Live-Blogging Their Blind Date

I'm hanging at a cool place (defined as such because of the beer selection) called Ini Ani in the lower east side. I hear there are many "cool" places in the lower east side, but the neighborhood bores me if I can be honest. It tries too hard. I wrote about it a while ago, but am too lazy to look for the post. And since I'm not writing about the lower east side, why waste the time? The tables in the place are small and a tolerable distance away from one another. But the space doesn't leave much room to spread the tables out, so I can hear all the conversations going on around me. If that's what I really wanted. Now, as I don't really want to, I managed to tune most of the other two out. But not the third one. The guy showed up first and pulled out a hardcover book. I forgot to note the title. He looks like he's a buff kind of guy, because he has a shaved head. Now, men with shaved heads don't, as a rule, always seem buff, but for some reason, this one does. Maybe it's the way his polo shirt clings to his biceps, which, now that I strain to glance at him sideways, don't seem to be all that large. The dude behind the counter asks him if he'd like anything and he half stood up awkwardly to say that he was meeting someone. "But do you have green tea?" Yeah, the bartender says. Good to know, I guess, for when his situation shows up. Before he can really crack open the book and dive in, this woman shows up. "Men who enjoy sweets are more open-minded, easier to get along with. Nicer." What? (This is actually the point at which I whipped out my laptop.) She continued. "And men who don't like sweets are sticks in the muds." This nicotine-stenched woman knows a lot of sweet men apparently. And based on this, she has developed this theory. I'm unable to get a really good look at her, though, because that would be rude. She's sitting about three feet away from me. And I'm just not good at subtlety sometimes. I'm wondering if the guy thinks she's some kind of a nut job. But just because I think she is, doesn't mean he has to. I open my left ear a little more because now I'm hooked. "That's an interesting theory. I know a lot of sweet guys who don't like sweets, though. That's just my experience." Yes. They're really having this conversation. I haven't gotten his scoop yet. He seems to be the more intuitive of the two. But then again she did tell him she knew he liked sweets. "Well, enough about me," she says just as I think she's not only crazy but selfish, too. "What about you?" "What do you do?" Wait. That's not the answer. But before she can tell him: "How old are you?" Slow down, I can't type that fast. Forget it. I can't get it all down. Had I the energy for a writing exercise, I'd have made all kinds of shit up. But then would that be too James Frey? (More on that later.) She's thirty-eight. And a leo (wasn't happy to hear that). And to my shock, she's a development specialist who works with developmentally disabled children. She's assisting in the development of children. And she's been doing so for fifteen years. I never did find out who they were to each other or how they came to meet for the first time at Ini Ani. My guess is that she sent him a picture, taken when she was twenty-five, in response to his Match.com profile. But who knows?