Broke Bloke

When I tell you I pick the WORST guys to date- this is no exaggeration. Most recently, well, lets just start from the beginning....

Setting: Clapham Gay Parade in South London. I arrive at Carl's flat where we indulge in our love of Corona and exchange stories of Tranny Night’s. (No, not nights with transexuals…nights where we behave so inappropriately that there is no term more fitting to describe such actions) I reflect on how it has been a while since I have been on a good date. Yes ladies and gents, this is a moment of foreshadowing! We speak of previous freaks I date, have a good laugh at my expense and then head out into the wild.

The Pick Up: 3 hours later, I have willingly slung back several shots of Jameson, sipped Champagne and fit in a few Red Bull Vodka's. I am there - I have reached Tranny Drunk Level AKA Tranny Mess. Anticipating that this night is far from over, I switch to water. If I am going to keep up with this seasoned crowd, I need to slow it down a notch or two. As I strolled (READ: stumbled) through the bar, a guy approached me and called me out on drinking water. This is a personal attack, and a threat to my drinking dignity! This man must be proven wrong immediately. I stormed over to the bar, new boy in tote, and ordered two shots of Jameson. We then began to talk about nuclear war, environmentally friendly alternatives to Styrofoam and world peace. YEAH, OK..you got me, I can’t remember. All I do remember is handing him my business card (CRINGE) due to the toxic levels of whiskey floating around the brain, affecting my ability to type on a small key pad and enter a coherent corresponding name. I tell my future date that I am off to NY to see family and friends, but get in contact with me in two weeks when I will be back in London. Ball is in homeboy’s court. Well, instead of playing the volley that many do, my drunken non-Gay-Parade-encounter set a date nearly as soon as I touched down in London. I immediately became guarded and wary because, well – OF COURSE I WOULD! When they don’t call, you want them to and wonder what is wrong with you, and when they do, you wonder what is wrong with them. (MEN, this is not a joke, I polled other women, when a guy says a woman is complicated – HE IS RIGHT!)

The date: Wires cross and I show up an hour late. 60 minutes! He waited outside the underground station the entire 60 minutes. Now, of course I wanted to be positive and believe that shows he is really into me, but two things were going through my mind instead; what is wrong with him that he would actually wait for 60 minutes and is that red hair I see? Apparently on that fateful evening that we met, I reached a new level of intoxication – color blind drunk! My tall, blond date turns out to be a ginger! Ginger is also a “cheeky” fellow as well. He threw guilt trip daggers loaded with sarcasm my way. Ok, I may have deserved a few, but he was getting carried away. He even told me I better be worth the wait. As a peace offering and a way to shut him up, I whipped out my credit card to buy the first round of drinks. I never carry cash, so ultimately the cheap bar he took me too needed me to start a tab. Well, luckily I was buying because I bought some expensive white wine! Two bottles later, I numbed myself into a vino haze to dull the pain of this boring date. I felt obliged to stay after making him wait so long. Well, I now understand why he waited - he does not date often, and it shows! When it was time to pay, homeboy did not offer up his card. Instead, I somehow got stuck with the WHOLE tab! Its the first date, he asked me out, he should pay! I always offer to pay to prove that I don’t assume they should be buying the drinks – BUT OF COURSE I ASSUME SO! Chivalry much?! What ever happened to a man’s pride being bigger than his wallet?!?

Not in England!

There will be no second date!