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It was incredibly refreshing to meet people in real life, for once.
"I mean, I don't blame them, but it's not like I had a choice," I continued thinking to myself while mindlessly nodding along to what my fifth date was saying. Once everyone had registered, our organizer separated us into our respective groups. Whereas I tried to look as though I had just gotten off my fancy job as a writer, a majority of the men looked as though they had just left their shift at Aeropostale. Why were they dressed like that dude from high school who always tries to sell you knives when you run into him every trip back home?
"The online 'bottoms' sign-up sheet was all filled up! If I wanted to sail with the boys on this gay Noah's ark, I had to maybe fib to myself a little." And look where that got me. If you learn anything from me at all, it's that you should always dress how you want to feel, not how you actually feel.
(I'd like to go on record and say those men are horrible, and the human equivalent of a parfait.) The men here were normal dudes: mostly over 30, and mostly in custody of faces I almost instantly forgot. Have you ever been at a party and realized, with a cold sweat and a shiver of dread, that you were the smartest one in the room?
It's happened to me once before; I realized that if I was the smartest person in the room, then we were all screwed.
Some of the men were veterans of speed dating, and from the sound of it, they had not lost hope.
They went into this round with just as much enthusiasm and vigor as they'd done the first time -- even if they were wearing T-shirts.I had no desire to impress or pretend to be interested in anything that wasn't sleep -- or pizza, or a burrito, or both at the same time -- which is a shame, because this gentleman was like a surprisingly nice dessert section in a really bad buffet.I could still tell he had a great personality to match his Prince Eric looks.One gentleman, for example, interrupted me halfway throughout our introductions and asked with a smile, "Are you a Greek god? I gave him the ol' side eye and sipped out of my beer suspiciously. "I would love to take you back to my apartment to photograph you." Flattered, and with a bit of beer foam dribbling out of my mouth, I politely declined." Convinced I had misheard him, I asked him to repeat that. I know how that scenario usually ends: a rain coat, an axe and "Hip to Be Square" by Huey Lewis and the News blasting from a stereo.Continue reading Robbe Healey, MBA, NHA, ACFRE Vice President for Philanthropy, Simpson Senior Services In this webinar participants will: Explore the roles and responsibilities of the fundraiser, the board and other staff in the philanthropic process and how fundraisers can approach …