When Life Hands You Lemon…

Hello, loyal Camels & Chocolate readers! Lemon here! Most of you know me as Kristin’s confidant and BFF, and now I can add guest blogger to that list (if K publishes this)! 

In truth, K has asked me to guest blog multiple times, but I’ve always lazed out, in favor of a different set of priorities. Like, just last month, I used two different colors to layer the perfect light-pink-but-not-too-ballet nail polish color! You can see my dilemma. But here I sit, nail colors perfected, laundry done, hair washed, (OK, two of those are lies… but my laundry is done!) with no excuses and a few good stories.   

So many good stories, in fact, that I’m at a loss for which one to tell y’all. I could talk about last weekend, which was pretty fabulous…I could talk about how I got felt up by a female security guard before entering a “club” (air-quotes because I think clubs are terrifically lame), saw the crew filming Friday Night Lights in Manhattan, and watched the AMAZING Texas Longhorns pull off a win over their greatest rivals, the Oklahoma Sooners. HOOK EM!* Or I could bore the audience with a soliloquy about the election, the debates, the Obama event I worked at this week, and my love for Barack Obama, but that’s been done, right? I even thought about telling y’all of the time I was basically molested on the subway, but I figured New York needs no more bad press. 

At any rate, my pre-approved Kristin story takes us back two years this fall. It was autumn, just getting cold outside, and K and I were starved for entertainment. She had just moved back to New York and I was thrilled to have a partner in crime. It was a typical Wednesday, and we were two young single girls in the city (yes, K was technically, though not mentally, single at the time).** Somehow, the idea of going to speed dating came up and we, being once again, “young, single, and starved for entertainment,” well, we jumped on it. So here we go. Wednesday night in the fall, cool outside, perfect night for some romance… 

Arriving at the bar, both K and I already felt like total asses. If you’ve ever done anything like this, surely you can relate to that feeling you get embarking on something so completely uncomfortable. And what’s the only tried and true solution to such a feeling? Alcohol. So there we stood, at the bar, pounding double vodka sodas. Ah, alcohol. Built to withstand the test of time. When we finally headed upstairs to speed dating, my four-inch heels proved quite the liability. Oy. 

The setup wasn’t anything like in the movies, probably because no bars in Manhattan have room for that many individual tables. Suffice it to say, K and I were seated at the bar, which pleased us so. And it was a few rotations before we were served up with some gentlemen callers because there were too many girls. Story of my life, folks.  

So the first guy finally comes my way, fresh off a K-rotation. I believe I mentioned specific four-inch heels, but what I failed to mention was that I’m 5’6″ barefoot. Imagine the fun when I greeted the first guy, who barely grazed my nipples. Although… that’s probably the perfect height for some things, now that I think about it. Nipple-grazing IS fun, after all. 

I believe the word you’re looking for is… anyway… 

The night continued on as we each talked with a steady stream of boys. Each guy came to me straight from Kristin, as if she were pre-approving. Well, pre-denying is more like it. I could spend an entire post on the lack of quality guys out there, particularly the eight we met that night, but needless to say, neither of us made a love connection. There was the guy who sat down with me, fresh off his time with Kristin, opened up his speed dating card, checked NO for Kristin, and asked “how many yeses do you have?” “Umm, I’m waiting until the end to check yes or no for anyone.” (But I definitely have one NO now!) There was the guy who barely spoke English, perhaps he was going to speed dating as a way of learning the language. There was the guy who sat down, stared at the floor, and barely uttered four words to me during our five minutes together. Annnnd there was the Canadian. In the words of Deanna Carter, “did I shave my legs for this?” 

As things progressed, it became clear that neither of us was going to find The One or even One at the event, so we did what anyone would do in our situation: we got drunker.*** Because, why not? 

As speed dating came to an end, we knew one thing: it was a Wednesday night and we were both in rare form. Not wanting to waste the drunk by going home and passing out, we decided to make lemonade (ha, see what I did there?) out of the situation and go out. Heading up the street to another bar, we were waiting at a red light when I felt someone’s arm come around me. (Sidebar: right around this time, I was randomly running into people I know all over the city. For a town of 8 million, it’s funny how small it feels when you keep bumping into acquaintances every time you turn a corner.) Natch, I assumed it was a friend and turned to greet them. Imagine my surprise when the person in question started making out with me. True story. 

And according to K, the guy dipped me in the middle of the street, ala the famous V-J Day Kiss photo, engaging in what could only be described as a passionate make-out sesh. And since she thought we were meeting up with some of my friends and coworkers, she was shocked to find me kissing who she believed to be my boss. 

I wish I could tell you that we parted lips, it turned out he was either a. famous (really, how awesome would that be?) or b. the love of my life and now we’re happily together, but unfortunately, he was just a random. A cute random, whose name I never learned, granted, but a completely random guy, looking to add a little craziness into my Wednesday night. And he definitely did. 

(Simple disclaimer: The author does not recommend this course of action for all men on the streets of New York, or anywhere else for that matter. Just because she happens to be cool (read: kinda slutty) and did not taser the gentleman in question does not mean this is an appropriate course of action for dudes around the world. If you want to meet a girl, say hi… it really is as simple as that. No fancy gimmicks, no showy shows, a simple, “hi, how’s it going?” will do in most cases. Anything else is not guaranteed to not get you maced/tasered/slapped and this author cannot accept such responsibility.)

*Ed Note 1: You can tell where Lemon originates.

**Ed Note 2: Technically, true. SVV and I were ”on a break” in very Ross and Rachel fashion, with no end of said break in sight. Though bear in mind I tried to date others and it just wasn’t possible, and in the end it worked out in both of our favors. Clearly.

***Ed. Note 3: It should be noted that neither Lemon nor I had any intentions of actually going out with any of the douches we met that night. Hence why the mere thought of checking “yes” to any of them was so damn hilarious. Perhaps in order to successfully speed date, one must remove chip from shoulder and not think herself above the extracurricular activity in which she voluntarily engaged and every male counterpart who also participated. We did, however, meet quite a few nice girls, with whom we shared many a cocktail and swapped numbers at the end of the night–so it wasn’t a night that went completely wasted.