First stop on road to recovery - throwing myself back in the mix in a brutal way. I'm no barfly chat up specialist, but neither am I a wallflower, so speed dating seems to be the happy middle. Applying the "quantity will pay off" method... Like buying so many raffle tickets that you probably win, but definitely lose. I tried not to be too cynical though - there are women out there just like me I thought to myself.
Sitting down in the posh-ish venue and waiting for the bell to ring, I thought to myself "am I gladiator, or just a somewhat nice guy?" The answer in front of me from Lady number one was the hitherto unplanned for "ugh! how long do I have to talk to this guy?" At least bad chemistry is chemistry I thought to myself... I'm giving off something. On to a row of girls who all clearly knew each other, and worse, there was no one in front of me in the guy cycle... so Lady number two talked to me as Lady number three listened. A common schtick was impossible, she heard all my best lines... When I sat down in front of Lady number three... I was lost for words. After a minute of fumbling, a miracle happened: we started talking normally.
Some glasses of wine and endless explanations of my job later I met Lady number ten. An attractive friendly woman from the north, if a little over my age limit, I decided to cut to the chase and ask her for a date during our six minute chat. She said no. On the matching form later, she said yes. As did apparently most of the ladies... I got 5 matches out of ten, and I chose only 6... great hit rate! Why can't I transfer that out to a real bar situation!
And then, and then... I emailed my matches... and... 1 replied. A poor hit rate. The cynic in me says they only matched with me to see if I would choose them. Dishonesty at the heart of the equation. Makes guys circumspect, and even... distrustful...
JAG
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