The Summer of Schmooie

Does absence really make the heart grow fonder? I subscribe to the notion that it’s not absence but distance that makes the heart grow relieved. For you see, thanks to distance, there is no need to make any sort of commitment. I say that on behalf of myself and on behalf of the Schmooie wanna-be’s of my most recent past. Over a month ago, I came back East for a work-related conference. Because my family lives back East, I have decided to make an extended stay spending the summer with family. It’s been about seven years since we’ve been able to have extended family time. In the meanwhile, certain Schmooie wanna-be’s from my beloved city in the West have been in contact in some cases quite out of the blue.

The conference took place about two weeks after my encounter with Mr. Interlocking Fingers at the Botanical Garden. While at the conference, in the middle of the day, he called me. I didn’t answer seeing as I was at a meeting and afterwards was swept up in the fun of the city the conference took place in. (Since then, he has continued to send me the occasional e-mail that I ought to be better about answering, but something about him really perturbs me.) The conference was about four days long. Meanwhile, on the night before the conference ended, I got a facebook e-mail from Schmooie Delpino asking what I was doing that weekend. After our first meeting, I friended him on facebook, but aside from accepting my friend request, I hadn’t heard anything else from him for three weeks until that point. So I answered his e-mail explaining I was out of town and would like to get together with him when I get back. On the last night of the conference, Greek Boy called out of the blue. I was busy at Planet Hollywood, and hadn’t heard from him in well over a month. I thought perhaps he got the message I wasn’t that interested, after all, he wanted to get into the legal marijuana business as a career. Not the type of dude that could be Schmooie material. I thought I might as well answer the phone. I chatted with him briefly. He told me to have fun, and that was that. Until, of course he called two times a week later to tell me about a Hebrew course he was taking. 

In the meanwhile, the reason why this blog has been rather quiet lately is because I’ve been having more fun with the family then putting proper effort into finding Schmooie. Call it a summer vacation from Schmooie. Mind you, I’m still on that famous Jewish dating site, and I figure since there are more Jews on the East Coast, I should keep an eye out. Actually, I’ve been on a handful of outings lately with a shy dude from that famous online Jewish dating site. He’s my age, though something about him feels much more like my father’s age. We have a great deal in common when it comes to an insane love for culture, music, and movies from the 1950-1980s. I can mention an obscure band from 1966 and he’ll actually know what I’m talking about. Also, Shy Dude even knows a handful of Yiddish phrases, a language I grew up listening to my mom and her parents speak.  He says I’m adorable and he’s extremely eager to please. I’ve hung out with him a few times, and he has now started to kiss my cheek when he sees me. Now, before you lovely readers get your knicker in a twist, don’t get excited. I don’t want a relationship with him beyond a good friend to hang out with. The good thing is, he knows I’m not going to be in town long-term and he’s okay with just friendship. Still, he does try to throw out subtle hints that he’s a friend but he’d like more. Now, unfortunately, because his job requires a lot of research and computer time, I can’t really go into the delicious detail you all expect from me on this blog. I want to say more about his job and what he looks like, but I must refrain. I’ll let you all just use your own imaginations. Besides, it’s much more fun that way isn’t it?  

A date is only a type of fig, Schmooie

I hate, with a passion, the word “date.” Maybe it’s the fact that I’m currently visiting family back East, and it annoys the hell out of me to hear my mom use the word “date” around me. Sometimes, she’ll even use the phrase “dream date” as a joke, something her brother used to say to her to annoy her when she was searching for her own Schmooie. In any case, I hate the word “date.” Here’s my gripe: What constitutes a date? I love visiting my friends, going to their homes for BBQ’s or going out with them to restaurants. Why can I get together for drinks, dinners, movies with friends and it’s not considered a “date”? If I go shopping with a girlfriend, why is that not considered a “date”? Why does that word have to be thrown around if two single people go somewhere together? Alright then, if a date is two single people doing something together, how come that time I spent two hours chatting with a Jewish French Dude in a parking lot isn’t considered a date? Is it because we were just in a parking lot? If we had gone for coffee at the end of our parking lot excursion, would it suddenly have been considered a date?

To be honest, all the hilarious adventures I have posted about on this here blog, I do not actually consider to be “dates.” The word, to me, implies romance. I’ve felt no romance toward any of these Schmooie wanna-be’s, even if their goals have been to extend some sort of romance toward me.

I shared this gripe of mine, this hatred of the word “date,” with a friend who gave me his own interpretation. He told me a date is when two people agree to meet somewhere and do something together. So even two girlfriends just going out for an afternoon of coffee and shopping is a “date” because they have both agreed to do something together at a specific time and place. Makes sense. It’s not romantic unless you call it a “romantic date.” Again, makes sense. Except, how do you establish with the other person whether it’s a “romantic date”or not. Something like that, I suppose, is unspoken and goes without saying. The problem here, though, is that often times, the Schmooie wanna-be views the outing as a “romantic date” and I do not. The other problem is that my mom, my girlfriends, and anyone else I talk to views my outings with Schmooie wanna-be’s as “romantic dates.” Perhaps, the word “date” was invented merely so other people, the ones not directly involved, can live vicariously through the person who’s Searching for Schmooie. Would someone just calm down already and realize that a date is merely a glorified fig!

Never at 3 am, Schmooie!

Due to the slightly graphic nature of this post, viewer discretion is advised. You’ve been warned!

If you couldn’t tell by now from reading previous posts, I hate online dating. You get eager to make your profile nice only to grow a tad obsessed checking on it every day. Then, ultimately, you barely hear from anyone. Most men are too chicken to make the initial contact. They’ll click a button that says they “like” you, or a button to “flirt” with you, or a button that makes it so you get e-mailed a series of guys and have to guess which one is your “secret admirer.” Others will say in their own profiles, “if you like what you’re reading go ahead and email me.” Some will e-mail you first, most will not. Bottom line is most men are there to look and wait. So, based on the fact that most of these men would rather sit on their hands than make contact, I’m fairly certain that any man who initiates contact on that famous Jewish dating sight via instant messaging is clinically insane. Yep, just about any man who’s contacted me via instant messaging has been much older or younger or creepier than me. I rarely accept an invite to chat with any of them. The ones I have chatted with have had their own generous supply of problems. I’ve had a bloated horny religious nut, a confused due to language barrier foreigner, and a 3 am horndog. Replying to an IM at 3 am? What was I thinking? Yeah, you probably know where this story is going….

Now understand, I really didn’t want to accept his invite to chat at first. The picture of him sitting next to a baby did not sway me into thinking he was a family man. The overtired rings around his eyes should’ve told me he was a pro at late night perversity. But according to his profile, he was a lawyer and a writer, so what was he doing up at 3 am on a weeknight? Ignoring a nice quality red flag, I decided to go ahead and find out.

Sure, things started off innocently enough, not that much different than a normal instant message. The standard: what’s up/how’s the weather/ what do you do/how was your day. Then, things took a turn for the Hmm, before making a sharp left turn into the Oye, and finally zooming at full speed into the Canyon of Creepy. Lucky for you, I copied and saved our illuminating conversation. What follows is a paraphrased version. In parentheses is my commentary on the conversation, not words I actually said during the event, but things I’m thinking now.

Loser: hey there, what’s up

Me: hi, how are you? How’s the weather there in Connecticut?

Loser: umm…hot and sweaty (Should’ve been my first context clue toward trouble. Things were innocent for about five minutes as we chatted back and forth about living in our respective states. He’s in CT. I’m currently visiting family on the East coast. I asked him about writing, that’s when things took a turn for the worse.)

Loser: working in the am?

Me: No, I’m on vacation visiting family. Do you have to work?

Loser: In the am or now?

Me: Both, didn’t you say you’re writing something?

Loser: In the am, I might be doing the same thing as now

Me: Wow, you must be working on something intense

Loser: Very intense

Me: Or are you working on something just for fun?

Loser: Intense and fun I’d say (See, I made the mistake of thinking we were both talking about writing, thus missing my second context clue, when he started taking every word I used and perceived it as a physical act)

Me: So what are you working on?

Loser: I’ll give you two guesses

(Oye, what was he working on? I totally walked into that one! Luckily, at that moment I was completely oblivious to what he was suggesting. I was still running on the assumption that he was a writer/lawyer who was having trouble sleeping.)

Me: Are you writing a novel?

Loser: I am working on a book, but not right now. Right now I am working on something else.

(This is the part where I ignored the giant yellow road sign reading: “WARNING: Canyon of Creepy ahead. Turn back now!”)

Me: Do you write fiction or non-fiction?

Loser: Both

Me: Well honestly…….I am very well hung. So I was thinking in a first ever penis reduction article.

(Finally, I caught on to the stupidity. See, I knew with a stranger IM’ing me at 3 am there was a high chance he was just a dirty bastard. Still, I thought maybe he was testing me. A lot of these losers on that famous Jewish dating site claim to be sarcastic, so I thought maybe he was just going that route. In return, I started to reply with sarcasm. It was only as he continued to drag me down into the Canyon of Creepy that I finally realized he wasn’t being sarcastic. He was indeed a late night dirty bastard in search of a virtual good time. Well, he messed with the wrong gal. It so happens I studied Biology and Anatomy and Physiology for many years. Not to mention, my sister has a few old issues of “Cosmo” lying around the house. I would give him a run for his money.)

Me: hey, you could always get written up in the Journal of the American Medical Association

Loser: Yes, 8 and thick. Want to be normal for once.

Me: Do they do surgeries for that? Like how women get breast reduction surgeries?

Loser: Yes, I’ve looked into it

Me: But then again, a surgery like that might mess up other parts, wouldn’t it. Not that you’re probably able to use your parts properly now. You don’t look all that tall in your pictures. Don’t you have trouble with so much equipment to carry?

Loser: You mean peeing or cum?

(Great, the Loser just taught me a new dirty word I didn’t know before and never wanted to know. He started to talk more about the quality of his “cum,” a little too disgusting to post here and I won’t. In reply to his dirty seamen talk I pulled some Physiology on him.)

Me: Does this problem run in your family? Does your father also have an issue with hypersecretion of spermatozoa in its nutrient plasma with secretions from the prostate, seminal vesicles, and other various minor glands?

(Did I mention all my textbooks are stored on my computer? It was easy for me to pull up a medical textbook to quote from.)

Loser: Until you experience it, it’s kind of a dream. But for me it’s a nightmare.

Me: You should write a Reader’s Digest article about that. Makes girlie problems not seem so bad. Hey, I should be writing a Reader’s Digest article on this! What you’re telling me is pretty much clinically impossible. Why would a bigger dickie make you spew more seamen? Are your testicles also too large for your own body? Your penis doesn’t make seamen you know. By the way, almost all men have a penis just a little bit smaller than the size of a dollar bill. A dollar bill is 6 inches. Most men are 5 inches. Are you supposed to be turning me on?

Loser: I think I may be too much for you

Me: I think you may be too much for an elephant. Nice talking to you. Bye!

I quickly clicked the on the “x” to end our conversation. And that, gentle readers, is why you must never accept a request to chat with a stranger at 3 am. Don’t try this at home. I think I ought to make a public service announcement on the subject. *head desk*

Use Paypal to Find Schmooie

Today, I had a lunch date with a Schmooie wanna-be I’ve been in contact with via that famous Jewish dating site. He actually looked just like he did in his pictures, which made me wonder why so many people, men in particular, on these dating sites complain that the person they get is not the person in the picture. We were to meet at 12:30 pm, and from what I could gather, he seemed to be a punctual person, so when I got caught in traffic and would be five minutes late, I decide to call and let him know. When I arrived, I found him sitting in the shade hunched over Keith Richard’s autobiography. This dude, who I shall call Mr. Beardy Hat until a better nickname comes along, was six years older than me, the upper limit I’d take in age difference. His face was bearded, and he wore a flat cap (those trendy little hipster hats) just like in his profile picture. He was a huge music and classic movie buff, which was a plus since I love both those things. He worked for that famous online payment system one uses when buying something off of that famous auctioning site, am I being too blunt?

Recognizing that we’re both into old movies, he took me to a favorite café of his which was named after Jean Harlow. The restaurant had an old 1940s feel complete with pictures on the walls of classic Hollywood stars. We ordered our food and made small talk, him saying clichéd things like how he likes baseball but at the same time can go out for a night at the symphony. He talked a lot about his family and the two dogs he used to own. Somehow, we got on the topic of cell phones. He complained about how he hated when people, particularly old dates, would play on their cell phones in the middle of conversations. This coming from a man who I noticed during the course of our own lunch would take glances at his own Android phone.

Mr. Beardy Hat was a nice person, but I didn’t feel completely comfortable with him. He wasn’t a creep, but I got turned off by him when he said how much he liked “Curb Your Enthusiasm” and how much he can relate to Larry David. I truly do not understand why so many men, of all ages, I’ve been coming across on that famous Jewish dating site say what huge Larry David fans they are! He’s a crotchety, smarmy, unhappy sort of man. How is that a role model for awesomeness? Mr. Beardy Hat had mentioned the night before during our phone conversation that he has a well-kept apartment. During the course of our lunch, he also joked about feeling old. These may all seem like minor things, but with these Schmooie wanna-be’s I keep high on my guard for context clues to their future personality, the one that would emerge if I got to know them better. I’m a relaxed sort of person who wants to feel young at any age. I don’t want to be around a man long-term who’s going to complain about that sort of thing. If he’s doing it now, how the heck is it going to be years from now? Of course, he only said it once in passing, so I was probably over-analyzing. Truly, it’s the feeling like he’s Larry David thing that made me uncomfortable. In all other ways, Mr. Beardy Hat didn’t seem too bad, but I was not completely sold on him. I thought he’d make a fun friend, especially with his love for live music, but I couldn’t picture kissing him or wanting to really “date” him. Now, I know I’m probably being judgmental. It was only our first meeting and he didn’t really say or do anything to indicate that he might release his inner Larry David. Still, as a more laid back person, I didn’t want to get into a relationship with someone who might be too tightly wound.

After lunch, he asked if I had any other plans for the afternoon. I said no, so he asked if I wanted to go to the local Botanical Garden. He had a year’s membership there. Living in a town Out-West means living in a place with a stellar Botanical Garden populated with unique plants. The day was gorgeous, sunny, not too hot; breezy enough to go for a walk. I had never been to the gardens before, but always wanted to go. Perhaps he had picked up on the part in our conversation the night before that I loved gardening, so I agreed to go. He said we could take his car and that he would drop me off back at the restaurant afterward. When we got to his car, he actually held opened and closed the passenger door for me. On the short drive over to the Botanical Gardens, he put on the car stereo to play me some of his favorite bands. Then, he complained about finding the right parking spot.

We started to walk the grounds of the place and it’s magnificent plant displays. There were also animals living in the gardens, little squirrels, snakes, lizards, butterflies, and birds. I thought the little squirrels were adorable. Then, we saw our first of two snakes. A sleek, long black and white scaly snake appeared before us. I’m not scared of snakes, but they do sort of ick me out. Eww, was the first thing that came to mind. I backed away, and hid behind Mr. Beardy Hat. He sort of laughed and said he’d protect me. Grr, I wasn’t trying to be cute and girly though it appeared he took it that way, (more like getting ready to throw him to the snake actually). I wasn’t looking in his direction, still making sure the snake was well on it’s way away from me, when I felt Mr. Beardy Hat take my hand. Then he moved to interlock our fingers. I spent an hour and a half walking the Botanical Gardens loosely holding his hand with interlocked fingers. In high school, I used to hate the couples who walked, hand in hand with fingers interlocked. Made me spew back then and I wasn’t too sure how I felt about it now. It was a level of intimacy I wasn’t prepared for or interested in having with Mr. Beardy Hat. See, I wanted to take it slow. I do want a serious relationship, but I’d like to be friends first, see how it goes. I don’t want to be counting on which date is what supposed to happen, especially when he hinted about how romantic the gardens were at night, a “great place to make out” as he put it. Maybe I have an intimacy problem? Maybe the age gap is a bigger deal than I thought? Because while everything about that date should have been sweet and romantic and he really did try hard to be nice, all I kept wondering was, “if I look under your hat would it be like the mystery you encounter when flipping over an old rock in the backyard?” After we toured all the gardens, he opened and closed the car door again for me, and drove me back to my car. I would be going out of town for a month or more. He sounded disappointed that he really wanted to keep in contact and meet me again. He said he’d e-mail. We hugged, his beardy chin scratching my shoulder, and parted for the day. Now, I’m left wondering what I have to say to Mr. Beardy Hat next time because I can’t picture I’m going to get much more comfortable around him. Not really looking forward to having to give the "let's just be friends" speech. I've never had to do that speech in person before. What are your thoughts, lovely readers?  

Really, Schmooie, A Smiley Face?

What a lot of these Schmooie wanna-be’s like to do is keep a pleasant distance, but still be able to spy and pretend to admire you, by using facebook as their weapon of choice. I can count how many loser Schmooie wanna-be’s I've met in social settings who have asked me if I have a facebook page, and then friend me only to leave me pointless comments or e-mails that lead nowhere. They want to keep in contact with me for no apparent reason. No, they’re not trying to flirt or get to know me better. They just want to waste time. Now, mind you, I don’t mind these Schmooie wanna-be’s just being friends. I like having facebook hanger-on’s. But it’s irritating when you meet that person at a mixer and then they act interested in you, only to become your facebook friend and nothing more. Not sexy, just sad, just lame. It screams out: “I have fun with you can we just be invisible friends and I can stalk your every move through your status updates?”

One of those particular Schmooie wanna-be’s who shall remain nameless, but who I have posted about before on this blog, e-mailed me yesterday on facebook with the LAMEST E-MAIL I HAVE EVER RECEIVED! Yes, he deserved a trophy of some kind for his efforts. So, indeed, I find it very appropriate to share it here. He’d been e-mailing me back and forth through facebook for awhile now with pointless little updates on what he’d been up to that I didn’t really care about. At first, I thought those pointless little updates meant he wanted to talk more and get to know me more since that first time we had met in person. Figuring he was shy to take the next step, I offered on two occasions that we should do something together. He ignored that part of my e-mails, but would answer the other parts. I realized he wasn’t interested in meeting up again, so I gave up and simply responded to his pointless e-mails to be nice.

Yesterday, he e-mailed and asked what I was doing. I told him I was in a coffee shop working on something. He said he was doing the same thing as well. I told him about some of the interesting adventures I had had that day. He replied with “Wow sounds fun. :) We should work together at a coffee shop one day.” Then he ended with asking if a particular coffee shop that he goes to is close to me...Now, isn’t that special? We’ll work together at a coffee shop one day? One day…So, dude, was that your indirect angling for an invite or was that just another one of your lofty ambitions that will never happen? I knew this guy pretty well and understood it to be the latter not the former. Still, I decided to be nice and reply, knowing not to read too deeply into him, and realizing that he will never actually want to go anywhere. Since he said, we should go to a coffee shop “one day.” I said, “Sure, I’m up for that sometime.” I asked where the coffee shop was. He gave me a vague intersection. I said I knew where the place was. Then he sent back the official stupidest reply anyone could ever send a person. He simply replied with a smiley face with it’s tongue sticking out!!....*banging head against the desk*….What does that mean?! How am I supposed to respond to that?! Seeing as I was confused as to whether he was actually offering to hang out or not, I expected a reply with some sort of information, you know words, language, even if that information involved changing the subject. Instead, all I got back was a smiley face sticking it’s tongue out at me?!

Now, how would you reading this blog reply to that e-mail? I simply sent back the same thing: a smiley with it’s tongue sticking out.  I figured he wouldn’t respond back after that, and he didn’t. Well, a few hours later, he did respond by changing the subject. Ah, what a dweeb.

Schmooie Delpino (Part II)

...And then, Schmooie Delpino arrived. Well, he had actually been there the whole time, but after Lawyer Boy and I decided to try once more to mingle, I turned around to see Schmooie Delpino for the first time, sitting on a cabana bench giving me the look. It was the look you want the man you’re interested in most to throw at you, but instead it’s the look you’ll always get from non-Schmooies of the world. Oh, no. I was in trouble, and Lawyer Boy was nowhere to be found. At that moment, Lawyer Boy did return with a dude who had terrible teeth. Lawyer Boy and I knew the Dude with Terrible Teeth from another event. I had no interest in him because of his snarky sense of humor. I didn’t want to become the butt of his jokes. Lawyer Boy didn’t intentionally bring him over to me. They just happened to be walking together. I said my hellos, and turned to see Schmooie Delpino had joined our conversation.

Schmooie Delpino had two or three straggly grey hairs in an otherwise lustrous head of hair, so I assumed he was older than me. Turns out he’s younger than me, with prematureing strands of grey. Nonetheless, he did have a full head of hair, along with pasty greenish skin, a funny little twitch in his limbs, and a strange little Brooklyn sort of accent even though he was from Baltimore. In fact, he resembled a more bushy haired version of Vincent Delpino, the jittery, entertaining side kick, best friend to Doogie Howser in the Neil Patrick Harris sitcom “Doogie Howser, MD.” For those unfamiliar with the sitcom, see Vincent Delpino in all his glory here:

Schmooie Delpino noted that he and I were wearing similar necklaces. We both had on Chai necklaces, which besides the Star of David is another type of Jewish symbol. He casually leaned his arm against the wall, while he talked to me. Oye, talk about body language. The gathering was winding down, and it was still early. Schmooie Delpino wanted to go eat with me at a nearby Mediterranean restaurant. I wasn’t repulsed by him, but I wasn’t intensely interested either. Still, I was willing to go eat with him. I admired his guts to just go ahead and make a gesture. Then, he asked how old I was. I asked how old he was. He’s three years younger than me. He tried to guess my age. At first, I let him have the original guess he came out with since it sounded so good to me. Then, I just pretended to be his age. It’s not a complete lie. One of my closest friends recently thought I was the age I gave Schmooie Delpino. Ergo, if someone I know very well can think I’m that age, I shall make myself so.

I said my goodbyes to Lawyer Boy and the Dude with Terrible Teeth. Then, I wanted to leave quickly with Schmooie Delpino, lest anyone see us together. It’s not that I was embarrassed by him. It’s that I hate going to these events and seeing a guy and a girl go off together. There’s something almost naughty or seedy to me about it, and I didn’t want to be one of those people I can’t stand. 

The place only had street parking. My car was parked down the street around the corner. He offered to do the driving since he was parked much closer. I knew Schmooie Delpino was weird, but he wasn’t shady or untrustworthy, so I agreed. I was wearing heels, and mentioned the shoes made it somewhat difficult to walk properly. As we crossed the street, he held out his hand, offering to hold mine so I could run better despite the heels. I didn’t really notice the gesture since I was too busy commenting on the annoying heels. And as soon as I did, I felt a little bad that he had tried and I didn’t act nicer about it. When we got to the restaurant, he actually pulled open the chair for me. No guy has ever done that for me before. We had some similar interests, but not a ton in common. Schmooie Delpino has a reason for his twitch and lack of concentration. It’s a medical condition. I still felt a tad guilty for lying about my age, but he had a very short attention span and was already on to the next thing. He’d done a lot of traveling and had experience with going through the South. He was interested about my life in Mississippi. We discussed where our families came from, which is something many Jews enjoy doing. He was just such a strange dude with his twitches, pasty skin, short attention span, but ability to cut through it with moments of being thoughtful, polite, and almost sweet at the same time.

After we ate, he drove me back to my car. He gave me his facebook name and phone number and wasn’t sure how to end things from there. I really didn’t want to kiss him, and he wasn’t waiting for one anyway. He almost put out his hand like he wanted to invent some sort of fist knuckle hand shake. So I gave him a hug and left. He’s not Schmooie, but I’d hang out with him again, as long as he gets that it’s not romantic. Since he lives pretty far away from me, I don't think I have much to worry about. He’s sort of like the surprise you get in your cereal box, the one that you didn’t want, but still puts a smile on your face. Now, I shall go eat some cereal!

Schmooie Delpino (Part I)

Yesterday, I went to a Young Jewish Professionals gathering at a snooty cabana beach club, the same event I accidentally showed up to two weeks ago because I had gotten the date wrong.  Once again, the people running the place were complete morons and had no idea what I was talking about when I said I was there for an event. They directed me to an event in the next room with gorgeous ritzy middle aged couples who had gathered for some sort of real-estate entrepreneurship meeting. I went back over to the dopey girls running the place and explained that I didn’t think I was at the right meeting. One of them got the manager. He had a vague idea of what I was talking about, but still seemed somewhat clueless. I wasn’t sure whether I should leave, but then I finally saw someone I knew. It was Lawyer Boy, a guy who in the past was rather dull, but seeing as he comes to the same Jewish events I do, I now know him better and realize the right things to say to make him lively. We have no interest in each other, but I’ve been surprised to find out we’ve become friends. We’re both looking for the same thing, and that has bonded us. He’s looking for his female Schmooie.

Finally, someone who was in charge of the event approached us and directed us toward a small group of people. We all stood around a cabana by the pool and listened for a few minutes to a woman speak about a very important Jewish organization. Then, we were set free to mingle. As usual, there were the handful of nice looking males who had a needy fiancée clinging to their arm. These taken men had all the quality prospects I wanted: goal oriented, smiley, nice looking, interesting---but I couldn’t have them for obvious reasons! What also annoyed me about these men was the fact that they usually had no relative (brother, cousin, friend) to set me up with. On the other hand, what I loved about these unavailable men was that they often showed great interest in me much to the deep frustration of their finances. The intensely suspicious stare on those angry women is priceless, a sort of sweet revenge, as if I’m saying in my head, “in your face, you greedy hussy!.” Surprisingly, there were very few females present at this event, and instead a small handful of males. I talked to two friendly brothers who just couldn’t keep apart from each other. There was also a set of nerds, one actually engaged and the other unwilling to leave the other nerd’s side.

Lawyer Boy and I joked about what we could do to find each other somebody. At the start of the event, two girls seemed interested in him because I was talking to him. But by the middle of the event, they went on to talk to the older playboy looking dude at the far side of the cabana. Lawyer Boy and I reasoned, tongue in cheek of course, that we should go to these events and pretend to be a couple in order to actually get the opposite sex interested in each of us, be each other’s wing-man. The two of us had fun discussing the body languages of the people we watched there, as if we were invisible to everyone else noticing. We decided in the future to try to be more useful to each other in our quests for our own Schmooies….(end of part I continue onto part II for the conclusion of today's story)