Sunday, March 14, 2010

Beer goggles for the soul.


Last night I went to a party in a cool city bar, hosted by a friend of mine. This friend knows everybody in the world who is cooler than anyone I know, which means that he has a vast social circle. I always meet interesting new people at his parties, and since most of them are gay it's always a good way to make connections.

When I arrived I bought an expensive martini from the cute gap-toothed barman and found a friendly acquaintance to catch up with. After a while he in turn introduced me to a flamboyantly charming man with a pronounced beer gut that he was given to stroking, with a sort of absent-minded tenderness. He also chattered entertainingly at high speed in almost non sequiturs that you could only follow if you were paying attention. When I finished my expensive (and exquisite) martini he grandly bought me another one, probably without realising just how exhorbitantly priced they were.

The host came over and I caught up with his life, as I haven't seen him in nearly six months. He introduced us to a friend of his who was visiting from overseas, a tall, drawling blonde with a short scruffy beard and raw sex appeal oozing from every pore. After we'd all chatted for a while, the host and his visiting friend drifted away to do some more mingling. A few minutes later, I looked over and saw the friend standing by himself in a corner.

I'm usually very shy, but it's amazing how forward I can be with a couple of martinis in me. I got up and went over to talk with him. I felt it was a kind thing to do, since he didn't really know anyone there. The fact that he was golden tanned, hot bodied and head-spinningly gorgeous had nothing to do with it.

Interestingly enough, he matched a suspicion I've long had about the very good-looking. Firstly, he was boring. He talked endlessly about the minutae of his work and his opinions about the world. Secondly, he seemed to assume that I held exactly the same social and political views as he did. Perhaps he'd never been contradicted before - everyone he met just smiled and nodded and said, "Hmmm, you're so right."

I wasn't quite that bad. Sure, I smiled and nodded, but if I didn't actually tell him he was wrong, I at least suggested that there were alternate ways of looking at things. All while thinking, Yes, yes, whatever, enough of this; I just want to tear your clothes off right here and now.

Eventually tedium overcame even the advanced case of lust I was experiencing, and I introduced him to some other guys in order to ditch him. Then I went off to find someone ugly and fascinating to talk to.

Friday, March 12, 2010

In which I follow my own advice.


Last night I had the first date I've had in weeks, and the first in more than a year that didn't leave me feeling as if I'd just wasted several hours of my life. It was a coffee date with the chat guy from my last post - following my own advice I'd boldly asked him out for a drink, and fortunately he'd agreed.

As I walked down the street to the cafe at which we were meeting, I felt that rising terror that you get on first dates. Would he be weird, or painfully stilted, or a living testament to the power of flattering lighting and camera angles in profile photos? I'd forgotten how strong that nervous fear can be. You'd think it would get easier as you get older, but it's actually worse. Maybe because the opportunities are fewer and further apart, or because it brings back to mind all of the pain of previous rejections.

I actually took a risky route down a dark alley to the cafe rather than walk along the well-lit street, because I dreaded bumping into him and having to spend those awkward first few seconds in the noise and bustle rather than in a nice cafe. I arrived dead on the agreed time, but didn't see him there. When I bought a coffee my hands were visibly shaking as I reached over to pay.

He arrived about two minutes later. We barreled through those awkward first few seconds, then slowly relaxed and got to chatting. He was a little taller and more wiry than he appeared in his picture, and his hair was cut differently, but he was still good looking. His smile, when he gave it, was small but gorgeous.

To my mind the purpose of a first date is to establish whether the other guy is overtly unsuitable. Is he a swishy, lisping queen, for example, which is a bigger turnoff than him actually being a woman? Are there long, horrible silences in the conversation? Does he have a nasty sense of humour, or display signs of having a cruel heart? Does he simply smell bad?

Fortunately my new friend passed on all these counts, and all the other important ones. He's not a big femme, the conversation flowed smoothly, he seems like a nice guy and I didn't notice any lingering scents of unpleasantness.

After a couple of hours we parted, with the awkward last few seconds you get on a first date. Should we shake hands? Should we kiss? Should one of us suggest something else? The tension of not knowing what to do, wanting to be neither offputtingly familiar nor seemingly aloof, is like a thick syrup infusing the air.

We settled on an agreement to go out again next week. We both seemed genuine. Since then we've traded emails reiterating this.

I think that only time will tell how far this relationship goes. I like him, and I'm attracted to him. At the very least I'd be happy to be his friend.

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

You don't learn anything in the chattering classes‏


I've been in communication with a nice guy who contacted me on gaydar, and while it's been very pleasant trading quips back and forth, it makes me feel old.

I often get this feeling when communicating with guys over the internet. You see, I really don't do "chat". I like a good chat, but only when it's backed up by some sort of relationship. I can chat with my friends, but chat with strangers via websites just seems pointless. This is why I'm not on Facebook, and why I never spend time in chatrooms.

I mean seriously, why would anyone want to spend hours trading subliterate messages with people they don't know and have no intention of ever knowing? What's the point? If it's not leading into something more intimate, in any sense of the word, why do it? Do other people really find endless smalltalk that engaging?

There's something about trading messages with this particular guy that makes me suspect that he's content to just send snippets of news and gossip back and forth, while I'm regarding our conversation as the precursor to something more tangible. I'm conversing in order to establish that he isn't a loser or a bastard, with the intention of eventually seguing into going out for a drink. But I'm aware that a lot of guys (especially the much younger ones) regard chat as an end in itself.

The odd thing is that he's only one year younger than me. Perhaps he's just hip to the vibes of Gen Y in a way that goes over my head.

At some point soon I'm going to have to email him and say, "Look, are we just spinning our wheels here, or are you interesting in actually taking this somewhere?"