“What’s up?” I asked Doo-Wop.

“I can’t believe you brought me here with all these White folks! I thought there’d be at least one other nigga here besides us! I can’t…”

“Ooh, looks like we’ve got one love match going on here!” said one of the hosts.

“We came here together, muthafucka!” Doo-Wop was definitely in classic form.

“Have you been drinking, Doo-Wop?”

“Not yet.” He walked over to the bar and grabbed a gin and tonic.

The hosts announced that we would now be mingling in our own groups to meet more people. Doo-Wop, already thoroughly disgusted with the night’s events, posted up at the bar and chugged back drinks.

I tried to salvage something from my $35 and walked up to a couple of guys to strike up conversation, but they just turned away or looked busy as I approached. I slumped down three stools away from Doo-Wop at the bar. What the fuck was I thinking trying to undertake something like this? Just when I thought all hope was lost, someone walked up to me.

“Hey #7.”

“Howdy. How are you…#11.”

“Guess we were made for each other, huh? Seven…eleven…”

Corny.

“Are you enjoying yourself, #11?”

“Well not until now, sexy.”

“Come again?”

“So tell me, sexy…do you know what they say about White guys?”

“No…tell me.”

He leaned into me and said, “I have a condo near the park…we can go back there and I can show you exactly what they say about White guys.”

I glared at him. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why can’t I?”

I got up and went over to Doo-Wop. “It’s time to go.” By this time, he was sloppy drunk and had begun to make a spectacle of himself. Not cute. We managed to make it out and back to his car, and I drove him home.

During the drive, I couldn’t help but ask myself what went wrong. Was it me? Was it the situation? I started to think of all the dates I had been on, and how they mostly ended up being pure crap. There’s the time I was stranded on Covington Highway, the time I was stranded out on Delk Road, the guy that pulled a knife on me, the ones who explicitly told me at the end of the night “we’re not going to see each other again”…overall, it ain’t been peachy.

I thought about The Ex and The Why?. Two bisexual men who ended up not only being my lovers, but also left me for women. I thought about the good dates I’ve had…there was Indie Rocker with his Toyota Tacoma, Microsoftie from Seattle, Nasty Dancer from that club in San José…and a connection was made. All my good dates and gay experiences have taken place out West. Ain’t that some shit?

Anyway, I dropped Doo-Wop off at home safe and sound and caught the bus back to my apartment. I tried not to make it an evening of regrets. I thought about how after all the shit I’ve been through, I still manage to press on and keep the faith. Why? Beats the hell out of me. Maybe I’m just anticipating the big payoff. What I do know is that I learn more and more about myself every day and I’m to the point now where I don’t really want a boyfriend anymore. I mean, it’d be nice to have someone to date and make out with, but I’m perfectly comfortable being single and self-sufficient.

Days later, I got an e-mail from the Hurrydate hosts about the event. It wasn’t an invitation to become a host, but I appreciated the gesture nonetheless. I didn’t get any matches.

And maybe that was really what I wanted after all.

F I N