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By Stacy Liberatore For Dailymail.
So, that was truly the confidence boost I needed before walking into a bar full of over 80 strangers, half of whom I would have to spend three minutes conversing with. I turn to my best friend Pamela, who is accompanying me because A. The Crompton Ale House in Manhattan is full of dark wood accents, vintage books glued to their shelves, and single people ready to rub elbows on a Saturday night. There are no red and pink decorations, no cheesy indication of what the event was marketed as. I sigh, relieved by the low-key atmosphere.
Pamela and I are directed to the back of the bar, where the good people of NY Minute Dating gave us our name tags and pieces of paper to record the people we met. The next day, we will be able to log onto the website and select the names of the dates we felt we had a genuine connection with. If they selected us back, we will be sent their contact info to continue the conversation.
Tinder from the Days of Yore, if you will. People want to be a little more local. Speed dating is brilliant. Online dating works for some people, but the basis of it is chemistry. Be open and friendly and curious and not focus on the end goal of it all. The hosts explain the rules to the crowd of us while the normal activity of the bar eavesdrops with curiosity: Each date is three minutes long.
From there, guys will shift to the seat to their dating for the next date. Ladies remain seated. We were all here speed dating, right? I remembered standing in front of the Valentine's Day display at Target in early January nauseated, angry, but also hungry for heart-shaped Sour Patch. In my jeans pocket, my Bumble speed spark of gross messages, my Hinge was devoid of anything promising, and my DMs were drier than Death Valley.
Staring me down was a red and pink reminder that for the next month, I felt worthless to capitalist America, just sad and single, ready to buy all the clearance chocolate on Feb. I want some beautiful rom-com moment to fall out of the bright blue sky and usher me into deep conversation. I want silver worth rushing through an airport for, something you want to scream from the rooftops. The host rings the bell to commence the evening, and it reminds me of the cannons from the beginning of The Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in my favor.
The first person I speak to is an IT manager from Brooklyn with sweaty hands and a kind smile. He asks the standard questions: where are you from?
Facebook is testing a video speed dating app called sparked that cycles users through four-minute dates until 'sparks fly'
My third date of the evening is very blunt. He asks me when I want to have kids and I nearly spit out my glass of happy hour cabernet. I noticed an interesting pattern for the night. Some men cut right to the chase and either asked me to marry them. Others, noting Valentine's Day looming just a few days ahead, asked very casually what I was doing on the 14th.
About an hour into the event, the host announces there will be a minute break for food. People beeline to the platters of snacks, and I turn to Pamela, eyes wide.
Should I just skip years of online dating and guys named Chad and just a convent already? Am I really this boring?
I told the last two guys you were my sister. The bells goes off again. The evening s. Pamela squeezes my hand.
We can do this. After a date that felt the need to speak to me all but three inches away from my face, I began to wonder what my yard dash time would be in the pair of gold Lauren Conrad heels that I had donned for the occasion.
Speed dating parties & single events in sparks
A rolled ankle would be ificantly less painful and easier to deal with whatever was ahead of me for the next hour. Was the whole thing pointless? Was I better off aimlessly swiping, hoping that out of matches, I could find one decent person to Snapchat for a week before forgetting about them? Did I overestimate the novelty of meeting someone in person before getting to know them?
There would be no cheesy rom-com moment for me tonight. Maybe I was the problem?
Everyone seemed to be at a completely different place in life. The majority of men attending the event were in their mid to late 30s, looking for something serious, and fast. If I was a different version of myself, set in my career and ready for another chapter of my life, this event would be ideal. But I could barely match my socks or commit to a Netflix show.
Instead, I was surrounded by people who wanted less fun, spontaneous adventures and more settling down and mortgage payments. One of my last dates for the night was a Ph. I really see the resemblance in you two. My rom-com moment began from the second we set out on this adventure. It felt good to take a stroll along the edge of my comfort zone, to throw convention to the wind and soak in some good ole-fashioned human contact for two and a half hours.
I was certainly more confident in myself to function like a normal person on any upcoming dates I could have. But it felt better to get in the car with my best friend and scream out old punk rock songs from our youth. I was perfectly fine with forever living in the first seven minutes, where the lead character and her best friend commiserate about their love woes with Chinese food and reality TV shows.
The rest will fall into place eventually, and hell or Hinge, the right guy will show. But having someone in my life to mercilessly interrogate him for me when he does? By Cristiana Caruso. Search Close.