#3 Gay bingo?

After my first match date, I decided to give the website a cooling off period of a few days. So, Thursday night I accepted an invitation from a friend of mine (X) to attend a breast cancer fundraiser/cocktail party. I'm still not sure whether we were for or against the cancer as it was unclear through the events, but the open bar provided for quite a nice evening either way. The party snacks of tiny burger sliders gave me great nutrition but also a terrific grease trail down my sweater which I hid by strategically holding my cocktail glass across my stomach as if my arm were in a cast. After we had exhausted the open bar, I mean, once we had contributed all that we could to breast cancer, X and I headed to a gay bar in the village. Upon arrival, we were given numbers on a sticker which we were to put on like cattle. As gay bars tend to feel like a meat market anyway, I felt this was overkill. The numbers were for a game. Apparently, if you liked someone, you wrote their number on a note signed with your number and put it in a mailbox from which the numbers were called over microphone by the host every 15 minutes. This was apparently the best way to include my worst childhood experiences into one festive game. They managed to combine bingo, dodge ball, and 2nd grade valentine swap with the already terrifying world of gay flirting. To add to this anxiety, I was about to learn a very valuable lesson which is as follows: NEVER go to a gay bar with a cute Twink (http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=twink). This rule especially applies when you yourself are continuously referred to as some type of gay river animal, which has something to do with your refusal to wax your chest. Sure, you may be great friends with the twinky boy wonder, but next to him, you will always appear to be a troll. Not the cute trolls with the peculiar jewel in their belly buttons and soft caress-able hair, but instead, the kind of troll that throw goats off of bridges.
As I met a few of X's friends, I kept catching the eye of an attractive guy just a few feet from where we were standing. I made the mistake of motioning to X that I found this guy attractive. X flew into action and the guy froze knowing exactly what was about to happen and I rolled my eyes accepting my fate that I was to be the awkward friend who just got caught talking about the cute boy who is now being introduced to me. We shook hands (carefully, of course, as I was still cradling a drink over my hamburger stained sweater) and just as X opened his mouth to start the topic which was to spark our romance, the cute guy turned his back to me and doused the spark with a very shapely but cold shoulder. A little stunned by that reaction, we retreated to pose by the bar. Also, we were a little low on fluids and figured I could get the attention of the cute bartender to order our drinks. Finally, here was someone who at least was forced to talk to me  and had no way out. I made a joke about his number "69" bingo sticker and was in. Well, that is until X turned around to say "merci" quietly as he took his drink from 69 boy. Before I could say, "zut alors," 69 was plugged into twinky town and began asking questions in french to which the non french speaking X couldn't respond. This didn't seem to halt any continuation and instead I found myself talking to myself translating everything that was being said.
X: "how much?"
69: "quatorze."
X: "huh? hmmm....hmmm."
Me: "14...it's 14...look at me...look at me!"
69: "it's 14." adding a wink and a smile to X for good measure.
The pseudo annoying thing is that X doesn't notice or care for any of this attention as he's dealing with his own confusing relationship trauma right now. I feel like saying, "if you're leg is broken, then why are you on the field?...look at my legs! They're ready! Put me in coach! Put me in!"
So the bartender turns back to his work and we turn our focus back on the host of the evening NOT announcing bingo mail for ME. When X re-joined me after collecting his bingo mail, a very cute guy had just parked next to me at the bar. As luck would have it, he was a friend of one of X's friends and we were about to get an introduction. I waited patiently and positioned myself directly across from him in the introduction cube as he shook hands with X. Being a great friend, X immediately cut his intro short to say, "and this is my friend Sean." Finally, it was my turn. Before I could extend my hand the 2 feet to shake his, he lifted his arm curiously and waved at me. I waved back which felt awkward considering we were so close. The warm handshake, cheek kiss and hug greeting the others around me made me wonder what he was afraid of with me. Was I the sick kid in a leper colony? I raised an eyebrow and scrunched my nose in the thought of my arm falling off as he gripped my hand, but thankfully he had turned his attention to anything else in the bar but me before finishing mumbling "Hi," so he didn't see this unattractive expression of mine. With that, I finished my drink and we called it a night.
I think I have a few things to learn from this. I normally don't go to gay bars looking for dates and instead go to have fun with my friends. Is it possible that I emit a hormone that other gays pick up on when I'm on the prowl and are thus turned off by it or perhaps guys are more attracted to somebody that they can't have in the case of X who is clearly still in love with his last boyfriend and not looking for anything at the bar? Or is it just that I shouldn't spill food on my sweater before I go out? This is a universal mystery. There are two rules to take from this:
1.) Be yourself and stop comparing yourself to others and 2.) Never leave my house without a Shout Wipe.
the end, by sean