Speed dating is kind of like waiting in line for a roller coaster. It sounds really awesome at first, but then you get closer to the front and you start to wonder if doing flips at 60 miles per hour is really a good use of your time.

Fortunately, there was a bar at the front of the speed dating line, so I began my search for love by downing Brooklyn Lagers at a furious pace.

I planned to pregame down the street, but short on time, I realized that drinking at the speed dating location would allow me to scope out both the competition and the prizes.

My early arrival also gave me plenty of time to ponder important things like the name of the bar, Murphy & Gonzalez. This name is puzzling because it just seems like a forced union. I feel like someone was shot or robbed or something and giving partial ownership to the family bar was the only acceptable condolence. Maybe there was a marriage, but I just don’t feel like either the Murphy’s or the Gonzalez’s are very happy about the situation. You’ve got stew and potatoes sharing a menu with quesadillas. It’s just confusing. But back to speed dating, it only took three Boston Lagers in 15 minutes for the bartender to question my motive.

“You seem like you’re on a mission. What’s going on?”

“I’m speed dating.”

“HAH! Oh man, you wanna shot?”

“No thanks, I’ll puke.”

“Okay, never mind.”

It also only took three Boston Lagers in 15 minutes for me to realize I really needed to pee. On my way back to the bar, an event leader approached me and asked if I’d like a free spot.

“I’m already signed up.”

“Oh, great! Well, next week is “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” Give me your info and I’ll get you a comp to that one.”

Great, so now I’m a speed dating ringer. * Well, let’s get started.

Last night’s theme was “Not From New York.” In hindsight, this was a bad theme choice. Explaining where I’m from is one of my most taxing convos and this event forced me to do that eight times in a row. As we sat down, the event organizers announced that there was one more guy than girls, so one guy had to sit out each round. In round one, we found out they were liars. I had no one to talk to, so the guy in the timeout spot was sent to me. “Well, why don’t you just go ahead and talk to Jenny this round.”

So I opened each convo with, “Welcome to timeout! You get to talk to me!” and then I said, “Want some starbursts!?” because that was the weird speed dating table food they gave us. And then we talked about how we weren’t from New York, and that got old because I’m from Titusville and no one knows where the hell that is and my “Space Coast” clarification only mildly reduces their confusion and by that point I’ve probably already decided that the next two minutes are a waste of both of our times and like, I just wish I had a map and another beer. So given that attitude, let’s go into each contestant.

1. Esben

Esben’s opener was, “Finally, we meet.” Yes, now I remember, you were the guy giving me the creepy smile across the bar while I was pounding BK Lagers. The conversation then went into how, you know, we’re not from New York. I’m from Florida which offers obvious questions. Which part? Near Disney? And so on. But Esben, he’s from Denmark. All I really have to say about that is, “Denmark! Cool! I’ve never been there. That’s… far away, hee hee.”

Ding, ding! Switch.

2. Jason

Within the first minute, I found out that Jason is a speed dating slut. He does it “all the time.” As I tweeted prior to the event, I think speed dating is nerdy, and as a giant nerd, I need a partner who is both cool and tan to give my kids a chance.

Ding, ding! Switch.

3. Geoff

Geoff was nice, but to be honest, I didn’t like him from the second his parents spelled his name that way. Also, I’ve dated both a “Geoff” and a “Jeff,” so I feel like I’ve covered that name already.

Ding, ding! Switch.

4. Peter

I guess I just don’t understand why someone like Peter would go to an event that is at best, superficial.

Ding, ding! Switch.

5. Malcolm

Malcolm was at least 50 years old. When I spotted his event name tag earlier I thought a funny intro question would be, “So, what college do your kids go to?” but instead we talked about all the places he’s lived since, you know, he’s been on the planet twice as long as I have.

Ding, ding! Switch.

6. Allon

Allon was the only partial candidate, as you’ll see from my notes below. Allon continued talking to the last girl he was set up with and I just found this to be unfair and also a good reason to transform into Debbie Downer and inhale a quesadilla at the bar.

Ding, ding! Switch.

7. Vitaly

Vitaly was from Russia. Again, not really fair. Vitaly made me laugh because he kept talking about vodka and essentially being a huge, blundering stereotype and I just didn’t understand how that was a good tactic.

Ding, ding! Switch.

8. Ashu

Ashu gets points because I immediately got to make a note on my score card that I found to be very funny at the time, “BLESS YOU!” But then he made things awkward. His accent and appearance were a clear giveaway of his heritage, yet he insisted that I guess. “Oh I don’t know.” “No, come on, you can guess.” “Oh, I’m not sure I can!” He finally announced that he was from India and I was shocked. I then announced that I had to pee because I’d been binge drinking and left.

Below you’ll see my score card. This was very entertaining. It’s the first time in quite a few years that I’ve tried to see what someone else is writing while concealing my own paper.

Will I go back next week? I don’t know. Self-deprecating humor about awkward situations is kind of my forte and this blog does need a more frequent posting schedule.

*I haven’t decided if I’m going to become a speed dating ringer yet, but I can definitely predict that I won’t enter that theme with a good opinion. “Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.” What effing century are we in? I prefer brunettes, how about that? I can’t even describe all of the negative preconceptions I’d bring with my six beer buzz.

I’ve never been stung by a jellyfish and I don’t get beer goggles.

One of these is no longer true.

Three weeks ago, I was betrayed by seven Blue Moons and a dimly lit bar.

I talked. He talked. A number was put in my phone and a future meet-up was planned.

“Ah, what the hell. I mean, it’s free dinner.” I thought at 9:54 the following morning.

“What did he say his name was…” I wondered at 9:55.

Name and dating philosophy aside, I kept my plans.

As a beer goggle newbie, this was the first time I’ve decided the outcome of a date in less than 3 seconds.

For the remaining 5,400 seconds, I went into a mode I call “this date was a horrible idea and I want to go home, so

I’m not talking unless I’m asked a question.”

Somewhere around second #4,200 we hit a remarkable new low:

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked.

“……. um……. I guess green or blue,” I replied.

“Why?” He followed up.

“Green and blue are the colors that look best on me,” I drained.

“That’s a dumb reason.”

It was during this exchange that a new sentiment was invited: confusion. As I resisted the urge to follow with a statement about the intelligence of the entire conversation and the promise of the date at large, I pressed mute and lingered.

“Is there a ‘smart’ reason for a 25-year-old woman to like one color more than another?” I wondered.

“Maybe I’m just a little out-of-practice. The last time I defended my favorite color, I also adamantly believed my teacher was lying when she said identical twins were two different people,” I continued to wonder.

And at that moment, his mouth stopped moving and I delivered my best ass-out verbal hug, “What’s YOUR favorite color?”

It’s recently come to my attention that I’m not very good at dating.

And while I don’t enjoy playing games I’m not good at, I also don’t enjoy sitting on the bench.

So tonight, true to my problem-solving m.o., I drove to B&N and shamelessly plopped down in front of 3 rows of relationship advice books.

I skimmed “The Game.” The laws of attraction lured me in, but Neil kept saying that these laws would land me tons of women and while I’m sure these tricks apply to both sexes, this isn’t a risk I’m willing to take.

So I continued browsing despite the piteous looks of passersby.

“He’s Just Not That Into You”

Oh, I think I get that one.

And then I saw it.

“Why Men Marry Bitches”

Oh yes, I’ll indulge.

My expectations were low, but within the first few pages I felt like a Satanist who had finally sat down for a glass of wine with Jesus.

You mean I’m NOT supposed to kill people?!
I’m supposed to LIKE my neighbors!?

I’m still not sure if the book is worth $16.95, but I do plan to read more on future trips.

I mean, who’s in a rush to get married, right? You know, when it’s time for that, maybe, MAYBE, I will consider the option. Did that work?

Oprah says that every woman has a little crazy, but most of us wait six months to flaunt it.

I agree. And further, I find it most depressing when I blame it on “that time of the month” only to realize I don’t have a visitor scheduled for another week.

So to this end, I have an idea to help reduce the crazy from one aspect of our lives: relationships.

First, let’s take a quick trip back to kindergarten. Don’t complain. WE HAD NAPS THEN.

My teacher’s discipline system revolved around different colored cards. If you were good, your card stayed on green. If you snuck gum into school, your card turned to yellow. If you stole candy from the teacher’s desk while chewing gum, your card went to red. And so on. Each card turn earned you a few more minutes by the fence during recess and a few less opportunities to bust your forehead by misusing playground equipment.

I want to apply this system to relationships.

Not sure if that “joke” during lunch was well-received? Check your card.

It’s February 14^th and somehow you didn’t notice the giant ass balloons in every store for the last month? Take a look at your card around noon. Maybe you’ll notice the bright red instructions to run to your closest CVS and grab a teddy bear.

Just make sure you’re not by the fence too long. Recess isn’t much fun without someone to play with.

*I went by Jennifer in Kindergarten because I was too shy to tell my teacher I preferred ”Jenny.”

Valentine’s Day is quickly approaching and many of you may be wondering what to get that special (or kinda special) someone(s).

That said, I’d like to share a recent convo with a friend that may help you decide which aisle to peruse at Target on Sunday morning.

Friend received a text message from an ex asking for Friend’s address with a flirty overtone.

“Shit,” said Friend. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

I provided faux comfort.

“It’s probably nothing,” I said.

Two days later, I received a text from Friend.

“$&@! There are flowers at my door.”

“Bahahaha,” I consoled. “What’s so bad about flowers?”

It was then relayed that the ex had used a Facebook quiz to figure out Friend’s flower of choice.

“Ehh. Umm. ‘A’ for effort I guess?”

And then Friend summarized the situation in pure brilliance.

“The difference between romantic and creepy is mutual interest.”

And with that, I send you on your way toward D-Day or V-Day. It’s your choice.

STOP. Before reading, click here to enjoy today’s background music for your reading pleasure, “Too Many Walls” by Cathy Dennis. Listen until your head settles into a nice back-and-forth bop and then return to my post with the music still playing as a backdrop. It’s okay if you occasionally double-time your head bop. Just go with the flow, wherever it may take you. Unless it takes you to related YouTube videos. Then, the flow must die. I’m sorry I brought up “the flow.”

I publicly declared my love for John Cusack on December 12, 2009.

Sure. My decision to go public was driven by the recent fame of several really, really shitty videos on YouTube. But my heart has been his since that first night I watched Serendipity in my dorm room on a double date with a pack of Butter Lover’s popcorn and a 500-count box of Fruit Rollups.

I prayed that he would stop chasing stupid Sarah and start reading his fan mail. He didn’t.

But I kept the hope alive. He’s a busy man. Maybe if my volleyball team could win the national championship, he would notice the strikingly awkward middle hitter.

Year after year, we fell short.

My senior year was a close call. Sure, we would have been the first team to win just two games in the regular season and take home the national championship, but that is why they call it a dream.

And so, after years of repression, I finally set out on a new quest to lure Johnny C-Zak into my loving arms.

My weapons: Microsoft Paint, Microsoft Movie Maker, several stolen, poor resolution Internet pics, a Lady Gaga LP and my wild, wild imagination.

I expected a few giggles. Perhaps an invitation to appear on national television and talk about my many talents and conquests. But after a few days, it became painfully obvious that this just one more failed attempt.

And then, it happened.

My dreams. My hopes. They came true.

As I checked my traffic sources on Monday, December 29, 2009, I saw it.

“John Cusack romances”

I encourage you all to type this into Google, but I will let you know what to expect in your search results:

Result #1: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #2: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #3: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #4: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #5: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #6: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #7: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #8: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama
Result #9: WORKINONARAMP.COM
Result #10: Trifling bitch who don’t want no drama

Big deal, right? Well, if my love interest happened to be Tiger Woods, I would actually be doing better than the mother of his children. So stop right there.

I have a chance, but first, I have a dilemma.

I need to seal the deal and obviously, the Google search results for John Cusack’s love life are quite easy to manipulate. So my question, which term would provide me the best ROI for search marketing efforts?

“John Cusack falls in love with 24-year-old blogger”

“Blogger retires at age 25 as planned after John Cusack proposes on first date“

“John Cusack calls his love with Jenny ‘serendipitious,’ Jenny faints”

“Jenny McCoy = Jenny Cusack”

Ideas? Opinions?

Disclaimer: We all know boys and girls digest food differently. Boys are gross whereas girls turn food into flowers. I stayed up late (9:45) to write this post for manpanions and the gross girls who actually make real poo. This is of course a catch-22 because the poo-making makes them not real girls.

Your first weekend trip with a significant other is a test of nerves. And bowel control, because surprisingly, 48 hours is actually more uncomfortable in real life than on TV.

Hangouts prior to the first weekend excursion are planned to allow both parties ample solo time in the toilet area (out of earshot). This planning allows each relationship participant to indulge in the finer things in life, like greasy ethnic foods.

When emergencies arise, immediate embarrassment and a corresponding break-up is avoided by using one of these single-use excuses:

· “I forgot something at my place, be right back.”
· “Man, that was a long line in there.”
· “Sorry we took so long. <Name of person who accompanied you to the bathroom> had to poop, hahahahah.”

While brittle white lies (a.k.a. Michael Jackson lies) like these may work fine for dates around town, they become weak and sometimes overdose  when used during long weekends in the undivided company of your lover.

No worries though. Like usual, I have a solution.

Solution: The Weekend Bathroom Pass

How to Use the World’s First/Best Weekend Bathroom Pass
1. Before embarking on your weekend escape, print six copies
2. Give three copies of the Weekend Bathroom Pass to your manpanion/lady friend
3. When you feel the need to visit the bathroom for an extended period of time, retrieve a Weekend Bathroom Pass
4. Wave Weekend Bathroom Pass at manpanion/lady friend
5. Confirm eye contact
6. Rip Weekend Bathroom Pass in two while maintaining eye contact
7. Run to nearest bathroom

I watch my figure. I’m 24 and my schedule is littered with weekends spent in altered dresses taking pictures that will last a lifetime on my friends’ walls.

So with a pending commitment to a size 6 dress this weekend, I decided to dine with Jared instead of Ronald last Thursday.

But when I pulled into that desolate parking lot, I was unaware that in addition to a cheap meal, I’d also get the idea for a new product offering.

As I repeated my order and tried to explain, “No, no toast. Do not toast my glob of mayo that you call tuna. That is disgusting,” to the woman behind the counter, I overheard one of my favorite radio personalities, Delilah, giving advice to some lonely male lover.

His heart was broken and he just couldn’t get over it. So, rather than go out with the boys and have a few brews, he called a stranger with a soothing voice who broadcasts to millions.

“I just want to know *awkward pause* when I won’t feel this pain anymore?” He asked.

“That’s something only God can answer.” Delilah replied. “Let me play a little song for you.”

And Jared’s Diner filled with one of the forgotten “I just got dumped and I’m going to sit on my couch and cry by myself while blaring bad music” songs, “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough.”

As I listened to the lyrics and tried not to fall to my knees in instantaneous sobs, a few groundbreaking thoughts flickered through my brain:
1. That was the worst relationship advice I have ever heard.
2. Can I use the God card at my job too?
3. That woman gets paid. Real money. I should too.

That said, let me introduce a new product for your buying consideration:

You Suck at Life Relationship Adviser

How to Use:

1. Send Jenny $27 via PayPal

2. Print “You Suck at Life Relationship Adviser”

3. Post on nearby wall

4. Gaze at “You Suck at Life Relationship Adviser”

5. Tell stories of heartbreak while listening to “Sometimes Love Just Ain’t Enough.”

6. Call local Wal-Mart. Tell them they should offer “You Suck at Life Relationship Adviser” in casket section.

7. Come drink memosas with Jenny. We’re rich!!

What do you think? Let me know how it works out for you.

My name is Jenny. I am 24 years old and last weekend I brought sexy back in a $3 High School Musical swim suit.

You’re shocked, I know. Me too.

It only cost me $3 to bring sexy back. It cost Justin Timberlake about 2 years and $5 million.

So how did I become more awesome than Justin Timberlake?

Sit back and let me explain.

I’ll admit, I have never seen any of the High School Musicals 1-70 and barring some unforeseen hostage situation, (or a John Cusack cameo) I doubt I ever will.

But last weekend, faced with a beautiful day, good company, a beach invite and no bathing suit,  I brought sexy back with this little get up.

High School Musical bathing suit, first worn by Jenny, now for sale – starting bid $5,689

This was no small feat, but I’m a gracious winner. So here are six things I learned in my defeat of Justin Timberlake:

1. Wal-Marts in Florida do not carry bathing suits in November. Rather, they alter their wardrobe offering to match the needs of states with more than one season despite the presence of perfect beach days 340 out of 365 days each year in Florida.
2. Should you ask one of Wal-Mart’s finest “Where are the bathing suits?” in November, she/he (maybe both?) will respond, “Right ova derr.. $30.. one pieces fer granmas.. teh heh.. ehh hehh heh..” and you will be sent to a rack that contains waterproof smocks. Terror will ensue as you envision an 80-year-old version of yourself responding to this selection with sparkling eyes and a loose wallet.
3. I am an XL little girl.
4. Being an XL little girl at age 24 is both flattering (bottom) and embarrassing (top).
5. XL little girl bathing suits do not come with boob padding. So when you leave 70 degree water and embrace a cool breeze, you will need to cover your boobs with your hands and quickly warn your friends, “So, I’m kinda cold..”
6. Despite the childish frills on little girl bathing suits, onlookers (a.k.a. friends who want birthday presents) may comment, “It actually fits you (laughter). Doesn’t look that bad.” This may make you think it was wrong to retire that two piece American flag-inspired Speedo from 5th grade. But you will be wrong. There was a reason that pool fashion incident was brought up mercilessly from age 10 to 17.

Robby G. over at ShiteILike.com let me write on his Internet space, so head on over and check it out.

The post: “Single is Not a Problem that Needs to Be Fixed“

Here’s a little taste…

I’m not a disabled caterpillar and I’m not dying.

At least not any more than any other healthy 24-year-old human.

So why do people treat my relationship status as something that must be fixed or treated?

“Any new guys in your life..?” – Friend
“Nah, not really.. kinda focusing on work and..” – Me
“Ahh.. well.. you should meet my friend James! He’s great.. he likes to drink and stuff…” – Friend

Welcome to my life.

I’ve been on the dating scene for over two years now. And during that time, I have..

Click here to read the rest of “Single is Not a Problem that Needs to Be Fixed”..

The backstory:

I found Robby G.’s site a few weeks ago and enjoyed reading his take on many of the relationship issues that trickled through his inbox. One day, he had a guest post titled, “How to Land a Prince After Kissing 10,000 Frogs” and I opened my mouth in the comment section:

I think some of this advice is valid, but I think other parts are a little too much of “this is what worked for me.. so it will work for you.” Who says you can’t meet someone in a bar or online? The best way would of course be the whole “find someone when you’re not looking” route.. but I don’t think it hurts to mix it up with a little effort too. One of the issues I see the most among my female friends is that they view being single as an issue, some kind of problem that needs to be fixed – rather than treating it as an opportunity to fill their schedule with the activities they enjoy and really find out what makes them happy on their own – a key component to figuring out what type of person you should be with ultimately. That’s just my two cents though.

And with that, a Guest Post opportunity was spawned. In addition to his dating advice, Robby also has a great little fiction piece he just released. I’m a few pages away from the conclusion (a feat for me.. seriously.. those who have seen the stack of lost cause books in the corner of my room – many of which are written by some of the world’s best authors – know how difficult it is for me to stay focused long enough to finish a book).

Here’s the back cover:

He leaves everything to search for the unknown. His journey is unplanned, his past is left behind, and his future is uncertain. He used to kill for money and satisfaction, but now he has an urge to change his entire lifestyle and find the crucial ingredient that makes his existence worth tolerating and his life worth living.

It is a grueling tale of a man’s descend to the loneliest place in the mind to discover truths about himself and the world.

You can find out more here: Civilized Savages in the Mad World