Finding “7 Minutes of Heaven” in “8 Minutes of Speed Dating”

In an effort to sniff out Mr. Right…I decided to travel where I’d probably meet a lot of Mr. Wrongs…at least initially.  So this past week, armed with a sense of humor and a vodka-induced fearless attitude, I walked into an 8 Minute Speed Dating Event.  (By the way, they are NOT paying me to write this.  If so, they’d demand a big-honkin’ refund.)

As I signed in as a first-timer at “Sushi Hai” (posh joint in the Highlands neighborhood) I felt as if I stepped back in time – TO JUNIOR HIGH.  The ladies were clustered in a corner, talking up a storm as “chatty-cathys,” while the dudes lined up against the back wall, only saying max-three-word sentences while scoping out possible ladies-of-the-night.  (Think 16 Candles.) Both groups clutched their alcoholic beverage with purpose and charm.

To share the love, I bullied my attractive 42-year-old neighbor, Paul, into escorting me.  While he had his eyes peeled for 25 yr olds who looked hot, my eyes were open for 37 yr olds who appeared stable.

To those of you – A. living under a rock – or – B. the lucky few who have been married for DECADES – speed dating works like this:  I show up and have a random lady slap a name tag on my shirt.  I am then graced with a card containing 8 table numbers.  I find my first table and wait for one “lucky” guy to strut toward me.  Feeling like a muppet, I then make giddy-yet-highly-intelligent conversation for 8 minutes until I hear a bell.  (In most cases – should have been a gong.)  Then – this adult musical chair extravaganza recycles with another lad.  In between dates, I secretly take notes on each candidate, so I can enter my matches online later that night.

Soooo….how was it?  Let me introduce the contenders:

First guy was most likely a lumberjack in his previous life – based on his wardrobe that somehow traveled though time.

Second lad wore a long, black, thick Matrix-like jacket.  He told me he JUST moved to Denver from Phoenix so he was “entitled” to be cold.  I felt I was “entitled” to get my 8 minutes back.  He never asked me ONE personal question – instead he kept insisting I go “clubbing” with him.

Third dude I spotted wearing cowboy boots.  I assumed he was from Texas.  He wasn’t.  Instead – he lived in Cheyenne, Wyoming – and traveled two hours to Denver for 8 Minute Speed Dating!  When I pulled my jaw up off the floor, I noticed his name was Axle.  Sweet Child of Mine, you drove all this way?

The rest of the guys were honestly – ho-hum.  However, during intermission I spotted two men (in the other group) who appeared yum-yum.  I could have stood back and waited, but realizing I only had moments to make my move, I walked up and said “hi” in my sassy southern accent.  Conversation ensued, and I breathed a sigh of relief knowing I finally felt some sparks.

Overall – in hindsight, I made a mistake.  When I signed up, I asked the organizer what group to choose – ages 25 though 35 – OR – ages 36 through 49?  Being right on the “cusp,” she told me to go younger.  But I realized throughout the night, the men “my age” -  were in the older group.  I would rather filter through a few dud 45 yr olds – in hopes of crossing paths with available 36 yr olds.  Aahhh…lessons learned.

Would I do 8 Minute Speed Dating again?  You bet!  After all, I like roulette.  The game produced two matches, so I feel like a winner.

And for those of you who question the concept…think about it this way — We often give a “bad date” 60 painful minutes – why not play the odds and give a POSSIBLE good one 8?

FYI: My neighbor Paul did not find the 25 yr old woman of his dreams…but he did leave with the bartender’s number.  I think that counts.