Meeting Mr. Adorkable

Long before there were bride goggles, there were beer goggles.  And some really really bad dating stories.  From the time I moved into New York City to the time I met my current fiancee, I managed to meet most of the crazy men that inhabited bars (coffee and otherwise), online dating web sites, friends of friends (I could keep going...)


There was the guy that jumped out of the closet naked, the Hairy Chef, the Bipolar Financier, the Unattractive Stripper, the Stoner, The American Girl Store Pianist... and many many more.  It wasn't for lack of trying I remained single - but I was apparently doing something wrong.


So I made a decision to go on 52 dates in 52 weeks.  I had to open my eyes and (very obviously) start dating men I wouldn't normally date, because apparently I tended to go for the same type (read: crazy).  


I signed up for JDate and Match.com.  I asked friends to set me up on dates (with the criteria that the guys they paired me with hold a job that didn't involve removing their clothing).  I asked my PARENTS to set me up (gasp!) and I even went speed dating.


But after 12 dates (and 10 mini speed dates) in 4 months, I was tired. I had gotten the hour long date down to a science (I didn't even need to look at my watch to know when 60 minutes had passed) and I could recite my personal history while thinking about what I was going to wear to work the next day. The guys I had been meeting were normal (a step in the right direction) but I wasn't interested in any of them.  Which was even MORE frustrating and made me wonder if I would only ever be attracted to men missing the normal gene.


So when I went to Phebe's Bar in NYC in the end of April 2005, I was OVER IT.  I just wanted a drink.  I just wanted to dance with my girl friends.  I didn't want to talk to anyone with an XY chromosome.  And then, as I was bouncing to Journey's "Don't Stop Believing" a guy wearing a backwards college cap turned around and said, "What do you want to drink?"


He was cute.  But young.  And maybe not very sober.  But cute.  And I needed a drink.  And so we started talking.  I think, at some point, we even danced a little. But at 2am, I was tired.  I was ready to go home.  I liked him, but I was craving my bed.  So he walked me out and just as I was about to hop in the cab he said, "Let me take your number."


I hesitated.  I wasn't sure I even had the energy for another date.  Even if he was adorkable.  But I remembered, "52 dates, 52 dates."  And I needed another date - I'm nothing if not goal oriented.


When he called, two days later, to ask me on a date, I said yes.  


And three and a half years later, when he got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, I said the same thing.