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Unfortunately, we were both the human equivalents of melted ice at the bottom of a cooler previously filled with beer, dreams and the empty promise of a good time.
It was like a nightmarish game of dodgeball that would air on LOGO.
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"No one here believes I'm a top," I thought to myself while taking the first sip of my second overpriced beer. " he yelled, throwing them to one side of the proverbial gymnasium. I was surprised to see that of the 30-ish men there, only three (including me) were dressed up.
I was less than halfway through a night of gay speed dating for "bottoms" and "tops" and had already been asked three times if I was in the right group. You're gayer than Judy Garland's Christmas ornaments. " I eventually "lost" my name tag at some point in the night. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.
The event, which was held in the confines of a cavernous bar downtown, had a surprisingly large turnout. " I looked at my name tag, which was peeling off already, as if it knew that the "T" written on it was all some horrible lie. That, and never buy knives from that dude from high school.
I happened to be one of the first guys to register with the organizer, and I took the opportunity to grab a beer and watch the men herd into line to register like cattle to the slaughter. " the organizer asked one man, who responded with a nervous chuckle. To be blunt, most of the men on either side (including me) were average-looking -- sometimes aggressively so.
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.
"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?