Sunday, August 13th, 2006
A: French-speaking guy
B: Short, bald guy
C: Sports nut guy
D: Graphic designer guy
E: Guy with girlfriend
F: Thai-speaking guy
G: Italian guy
H: European jailbait
I: E.’s girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend
The sports party was my perfect introduction to the concept of a sporting event as reason to throw a party. It was hosted by two gay men who owned their beautiful house, served gourmet food, and cared as much about the game as I did. But since E.’s girlfriend promised to introduce me to some people, I thought a single girl like myself should at least try to meet men when they are all congregated around large TVs. There were several cute guys there, and E.’s girlfriend introduced me to her ex-boyfriend I. He lived up to his reputation ? very European, very handsome. I’m not the only one in her mid-thirties who still looks like she is in her mid-twenties (OK, late-twenties). Although E.’s girlfriend was gamely trying to steer the conversation back to me, it was clear that I. was still in love with her. This was confirmed by the fact that he proceeded to call her every day after the party. His lack of interest didn’t offend me ? I’ve learned to just say ?Next!?
On Wednesday I had another French language dinner, and although the weather was abominable, I promised A., the guy I had gone on a few dates with, that I would be present, so I braved the snow falling that night. Hardly anyone showed up, but A. kindly engaged all in conversation, despite being much smarter and more well-traveled than the others. He insisted on driving me home, and I just couldn’t tell him that I didn’t want to see him anymore. He impresses me, and I don?t meet many people I admire, so I made plans with him for the weekend and will probably do the deed then.
Two nights later, I went with a girlfriend to a local bar ? a state representative was sponsoring an event to meet the young people in his constituency. I thought politics is almost as good as sports for drawing men. Bingo ? it was crawling with them. While we debated how to get the guys sitting across the bar to come over (neither of us had any clue, perhaps this is why we are still single?), some of her friends came by and we began to chat with them. I flirted the best I could, and ended the night feeling as if I made some good impressions. Nothing came of it, but I think I?m finally getting the hang of this. After that, the evening gets a little fuzzy, except for margaritas at a great Mexican place, followed by gin and tonics at a hipster bar. I love politics.
For my third and last date with A., on a Saturday afternoon, we went to Greektown for lunch. In true A. fashion, he made friends with all of the restaurant staff by the time he paid the check. I had to admit I liked him, but could never see myself in bed with him, so I told him as much when he dropped me off. He seemed to understand and took it very well. I hope we can be friends, and I realize if that’s to be then I’m the one who has to make the next move. That night, I had dinner with girlfriends, and we decided to test our flirting skills at a bar afterward. One after another, horrible guys (cheesy, desperate) kept coming over to us, so when the next one showed up by my side, I gave such a scowl that my girlfriends couldn’t stop laughing for 10 minutes. At least my get-away-from-me skills are in good working order. It was H.
I had met H. at my party a few weeks earlier and then gave him my signature tour of the gallery. Pros: Very attractive. Cons: Too young (23), we have nothing to talk about. While I wasn?t sure he was into me before, he squashed any doubt by standing as close to me as humanly possible at the bar without mounting me. He gave me three kisses, up from the usual European two, when I left. At this point in my life, the idea of using him for his body just doesn’t appeal to me. I can’t get it up for someone with whom I have no emotional connection.
Up Next: Mon Dieu! A Frenchman in the house of Frida.