Well, New York, I’m still single. And OK with it, but every now and again, I think that it might be cool to have a someone special. Being a gal who loves new experiences, I hopped online to look for speed dating in the city (which I have never tried) and found something else — firemen.
OnSpeedDating.com had a list of really fun events like a Fleet Week singles mixer, Size Matters for tall singles and Rescue Me singles party.
No, I am not a “hose chaser,” but what damsel couldn’t use a little rescuing now and again, ammirite?
The party was open to all women in their 20s, 30s and 40s (for $25 online, $40 at the door), but the men had to be either active or retired firefighters, paramedics, fire EMS or search and rescue. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t hate it.
The day of the party, I wasn’t really feeling myself and my insecurities nibbled at me like Twitter troll in front of a dangling Selina Gomez bikini pic, but a few texts with my mom and the quick train ride to the Garment District eased my nerves.
Plus, I already had a singles mixer under my belt and I vowed to relax and just have fun at the next one. I was sure my “picker,” as “Millionaire Matchmaker” Patti Stanger calls it, would be completely on point.
The first thing I did when I arrived at Hudson Station, 440 9th Ave., Manhattan, at 8 p.m. on June 30? Latch on to a group of friendly looking women.
“This seems like a high school dance —guys on one side, girls on the other,” I quipped.
“Pretty much,” one of my new BFFs answered.
This was a new experience for my pack of sisters and we all swapped our we-can-laugh-at-that-now dating stories. One story of a bad Garden State date had me practically crying from laughter. Cliff’s Notes: She had one (maybe two) tacos. He had 10. Then, the Jersey gentleman offered to split the bill and go Dutch with his date.
I didn’t see any tacos at this party, but wait staff passed trays of appetizers like quesadillas and (one of my favorites) boneless wing bites.
Hudson Station is not The Jane Hotel, where the Social Concierge mixer was held, and that was both good and bad. Bad: It smelled like a urinal cake and my wine came in a plastic cup. Good: It was much more casual, less on-the-prowl-y and I got there early enough to take advantage of the discounted drinks.
The women, who to my eye outnumbered the men, were dressed for a date. The guys… some of them wore button-down shirts. Some of them wore baseball hats backwards. I think one dude was wearing a basketball jersey.
Like I said, casual.
And it was hot. Like, why-did-you-even-put-makeup-on hot. Once I realized there was a second bar downstairs (away from the DJ and crowds), I descended into air conditioning and drank my wine from an appropriate big girl cup.
At the door, we were given a card with ice breakers with questions for the ladies to ask the guys. I thought that was a really cool idea. If you can’t think of anything to say, you could walk up to one of the men and ask a question like, “What is a Class C fire?” or “Which of these isn’t a legit movie about firefighters?” I didn’t need the card because Tim and I started chatting immediately.
Although not my usual type, he was nice to talk to and easy to look at; when he stepped away, I moved on. Always keep them wanting more, right?
I laughed so hard that night. Guys were coming up and bullshitting, busting ass and just being really fun to talk to. My new besties and I even paid to have the psychic, Maria Pirone, tell us our futures.
Turns out, dear reader, you have more articles like this coming from me because according to Ms. Pirone, I’m going to be single for most likely two years. For sure a year. (It was in the cards.)
The downstairs of Hudson Station was amazing. Air conditioning, seats and again, wine in a real wine glass. Sports were on the TVs and it was decidedly less crowded than the party upstairs. I missed out on what looked like a fun Friday night of dancing on the main floor, but I was comfortable in my lower lair.
As the night drew to a close, I found myself looking for Tim and his military-style haircut and chiseled jaw. We sat, talked, totally flirted and exchanged numbers… and his lips touched my lips.
(It was a totally first-date appropriate no-tongue short kiss and I’m not just saying that because my mom is going to read this.)
Alas, after texting a bit with Tim the following day, I decided he and I saw life too differently for us to get along.
Tim, if you’re still single, I’ll vouch for you, buddy; Girls, Tim is a pretty good kisser! Chat him up.
And lady biffies… call me? I could really go for some tacos.
The next Rescue Me singles party is on Aug. 15 at 7 p.m. at Ainsworth, 122 W. 26th St., Chelsea.
