The Birthday Paradox: Date #1…. Yared

I’m beautiful. I know what you’re thinking and no, not the caring, sweet soul kind of beautiful…the intimidating and hot kind. I’ve been told that my mouth really holds me back though…AND I actually believed that shit. The person who told me that was trying to play Zeus to my confidence and throw bolts at it so I’d pay in humility. Believe it or not, it did work; I became nervous to let people get to know me. Thinking every time I open my mouth I turned people off I stopped trying. What I ended up finding out is the complete opposite. I now get compliments from a lot of men that say “When I talked to you I found out you are much cooler than I thought you were going to be” and “What’s attractive about you is that you have no idea how cool you are.” And truthfully I’m not always happy to hear that. If I could go back in time I’d rather just have that sense of value. I’d rather just know I’m special than to have the humility I got from being continuously devalued.

Anyway, having broken things off with my achilles heel, I’m back in the dating balneae. It gets a little complicated because I’m dealing with hurt emotions. Knowing full well I can’t be in a new fruitful relationship until I’ve handled the demon cocktail of Pothos, Eros and Poena I’m putting people I see potential with in a pyramid of protection and consciously not dating them. Never rebound with someone you like.

I do like someone and I’ll call him “M”. “M” is tall with black hair and tattoos. Although he is attractive, that is not what drew me to him. It’s the times we’ve hung out and made silly comments…he gets me. He makes good money (bonus), he’s super thoughtful (which is something many men lack nowadays), always has a positive attitude and I imagine he’s probably good in the sack. Yes, women think about these things too.

Anyway sticking to plan A I decided this weekend I was going to go on some dates just to see what sober dating is like. Yesterday, I accepted a date from a guy that works at a hip little food cart over by my work. Yared is his name, he’s from Ethiopa. So I’m not racist, I’m personality-ist. I’m looking for a very particular type and I never know where it’s going to be hidden.

He took me to an Italian restaurant downtown that was amazing so that was cool. I ordered the Fettucini Vongole (clams w/ Ver Blanc) and he drew a diagram of the country he moved to Portland from seventeen years ago on the white paper covering the table. On this diagram he also showed me the harrowing tale of camels, corrupt border patrol officers, bandits and the kind old man that hired him to work at the Hilton and subsequently got him a work Visa in the U.S. It was exhilarating and inspiring and he, himself, couldn’t believe he could look back and say he had accomplished all of those things. We jokingly talked about some of his friends who want to come into the country and decided we’d create an agency for that a la Risky Business. He told me about a drug called “Chat” they have in Africa that is stripped off the bark of a tree and chewed. Works just like meth. Anyway, the secret personality manuscript was not in Yared’s brain, however, he did get me interested in signing up women to marry men in Ethiopia and skimming 25,000 off the top.

Afterward, we went to a bar to see a Classic Rock band. Sipping my soda water and lime I was pulled aside by a guy named Connor. He just got off work and had paint and dirt all over his shirt. He claimed to be super embarrassed and I told him that he should be cause he was missing the giant ketchup stain and his ensemble looked unbalanced. Well, Connor wouldn’t leave me alone and when Yared went outside to have a cigarette Connor gave me twenty bucks to go sit by him and play the slots. My twenty ran down pretty quick as I complained about my knack for losing. He started giving me pointers and this is where my story gets strange….

I say, “This reminds me of the time I was in an accident in the Dalles. I ended up in a game room at the Shilo where I sat next to a guy who I found out had my same birthday. He won the jackpot and handed me 100 dollars.”

Connor: “Are you a Scorpio?”

Me: “Yeah, why?”

Connor: “Me too.”

Me: “When’s your birthday?”

Connor: “November 6.”

Okay, so this is also my birthday. I started freaking out. We both pulled out our licenses and there it was. My life is full of this shit, I kid you not. Connor said he wanted to go change into his thirty five hundred dollar gold Adidas (?) (he called them his “golden nuggets”) and then come back and dance with me. Before he left, Yared was back and being cool enough. He’s fucking with Connor a little bit asking why he’s not giving him money. Connor hands me a card with his name and tells me to play down the twenty he just put in and he’ll be right back. He leaves and I push “play” goes to 17.00. “play” goes to 13.00. “play” and I win $87.00. Cash out $100.00. Yared was ready to go cause he was supposed to work at five so I cashed in and watched Rough Night. Was a good night for me though. (Super hilarious movie doe)

This morning I Googled the meaning of meeting someone with your same birthday and discovered the Birthday paradox. Mathematicians have found that even though there are 365 days in a year, the chance you will be in a group of 40 people and share the same birthday as someone else is 90%. Look it up, geek out to it, it’s real…

Going out with Connor tonight…tune in for date #2.

Drinking Johnny Bootlegger on a Champagne budget. Editor @ and