. Thus, I was much more entertaining during the last four encounters than the first four. And what's up with calling them "dates"? They last eight minutes. They are not dates. Whatever.

After the dating was over, the group of us, including the instigator, retired to Kristin's charming apartment and dished on the guys. We were very, very bad. Well, actually, we were only mildly bad. The guys were mostly nice and inoffensive. We compared impressions and disagreed about a few of the guys, but we did agree on some things.

There was indeed one guy who was a winner. He was smarter, funnier and cuter than the others.

There was also a guy who no one liked and we all found creepy. And, guess what, I knew him! Not only did I know him, but I saw him recently, and I dated him in the past. There is an entire post about him. (Luckily, no one had read it, Pele didn't remember the details, so I got to tell the whole, unedited story. I had them in stitches, if I do say so myself.) When he sat down for our date, I was pretty sure it was him, but he showed not one flicker of recognition. And his name...it wasn't the name I remembered. Maybe he changed it; I used his initial in the story because I couldn't come up with a good fake name for him. Weird. When I got the scoop from the other gals, I was sure it was him. He is just as creepy as ever.

With speed dating, at the end of the night, you mark down the guys you like. If one of them chooses you as well, you get his contact info. I did match with one guy. I picked two. My first choice, Mr. Winner, did not pick me. So sad. The one who picked me has not contacted me yet. I feel very "so what?" about it. I have no desire to email him.

So, for the new year, I have one phone number, one email address and zero dates. That's right, I'm ruling the eight dates as invalid. But it was ok. I don't think I would do it again, though. Too expensive.

I suppose there is more to say on this, but I'm still tired. And I have to pack. I'm going to Pittsburg for the weekend. Woo hoo! If you don't hear from me, at least you'll know why.

Grateful for: girl talk.