the dating game is retarded. but, i’m not complaining.
how i do miss the straightforward sleaziness of london. meet cute boy, flirt with cute boy, kiss cute boy, shag cute boy, see if a relationship is possible.
in l.a. boys are insecure and therefore either overly cocky and standoffish or miserably miserable to the point where they’re unapproachable.
it had been a while since i’d been out on the prowl, so saturday i decided to put on some sexy dadundaduns, fluff up my plumage just so and meet up with my party people for some fun. stiff drinks and flaccid go-go boys at .fubar with jogger chris and then actual dancing on an actual dancefloor at .hot dog [for my london peeps, .hot dog is the only non-pop non-tribal-house dance club in all of los angeles]
now, a typical club in say, sydney or manchester or ibiza or new york would have, you know, 10% cute boys, 50% of whom might like me back. my experience in l.a. has been dire, which a much lower return on investment. sure, my tastes may not fit within the l.a. norm, but more often than not when i go out i don’t even bother looking around, cuz there’s nobody tickling my fancy. that’s right, folks, i’m saying 0%. poor me, right?
tonight, was different. there was one boy, tall and skinny and blond and spiky and smiley and cocky. i try to avoid him for most of the night, as he’s surrounded by friends, but eventually we meet on the dancefloor.
hey, i’m tommy, he says with a smile.
i’m on top form tonight, and the conversation is hot and heavy. as we’re enjoying our second drink, i drop one of my classic lines, which is intended to flatter and get the mind wandering:
tommy, why doesn’t a boy like you have a boyfriend?
the response i’m hoping for is, well, eric, i just haven’t found the right guy… till tonight, followed by a tackle to the ground and 3-5 minutes of passionate kissing in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by horrified onlookers as the deejay squeals in delight and then the bouncers kick us out.
tommy explains, erm… i do!
yeah, he’s out of town and stuff. he’s really sweet. he’s blah blah blah blah blah and we met blah blah blah. he’s a blah blah for a living and he blah blah blah blah.
the only response to hearing the boy you’re flirting with say oh, i have a boyfriend is the same reponse you give when the boy you’re flirting with says oh, i’m straight or oh, i’m married or oh, i’m mormon:
you say to them, oh, me too…
works every time. diffuses the situation, puts you on even footing, and adds a bit of taboo to the situation.
two hours later, at the afterhours, we making out furiously. i really don’t want to do this, i have a boyfriend… he tells me.
sitting outside my place at 4am, i really can’t come in, i have a boyfriend…
inside, i’m just going to stay for a bit, i have a boyfriend…
in my bed, just for a little bit, i have a boyfriend…
an hour later, we definitely can’t do that, i have a boyfriend…
as the sun comes up, i definitely can’t stay the night, i have a boyfriend…
11:35am, i wake him up and ask him, weren’t you supposed to pick your boyfriend up from the airport?