Confessions of A Naughty Girl

Last Chance For Romance - May I Entice You With A Sandwich?

Last week, one of my friends mentioned some sort of crazy "Turbo Dating" event that was happening this week and tried her hardest to convince me to go with her. The event is actually tomorrow night, and for $25, you get set up with 7 men and have seven 7-minute dates, the purpose of which is to get the pleasantries out of the way and decide if there's any desire whatsoever to date/procreate/see this person naked. It's pretty fascinating, actually.

My immediate thought was, "Hell no!" I seem to get myself into enough awkward situations without having to spend 49 collective minutes trying to determine if the guy sitting across from me has the potential to hold my hair back for me when I'm sick and throwing up, or to hold my hand at the movies and make sure I am being fed a sufficient amount of Skittles during the scary parts. I have seven minutes to determine this for each guy, and I don't even get a dinner out of it. That stresses me out so badly that as I type this, I think a few hairs just fell out of my head.

After a convincing, but polite decline (my friend is a hopeless romantic, and far be it for me to dash her hopes of meeting a life partner face-to-face over flourescent lighting and a plastic card table that's covered with a tablecloth and some bows to resemble an intimate setting a little more "Steel Magnolias" and a little less "Swingers"), she looked at me and said:

"KA, it's 49 minutes of your life. Seriously. Less than an hour! And you get seven dates. Seven dates in 49 minutes - when was the last time you had seven dates lined up?"

And then it occurred to me - I'm not sure I've had seven dates in my whole life.

And so in spite of the fact that I am currently talking to someone who I happen to like a lot (and who I don't think reads this blog yet), I said "yes". After all, who's to say that this will work out? I might be a more highly evolved version of myself these days, but I am certainly not going to put all of my eggs in one basket. Maybe it's wrong to be a "grass is greener" kind of girl, but I figure if I'm taking the time to mow my grass, I might as well give a few gardeners an opportunity to sow.

Fast forward to yesterday morning, when I go to the website to register. I put in all of my information, with only a shred of hesitation before I click "submit" to spend $25 of my hard-earned money in the hopes that the Love of My Life is being dragged along by his persistent friend. I sit back in my chair and breathe a sigh of relief.

Five minutes later, an email appears in my inbox, from the event's organizer. Hmm. Is she going to ask me a bunch of questions, a la eHarmony, to see who to match me up with? Is she going to politely notify me that no other women have signed up, save for me and my friend, and that the ratio will now be 2:50? (Odds that I like very much, thank you. I can be picky about certain things, but I'm pretty sure that at least 1 in 100 American men have been subjected to my flirtatious ways, so I figure I could find someone in that 50 that suits my fancy.) Apparently not.
I was shut out of Turbo Dating.

My first thought was to wonder how the f*ck I could be rejected from Turbo Dating. I mean, is the entire purpose of this to be a free-for-all for whoever is interested in meeting new people?

As it turns out, more than the allotted amount of people had registered for the event, so it was at capacity and they couldn't take any more people in. I was politely told that I would be placed on a waiting list and would be notified if there were any openings.

And this, my friends, was where the Principles of Economics kicked in and I began to seethe. This is a basic case of supply-and-demand. How is Turbo Dating a scarce commodity? Doesn't it just require a few people and some chairs? Do they not want to make as much money as possible off of this? I mean, f*ck, pull a hobo off the street and throw his ass in a chair - who would know the difference? (Sadly, I suspect I would probably like him.)

All of a sudden, I was overtaken with a wave of passion to do whatever it took to get into Turbo Dating. Much like the mirroring of my love life, the less it wanted me, the more I wanted it.

So I turned to my good buddy CK, who is the most genius blend of rational and asinine that I know (and yes, that is a compliment), for a consult.

And what we concluded, my friends, was this: this little Turbo Dating Gatekeeper couldn't stop me from going. I mean, who's to stand in the way between me and Holy Matrimony? So we came up with a few ideas to crawl into the loopholes as I navigate the jungle gym of love, Turbo-style:

• Show up. Claim that I never recieved my rejection email, and throw a tantrum (complete with soliloquy discussing the dangers of Internet fraud and the unfortunate consequences identity theft holds for its victims) until the TDG surrenders to my whims and allows me to get jiggy wit it.
• Show up with my friend, who was smart enough to register for this weeks in advance, since apparently Turbo Dating is like the Sugar Bowl of social events. Insist that we participate as a package deal, and that we can equitably split our time with the seven men into two three-and-a-half-minute sessions per man. Despite prior hesitation to know someone in seven minutes, three and a half minutes is about three times as long as some of my past sexual experiences. And that would still be 24.5 more minutes than I'm getting now, with just enough time left over to eat a sandwich and send some texts. Brilliant.
• Show up early. Set up two extra chairs and an extra table while TDG is not looking. Sit down in extra chair and put on pouty face when supposed "date" in chair across from me does not show up. Proceed with six men in forty two minutes, a world record that only Jenna Jameson could hold a candle to. Or Linda Lovelace. (And points to me for old-school porn reference.)
• Show up. Attend with a short wig and a suit. Pretend that I am a man so that...shit, this won't work.
• Show up. Strategically place self just outside of venue. Wear sandwich board that states, "Last Chance For Romance". Make like TLC and Creep until event is over. Pose as exit poller, and ask attractive men to gauge success. Offer self up as an alternative. Fall in love accordingly.

I think these are some pretty solid starters, but as you're well aware, I'm always open to suggestions and (constructive) criticism.

And if you happen to be the guy I'm talking to and you happen to be reading this, please know that I am only kidding and I'll see you this weekend...if, that is, I don't make some better plans tomorrow.

posted by KA @ 9:09 PM