Places I'd Actually Like to Meet the Man of My Dreams (And Probably Have Better Odds Of Doing So)
Every woman (well, most) has a secret or not-so-secret dream location for meeting her Fairy Prince, her Sir OKCupid-a-Lot, Her Knight in Shining Armani.
For Mindy Kaling, that place is the Empire State Building, a place so romantic, it is home to many proposals, proposal videos, ideas for proposals, and those face-shaped metal looking glasses that expire after five minutes with a quarter and get all infuriatingly blurry. You’re just trying to see the beauty of Staten Island from where you’re standing, atop a giant, glorious building.
(This is also the setting for the apex of Romantic Movie of the Century, Sleepless in Seattle. When I watch older romantic movies like that, I just wish for a cellphone or Grindr or not writing your phone number in the inside of a book, SERENDIPITY, and just leaving love up to fate. Fate, really, romantic comedies and weird teen movies? Maybe if you look like Kate Beckinsale, or maybe you’ll just have a life full of cats and Words with Friends. Internet friends.)
Mindy Kaling isn’t alone in this wild dream of romance. You’ve definitely thought about your ideal meet-cute, where you bump / collide / fall into the man of your dreams. Maybe you knock into each other in matching neon at a Passion Pit concert, and debate until the wee hours of the morning who discovered the band first (neither of you, I did, or so did every angry hipster before you).
Maybe you’ll meet him or her in line waiting for tickets to a Broadway play, and you will spend the rest of your lives singing show tunes and annoying everyone else with your couples reenactments of Spring Awakening. (Honestly, Jessica and Sam, every time we have a wine night I don’t need to hear how you learned some new Wicked choreography.)
However, there are several missing meet-cutes, or dream locations where I’d personally like to meet a guy. (Besides that small town in the South of France, J’Date.) Enough with the flowers and ponies and falling off the Dawson’s Creek dock into his arms.
Rite Aid / Duane Reade / Walgreens / CVS
Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like I should be investing in CVS stock, or just handing over piles of money to every nonexistent cashier in the self-checkout line. If you’re a neurotic person such as myself, there are endless, endless, excuses to go to one of said pharmacies.
Maybe you need your medication. And then you need to go back because you forgot your other medication. And your Crest White Strips, because you have that awesome coupon and they’re a bazillion dollars without it. I could walk to Rite Aid blindfolded and spin around a baseball bat like that miserable kids game I always refused to participate in because it is so. Damn. Neauseating. I’d still come out with everything (minus one thing, because then I need an excuse to go back), and three new coupons, suckers.
The point is, find a fellow hypochondriac freaking out and getting a flu shot.
How cute would that be? You can spend your nights WebMD’ing each other, or take turns like new parents for chewable vitamin c gummie runs (I think I need to be on My Strange Addiction for this. I can’t stop eating them. They’re snacks, right?) I spend so much time in the cold aisle or traipsing around trying to find the specific bobby pin I like, I’d love to meet a guy who is also making it rain Extra Bucks in the club (card).
That being said, I once went on a date with a guy who didn’t have any sort of pharmacy loyalty card. (Lord knows how this even came up in conversation.) So like, he’s been going to Duane Reade for years, and just ignored the specials and rewards, every, single, time. Red flag.
Nothing says potential love like swaths of ham and a sixteen pack of pianos. Costco is the best. In all the land. You don’t even need to eat before you go, you just circle around with your cart like you’re not the same person in the yoga pants before shoveling the dumplings in to your mouth and your purse. Don’t let the yoga pants deceive you. You can fit more dumplings in stretchy material.
I’d love to meet a strapping young lad near the mom jeans.
Why? Costco tells you so much about a person. How he or she can handle crowds, packing your own stuff into boxes (like, do you have any spatial issues?) How well can you navigate pulling a flat of Gatorade into your cart? (I’m staring at your biceps.) Would you offer to help a little old lady pick out the right 24-pack of Sensodyne? I’d hope so.
And what about what’s in your cart.; Socks, duct tape, scissors, tarp, blindfolds, and a flashlight – clearly a gym teacher. I hated PE, sorry. Sixteen bottles of wine, three roast chickens, and Gone Girl? When are you making me romantic engagement chicken and also drinking Merlot and talking about our favorite comedians? And possibly murdering me? Tonight. Right after they tick off your receipt and you figure out how you spent $700 in 30 minutes.
I don’t know about you, but nothing gets me going like a weekly planner that I can see, and some retractable sharpies. I’m like Tina Fey, doing her sexy car-wash / wet-tee-shirt contest, but with post-its. Sure, I have my google calendar and my google voice and my twitter and my tweeter and my Vine and my Vino and my iPad, iPhone, Token Macbook Air, but nothing is sweeter than a To-Do list on a legal pad. An extra long one.
Maybe I’ll find another nerd, trying to decide whether or not the Bic Pens “for her” are as much of a disgrace to humanity as I think they are. Maybe he’ll also be an entrepreneur, trying to make sure his new staff, all on the Forbes 15 Under 12 Under 3 are all situated in their new workspaces. But he also wants to be a cool boss, and have like, a ping pong table and maybe a beer or two, because you know, you’re just disrupting an industry or something. I hope you disrupt this box of envelopes I’ve got here.
If all else fails, the Empire State Building is still fine. I just need more than one quarter.
Image via iGossip