Speed dating

  • I couldn’t sleep last night, because I was over-excited after yesterday’s date. I was absolutely exhausted all day and had to go home for a disco nap this afternoon.
  • I spent my last three euros last night. I was meant to get paid today. I wasn’t. A friend bought me lunch and tried to make me take money for the speed dating. I waved her off, sure I would get paid. I wasn’t.
  • After my disco nap, I spent twenty minutes and used about a litre of hairspray, trying to make my hair stand up. It refused. This kept me late for my bus. I asked another friend to hang around town and wait for my late bus and lend me enough money to get into the speed dating.
  • I had adrenaline pumping through my system, between the nerves of speed dating, the frustration of my hair and my bank account not co-operating and Dublin Bus being stupid. I was reading a text message when I walked straight into a bollard. I was 99% adrenaline at this stage. I borrowed the €20 entry fee, and my friend insisted I take €5 for a drink.
  • The bit about speed dating no one tells you about – the standing around the bar nervously beforehand. Awful. Really awful. If it wasn’t my friend’s €20, I would have left at that stage.
  • Luckily, I brought up the Eurovision Song Contest. That got the conversation going. I love gays.
  • The Eurovision conversation continued to my first “date”, which was with a kindly older man, who hadn’t brought his glasses and so couldn’t read the form that you had to fill in after each date. Pride.
  • I “dated” about five older (over-50) men, and had to justify the fact that my Connor has two n’s to all of them. None of the under-40s cared how I spelled my name. I don’t get old people.
  • One of my first dates was with a chef. From my days as a teenager washing dishes in Paddy Garibaldi’s restaurant, I have had a bit of an anti-chef bias. They all have anger issues. This man was equally gruff. My most definite “no” of the night.
  • Another early date was a man in his 60s. He was married and has two adult kids and he came out eight years ago. His daughter comes over to dye his hair before he goes clubbing and his son updates his Gaydar profile online. He was fascinating.
  • Only one guy made me feel fat. He was very good-looking. He had a look of despair in his eyes as I approached his table and he put down his pen. But as our conversation went on, he sat up. I interested the handsome prick.  I’m actually a very interesting person. I made lots of boys sit up.
  • There was a Brazilian, who couldn’t have been more Brazilian – beautiful, chatty, tactile, in a too tight t-shirt. I imagine his hips don’t lie. We spent most of our time talking about learning English in Dublin.
  • We had a break halfway through, which was odd. I generally feel fat and awkward around other gays. I first went into a gay pub in 1997, and yet in all-gay environments I still feel totally out-of-place. Tonight, for the first time, that wasn’t the case. I felt I had a right to be there. Usually, in a gay pub, or club, or at the many gay film and theatre events I’ve been to, I have a vague feeling that someone is going to tap me on the shoulder and say, “Sorry. You’re not fabulous enough to be a proper gay. Could you please leave?” I didn’t feel that tonight. I was fabulous.
  • I steered the breaktime conversation to Titanic. It went very well. I really do love gays.
  • I “dated” a man who had a stripey navy-blue and white jumper, who shrugged a lot, crossed his legs and pursed his lips. I found it really hard not to laugh when he told me that he loves French culture. He’s like a cartoon Frenchman.
  • I talked to a lovely trainee nurse. We spent a disturbingly long time talking about nappies. He’s worked on a new-borns’ ward and on a geriatric ward, so he knows a lot about nappies. Luckily, I managed to lead the conversation to One Direction (it is Niall from One Direction’s 19th birthday tomorrow). He claims that there is a One Direction shop in Toronto. I now want to be a Canadian like never before. He pretended to be too cool for One Direction, but I could tell he loved talking about them.
  • There was a Mexican post-doctoral student. We had a mind-numbingly boring conversation about academia.
  • I “dated” a lovely man whose job revolves around spreadsheets, and who spends all his free time working in the theatre. He once got drunk with Twink. He’s like a gay royal.
  • My last “date” was with a stunningly beautiful boy, who was dressed as a preppy rugby boy, with a popped collar and everything. Gurgle. Drool. He was lovely. And he found me fascinating. After the bell rang to signal the end of our conversation, he had loads more questions for me.
  • I made one bottle of Corona last over three hours.
  • People were going to go clubbing at the end of the night, but I had no money and had to make the last bus.
  • I ticked about eight names. I would be very surprised if someone didn’t tick me. I’ll hear by Friday.
  • Speed dating is a great way to spend an evening.
  • I kind of want revolving conversation partners for life.
  • Yesterday’s date made me feel sexy. Today made me feel interesting and funny and like I might actually be a “proper gay” at some stage.
  • Life is good.

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2 Responses to Speed dating

  1. Anonymous says:

    Are the bullet points to simulate the feeling of speed dating and constantly moving on to a new topic?Or an accident? Either way, I do feel they fit this post well.Good on you for going speed dating, I loved the cartoon Frenchie and "the handsome prick".I also lolled as you walked into a bollard. For which I apologise.Roll on Friday, and your list of hunks.Peter

  2. The bullet points are deliberate. It isn't that I wanted to create a feeling of speed dating, it's more that I couldn't think of a way of making this post cohesive, so I decided not to bother with cohesion. Roll on Friday indeed! Thanks, Peter.

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