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gothamwhore

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Adventures in Dating: Part III

Meeting people for the first time is a little like Russian Roulette -- things could go ok, or one of you could end up with a bullet in your head. The other night, I met a boy for coffee... and was begging for the bullet.

In this wonderful account of the evening's events, my thoughts are enclosed in asterisks (*) and quotes (") denote actual speech. *That means I'm not actually saying this, I'm thinking it, for all you dumb-asses out there*.

Adventures in Babysitting
When I agreed to meet this boy, let's call him Harry (no, his real name wasn't as ugly as that), it turns out that I was not only meeting him for coffee, but he decided to bring a friend as well. DEE-lightful.

Let's get it straight from the start -- the boy is cute, but he's somewhere in his early 20s, so not so much dating material as he is fucking material. Why we met for coffee is beyond me, but alas that's how it started.

His friend is this ghetto asian kid: wearing layers of cammo, floppy slightly greasy hair, jacked up teeth, and a backpack that looks like it's carrying his entire worldly possessions. He speaks with an accosting accent as if he grew up in some borough, yet he his pattern of speech leads me to believe he was raised in a black household. It wasn't that he used excessive slang as much as it was the unique and mumbley style in which he spoke -- I can't remember exactly how it went, but just imagine the difference how a black preacher speaks vs. normal folk. It was that kind of difference in speech. Very odd and wholeheartedly unattractive. Oh yeah, and equally as unattractive was the possible Pai Mei moustache he had going on. Plus, he's 28 and has the mental capacity of a 7 year old with Down Syndrome. Anyway, we'll call this kid Jay.

So Harry is unsatisfied with his coffee and goes back to the barista to complain. How embarassing. He has this air about him that implies he thinks he has better taste and class than he really does. Maybe he's just trying to impress me by being snotty. Bad idea. That only works when you actually have something to be snotty about. He should have gone with his strengths -- pretty eyes and a nice body. None of that has anything to do with 'talking', which granted he didn't do much of, but when he did some other type of awful borough-accent fell out of his mouth. My ears were under attack.

Meanwhile, back on the ranch, as Harry's away getting a new coffee, Jay proceeds to ask me trite 'get to know you' questions: "So what do you like to do in your free time?", "Where do you live?", and finally "What's your sexual orientation?"

Poor Jay, he's not the brightest bulb in the box. I dumbfoundedly reply, "Umm... I'm gay?". "No, I mean what's your orientation? Are you a top, bottom, versatile?" *Ok, hun, that's not sexual orientation you twit! If anything, that's sexual role preference. And hi, we just met and I'm not even here to meet you!*

As Harry makes his way back to the table, I notice Jay scribbling something down on a piece of paper. It's his contact information. *Jesus Christ. Now I'll have to pretend I actually want that scrap of paper. Fuck.* He proceeds to slide it over to me, in front of Harry. *How tactless.*

I take it and put it in my pocket -- someone's gotta be discreet about this! "You didn't read it," Jay says. I open up the scrap: 'Call me sometime. Maybe I have what you need. Wanna play?' *Eww. Where's that fuckin' bullet??*

They want to take me to Splash for some god-awful karoke night. I think to myself, *Wasn't I supposed to be having sex with this kid by now??*, and agree to go for "One drink".

Isn't it always the case that whenever you don't want to be seen in public, you somehow bump into everyone you know?? But it's not just anyone, it's only the people who will judge you after they've seen you. Welcome to 5 minutes after leaving the Starbucks. I bump into my hot friend on the street with his other hot friend. *Still looking for that bullet!* A couple blocks later, I run into another friend. I can only imagine what he thought. I speed through the conversation and say goodbye. Off to Splash... to drown my sorrows.

Being seen in public with people who you otherwise wouldn't be seen with is not really something I try to make a habit of doing. I kept hoping I wouldn't bump into more people I knew. In my scan of the room, however, I saw a young boy around my age with a middle-aged / old(er) man. It looked like the boy was 'working' and decided to bring the man to Splash because -- who would ever come to Splash on a Tuesday at 7:30pm? Him and his old man, me and my motley burrow youth group. I wanted to just lean over and say, "I won't tell anyone if you won't tell anyone."

Persistent as ever, Jay keeps prodding me to answer the question in his note. I just pretend the music is too loud and simply smile. Awkward situations are just that -- awkward.

A little later, he asks "So, can you handle 6.5-7 inches?" I've never choked on my own laughter before. It was an interesting experience. It's cute that he thinks 6-7 inches is something of a force to be reckoned with. I eat 6 inches for lunch! I believe my dry response was, "Yes.", and I proceeded to the bar. I wanted to shoot up my "God Save the Queen" flashlight so I could get air-lifted out of that situation, but that didn't happen.

As there was really no hope in sight for salvaging the night (ie, hooking up with Harry), I decided to cut my losses and peace out. I wasn't really in the mood to listen to karoke from tone-deaf faggots and was more excited about calling everyone and their mother to tell them about the twisted night I'd just had.

At least it makes for an entertaining story.

2 Comments:

  • Sounds like something that would happen to me, if I lived in New York and still actually met people instead of being the monkish hermit I've become.

    Sorry, I thought this was all about ME again... *hehehehe*

    By Blogger Frank, at 1/10/2007 9:07 PM  

  • Wow, you're amazing for reading through that entire story. My life is just a comedy of errors :)

    Nothing's wrong with being a hermit. It's too fucking cold to go outside these days.

    By Blogger gothamwhore, at 1/10/2007 11:07 PM  

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