25 Nov 2007
Going out on a bad date can feel like gas. The annoyance of his voice churns a moarnful fit of rage but I try to sit and remain calm. 'Is it me?' I wonder over my steaming cup of grande bold, 'have I lost the patience to meet someone new?' as I gently rubbed my temples. Yes self-doubt at 30 years old does require the occasional tweeking. 'It's not my fault' I tell myself on my way to the subway after I recieved probably one of the most toothy kisses of my life, 'It's him' but deep down I don't believe in what I'm saying.
In the grand scheme called dating as a gay man, pit falls such as this one triggers the notion that happy endings are meant for fictional stories. Is this a pessimisstic indignation or have I read one too many love stories?
A friend, myself or my mother will encourage the optimissism that the love I require takes more work than a few strokes on a keyboard. But sometimes, it feels like there's a greater chance of surviving a hurricane in a tube-top than to find the right guy for me.
So this pity party for one observes a reaction of thought; perhaps it's an attitude adjustment that I require or at the very least I will not meet guys online after a half bottle of wine.
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