Back in two and two.

Yesterday, I went on my first date. No, scratch that; I went on my first eight dates. I'm no pimp. I'm just...shall we say desperate? Sponsored through my alma mater's alumni association, this get-together (as I euphemistically described it to my parents) comprised of a little trend known as 'speed dating'. Each person is given eight minutes to meet and chat up a complete stranger. Just from the concept, it's a real step up from offering one's seat to women on the bus (only to have them ignore you for another seat, but that's neither here nor there). Understandably, I was intimidated; women don't much pay attention to me and I'm not much of a talker. Still, I wanted a scenario where I took a chance by diving into a swimming pool, whether or not it was full (this metaphor I'd been saving for quitting my job and heading West).

Between watching Comedy Central on one of the bar's many TV screens and devouring the refreshments (what I, more or less, usually do at functions like this), I met some interesting people. As I went on, it (to my relief) became less about the need to hook up with someone and more about the art of conversation; talking to people, finding out what they are like and what they do. We were given the option to meet these people again for friendship. Maybe I could do with a few friends before I pursue a relationship.

I know that, given the opportunity, I'll take on another session of speed dating...especially if the food is good.