The Fifty-Fifty party—not so nifty

The 50/50 Party seemed like a good idea at the time. Each single was charged with bringing a member of the opposite sex in whom they had no romantic interest. The idea was to yield an event where there was an even ratio of men-to-women, while upping the quality/pedigree of the people in attendance. Presumably, atttendees would be friends of friends and therefore have a connection to the event that was less random than is often the case at singles events. A couple of problems ensued...

Firstly, although I knew who had invited me to the party, it wasn’t clear that she was going to be there, so I faced the possibility, which ended up being the reality, that I would walk into a room of faces I’ve never seen before. A little terrifying, but this was the new me, the braver, more intrepid version of the self who likes to be surrounded by people she knows and loves. So I overcame this and decided to go.

Secondly, I didn’t have anyone to bring. I couldn’t picture saying to any of my male friends “look, I’m not interested in you romantically, want to go with me to a party?” Not that I’m necessarily interested in all of my male friends romantically, and not that they’re into me either. But it just seemed cruel on some level to completely remove the possibility from relationships that seem steady, even in their lack of definition. But I contacted the organizers anyway, and told them that I wanted to come but that I didn’t have a “bringer” (which, in Buffy terms means a big creepy guy who seeks out potential Slayers and kills them before they reach Sunnydale, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case here). They told me there was a guy with the same predicament. So they put us both on the list and we were in. In the movies, this guy would have been there waiting for me outside when I arrived, and we would have hated each other on first site. Over the course of the evening, we’d shoot each other looks and glare as we talked to others, always coming back to each other. And the movie would end with us giving into our undeniable attraction. Fast-forward to the wedding, toasting the bride and groom, and end scene. (“That’s a wrap, thanks everyone, see you at the Golden Globes!”)

Like I said, the party was a good idea in the abstract. But in the implementation, some basic systems broke down. Although there were a good number of men in the house, there were still way more women. Kind of par for the dating course in NYC, in my experience. I walked in and knew not a single person, and I can’t remember the last time that happened. Looking around, I could tell that most of these people were not Jewish. And then there was the other problem that I assumed was indigenous to the Jewish community—the inherent lameness of the guys. Like vegans in the wild. No approaching their prey, just kind of fluttering ineffectively in the wind, like butterflies. Kind of pretty, but so insubstantial, and more interested in collecting grains (via alcohol) than in actually meeting a mate, temporary or otherwise.

I don’t mind going up to men and starting conversations, but I can’t say I like it. Based on what am I starting a conversation? They’re sitting at the bar, having a drink. What about that do I find so fascinating and worthy of conversation? Do I approach them just because I think they’re cute? And is it easier to approach guys in groups or on their own? I’ve not had any luck with any of these methods. And I’ve found that I am totally unapproachable. (I assume that men find the combination of my striking good looks and sparkling personality overwhelmingly intimidating.) This is why the bar scene doesn’t work for me.

I’ve found that for the most part, people are closed books that don’t like to be opened. Even when I was stuck in the subway on August 14th, the day of the blackout, when no one knew what was happening or if any of us were going to make it out of there, none of us were talking to each other. You would think someone would try to connect with another living person, since we were all stuck together. In the movies, some of us would have forged romantic connections and slipped off to the area between cars for a little end-of-the-world necking. Even on an episode of Felicity, trapped in a train translated to free group therapy that salvaged an ailing friendship. But not here.

Even those "books" who indicate that they’re "open," willing to meet someone, through friends or at parties especially designed for that purpose, aren’t really ready. They'd prefer to remain unread, on the dusty shelves in the library. What are they expecting? Who are they expecting? Do they really think they’ll be bowled over at first sight? Or do they understand that they’ll have to make conversation with someone before getting those special feelings?

And now, for my Carrie Bradshaw moment:

In a city of closed books, does having a library card really matter?

The Fifty-Fifty party—not so nifty

The 50/50 Party seemed like a good idea at the time. Each single was charged with bringing a member of the opposite sex in whom they had no romantic interest. The idea was to yield an event where there was an even ratio of men-to-women, while upping the quality/pedigree of the people in attendance. Presumably, atttendees would be friends of friends and therefore have a connection to the event that was less random than is often the case at singles events. A couple of problems ensued...

Firstly, although I knew who had invited me to the party, it wasn’t clear that she was going to be there, so I faced the possibility, which ended up being the reality, that I would walk into a room of faces I’ve never seen before. A little terrifying, but this was the new me, the braver, more intrepid version of the self who likes to be surrounded by people she knows and loves. So I overcame this and decided to go.

Secondly, I didn’t have anyone to bring. I couldn’t picture saying to any of my male friends “look, I’m not interested in you romantically, want to go with me to a party?” Not that I’m necessarily interested in all of my male friends romantically, and not that they’re into me either. But it just seemed cruel on some level to completely remove the possibility from relationships that seem steady, even in their lack of definition. But I contacted the organizers anyway, and told them that I wanted to come but that I didn’t have a “bringer” (which, in Buffy terms means a big creepy guy who seeks out potential Slayers and kills them before they reach Sunnydale, but I was pretty sure that wasn’t the case here). They told me there was a guy with the same predicament. So they put us both on the list and we were in. In the movies, this guy would have been there waiting for me outside when I arrived, and we would have hated each other on first site. Over the course of the evening, we’d shoot each other looks and glare as we talked to others, always coming back to each other. And the movie would end with us giving into our undeniable attraction. Fast-forward to the wedding, toasting the bride and groom, and end scene. (“That’s a wrap, thanks everyone, see you at the Golden Globes!”)

Like I said, the party was a good idea in the abstract. But in the implementation, some basic systems broke down. Although there were a good number of men in the house, there were still way more women. Kind of par for the dating course in NYC, in my experience. I walked in and knew not a single person, and I can’t remember the last time that happened. Looking around, I could tell that most of these people were not Jewish. And then there was the other problem that I assumed was indigenous to the Jewish community—the inherent lameness of the guys. Like vegans in the wild. No approaching their prey, just kind of fluttering ineffectively in the wind, like butterflies. Kind of pretty, but so insubstantial, and more interested in collecting grains (via alcohol) than in actually meeting a mate, temporary or otherwise.

I don’t mind going up to men and starting conversations, but I can’t say I like it. Based on what am I starting a conversation? They’re sitting at the bar, having a drink. What about that do I find so fascinating and worthy of conversation? Do I approach them just because I think they’re cute? And is it easier to approach guys in groups or on their own? I’ve not had any luck with any of these methods. And I’ve found that I am totally unapproachable. (I assume that men find the combination of my striking good looks and sparkling personality overwhelmingly intimidating.) This is why the bar scene doesn’t work for me.

I’ve found that for the most part, people are closed books that don’t like to be opened. Even when I was stuck in the subway on August 14th, the day of the blackout, when no one knew what was happening or if any of us were going to make it out of there, none of us were talking to each other. You would think someone would try to connect with another living person, since we were all stuck together. In the movies, some of us would have forged romantic connections and slipped off to the area between cars for a little end-of-the-world necking. Even on an episode of Felicity, trapped in a train translated to free group therapy that salvaged an ailing friendship. But not here.

Even those "books" who indicate that they’re "open," willing to meet someone, through friends or at parties especially designed for that purpose, aren’t really ready. They'd prefer to remain unread, on the dusty shelves in the library. What are they expecting? Who are they expecting? Do they really think they’ll be bowled over at first sight? Or do they understand that they’ll have to make conversation with someone before getting those special feelings?

And now, for my Carrie Bradshaw moment:

In a city of closed books, does having a library card really matter?