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"No one here believes I'm a top," I thought to myself while taking the first sip of my second overpriced beer. " he yelled, throwing them to one side of the proverbial gymnasium. I was surprised to see that of the 30-ish men there, only three (including me) were dressed up.
I was less than halfway through a night of gay speed dating for "bottoms" and "tops" and had already been asked three times if I was in the right group. You're gayer than Judy Garland's Christmas ornaments. " I eventually "lost" my name tag at some point in the night. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.
Love is truly a numbers game, and these men knew this.
That, my friends, was the biggest takeaway -- that, and the fact that a doe-eyed, 5-foot-10, 150-pound Asian man does not make a convincing top.
The event, which was held in the confines of a cavernous bar downtown, had a surprisingly large turnout. " I looked at my name tag, which was peeling off already, as if it knew that the "T" written on it was all some horrible lie. That, and never buy knives from that dude from high school.
I happened to be one of the first guys to register with the organizer, and I took the opportunity to grab a beer and watch the men herd into line to register like cattle to the slaughter. " the organizer asked one man, who responded with a nervous chuckle. To be blunt, most of the men on either side (including me) were average-looking -- sometimes aggressively so.
I was tired from putting on the performance of my life, and he was tired from all the normals he'd had to speak to.The human race must have really pissed off a love god from some pantheon to be punished with the literal hell that is OKStupid.Although I have no plans to meet with any of the men from my speed-dating event, I'm glad I went."I mean, I don't blame them, but it's not like I had a choice," I continued thinking to myself while mindlessly nodding along to what my fifth date was saying. Once everyone had registered, our organizer separated us into our respective groups. Whereas I tried to look as though I had just gotten off my fancy job as a writer, a majority of the men looked as though they had just left their shift at Aeropostale. Why were they dressed like that dude from high school who always tries to sell you knives when you run into him every trip back home?"The online 'bottoms' sign-up sheet was all filled up! If I wanted to sail with the boys on this gay Noah's ark, I had to maybe fib to myself a little." And look where that got me. If you learn anything from me at all, it's that you should always dress how you want to feel, not how you actually feel.
By the end of the night, I had met about 16 different men, and I can tell you that the look of disappointment that flashed on their faces upon seeing me never got old.