I'm always looking for new ways to meet new guys. So I was beyond excited to see a Date My Friend e-vite in my inbox (www.datemyfriend.net). Guys at organized singles events can be, well, honestly ... weird. I'm talking droolers, heavy breathers, socks and Tevas. But like a live Friendster, DMF is all about six degrees of separation. The party promoters invite their single friends, who invite their single friends, who invite Kevin Bacon.
Held at West Hollywood's painfully hip Pearl, the party was filled with L.A.'s finest. Wearing hip snug jeans and a low-cut V, I took a lap around the club. My Jewdar detected a hottie in the corner drinking Bud Light with his buddy. I made my move. We talked hoops, we talked flicks, we talked all night. At closing time, I gave him my digits.
Wednesday night, I got the call.
"Hi, it's Scott from Date My Friend. Was wondering if you want to go to dinner sometime?"
"I'd love to. But I'm walking into a meeting, can I call you back?"
It was only after I hung up that I realized the guy I thought was witty, cute and into me, the guy I gave my number to -- his name was Ben. His nice, but rather quiet friend, the one I barely spoke to, his name was Scott. Forget about being blown off, I was just passed off.
I'm like Jacob in high heels. I spent seven years -- OK two hours -- working it with Ben, but I ended up with Scott. He hid behind the veil of a telephone. From now on, I'm demanding a pre-call bedeken.
I tried to imagine how this bait and switch went down. Does Ben know Scott called? Did they fight over my number? Was it up for grabs? Did someone call dibs? Did they rock-paper-scissors? Or did Ben just hand my number over to Scott without a care? Maybe Ben was playing Cyrano for Scott all along. Maybe Ben has a girlfriend. Maybe I'm not his type. Maybe I'm his type, but Scott tied him up, poured kosher salt in his wounds and forced him to listen to Sammy's sing-along Torah until he gave up the info. Maybe I should stop watching "The Sopranos."
Maybe they thought I was so desperate I wouldn't care which guy called, as long as some guy called. Well they're right. Serial daters like me aren't picky. Heck, we'll take leftovers, hand-me-downs, nebbishes, nudniks, no hairs, back hairs, whomever the cat schleps in. Doesn't matter, Jewish guys are all the same. They just want to be fed, loved and told the mohel did a good job.
What if the guys aren't to blame? I'm an equal-opportunity flirt. Perhaps they misunderstood my overtures. No, I'm too good at this. I'm a professional single. I get paid to be single. I give great tease. There's no way these boys misinterpreted my moves. Ben was the obvious object of my attention. I bought the guy a beer -- how much clearer could I make it? This Bud's for you.
Having already agreed to the date, I gave Scott a chance. The old "I wasn't paying attention and thought you were your friend calling" excuse wasn't going to work this time. So Scott and I grabbed dinner. We ate, we talked, he took home the leftovers. Smart guy, good guy -- not the guy for me. It was "all hands on deck" all night.
It's no shock that there were no sparks. I knew this when I met him. That's why I didn't flirt with him. I flirted with his friend. I danced with his friend. I had chemistry with his friend, which is why I gave my number to his friend.
At dinner, I popped the question.
"Scott, how did you get my number?"
"I overheard you give it to Ben."
Survey says: unacceptable. Guys, I'm going to let you in on a little secret -- it's not one date fits all. If a chick throws your buddy her digits, you're not supposed to catch them. And if I pass you my info, don't hand it off to your pal, lose it in poker or sell it on eBay. It's for your eyes only.
I'm attending the next DMF event, but a heads up to the guy I pick up: We may meet at Date My Friend, but I don't want to date your friend. If I give you my number -- my real number -- you're the one that I want.
Date My Friend is hosting an event on April 29, 7-10 p.m., at Lounge 217 at 217 Broadway, Santa Monica. R.S.V.P. at www.datemyfriend.net .
Carin Davis is a freelance writer and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org.