2015 Ended on a High, January Came and Went, My Car Sucks and I Went Speed Dating

This was my first time in Key West and I was delighted by how vacation-y it felt. Key West is a laid back town; it’s a place where key lime pie is always the answer, you can smoke a cigar and pretend you are in Cuba (only 90 miles from Key West) and then have a beer as you walk the streets. The people were so friendly in Key West because why not, what’s to be stressed about? We met some Germans who wanted to dance, a random woman cooed “so pretty” as the two of us walked by, and one of our cab drivers almost sold me on the local life, in which he sleeps in ’til noon, drives the cab a bit, and then hits up the local seafood joint with his buddies at night. And, he somehow still can afford to take a yearly vacation. Hmm, I thought. I do like seafood. We visited a clothing optional bar called Garden of Eden where we couldn’t help but feel like we had entered into some alternate universe. At this rooftop bar, middle-aged men and women, with soft, un-toned bodies, boogied in the nude. Some even had some body painting to jazz up their appearance (you know how it’s so embarrassing to show up in the same outfit as everyone else). I appreciated their free-spirited nature. For only a second. Then I got grossed out and felt we may get judged for our abundance of clothing (we opted to keep ours on).  There’s also some culture to Key West. We visited Ernest Hemingway’s house and learned that he was kind of a dick to his wife and that he had an affinity for 6-toed cats (their descendants still roam the property today). On New Years Eve, we watched a drag queen named Sushi drop from a giant shoe at the stroke of midnight. Seriously, I wish I had a child just so I could name her Sushi, we’d call her Sush, for short.

Then came January. The calendar was pretty empty. After a whirlwind of holiday events and being in Florida it seemed strange to have endless nights ahead to do as I please. So, I embarked on another Whole30, because I ate one two many pieces of key lime pie. I tried to get back into online dating but then I remembered why I hate it. I have no interest in conversations that abruptly stop and usually don’t start up again. Or, weeks later the conversation deserter messages me saying “I kinda miss you.” That’s like me saying I kinda miss Tokyo. I’ve seen pictures but I’ve never been to Tokyo, so no, I can’t miss Tokyo. Side note: I do really want to visit Tokyo but that is unrelated to this analogy. I can’t stand the inauthentic chatter on these sites. I don’t want people messaging me just for the sake of messaging; I don’t need another distraction while I’m driving.Speaking of driving, my car, a 2015 Jetta, as we Jews say, has been causing me agita. My car spent a hefty time in the shop at the end of 2015 so I had hoped that 2016 would be smooth sailing, or rather, smooth driving. Last weekend, my car broke down. After waiting for almost two hours for a tow truck, I had to ride in the truck with an angry driver who was mad about the low wages he was receiving. I wanted to tell him I could empathize and break into my own tirade about underpaid Hollywood assistants but thought twice about sharing this with my driver from Compton.

Lastly, in attempt to bring some action to my January, my friends and I decided to attend a speed dating event. Yes, this is not just a device for comedic scene in rom-coms. These things actually do exist. As we entered the room at a downtown restaurant, I couldn’t help but laugh. How did I get here? Where in life did I go wrong? High School? College? Maybe I should have been looking a bit harder. I got myself a glass of wine and waited for a parade of 22 not-so-eligible bachelors to come my way. Each girl sat at a table and waited for a gentleman to sit down and talk with her. Every 3.5 minutes a bell rang. And we’re off! The first guy I met interpreted speed dating literally. The young Asian spoke non-stop, at a rapid pace, for 3.5 minutes. In the words of Jay Z: on to the next one.

I scanned the room, hoping I’d see someone I found attractive. I’m typically drawn to dark-haired, good looking (i.e. basic… can East Coast guys be considered basic?) Jews from the East Coast. Again, I really should have focused on this more when I was living amongst them in New York. Anyway, it had never crossed my mind what nationality/race most of the people attending a speed dating event would be. Well, now you ladies know, the answer is Indian men. Mostly ones with accents, English their second language. I couldn’t pronounce most of their names but luckily I wrote them all down! That way, after the event, you could go home, go online, and check off a box next to any of the guys you liked from the event. If they liked you too, you two would be connected.

The funny thing is, I had a great time. Everyone was so nice and seemed like they were excited to meet me. I agreed with them, yes it was nice to meet me. One of my favorite “dates” was when I played a game in which we asked each other random questions, and all my answers elicited a high five. Once the evening was over, I felt as if I had blacked out. As my two friends discussed the guys, well Jordan K was pretty nice, and Gerald was so cool, you know, not in a sexual way, but I’d totally be friends with him, I literally had no idea who they were talking about. Could not place the names to the face.
Once home, the arrogant girl in me wanted to select all 22 guys, just to see if they would all pick me. But, then my insecure side came out and I thought, could you imagine if I did, and none of them picked me?! Now I’ll never be Mrs. IT Guy. So, I compromised and picked just one for the hell of it. There was a guy with a name I couldn’t pronounce but I remember he said he was Hawaiian. Sounded exotic. I selected him. The next day I got a text message, hey it’s Kavo, from date night. Here we go. I responded with the classic yet boring, “Hey! how are you?” to which I got the vomit inducing response: