Match.com

So, I believe it was early April, my friend Melissa (aka Biscuits), remembered that she went to high school with a homo, who, like me, had moved to NYC. She wanted to introduce us because she knew that I needed some gay friends in NYC. The only problem, Biscuits informed me, was that she had never really spoken to the aforementioned homo. They were friends on Facebook, and she totally stalked him on there – you know, the real reason most people use Facebook – for stalking. Well, Biscuits knew I was having a hard time meeting gays, so she bit the bullet and messaged Ted. Being a fan of the stalk himself, Ted appreciated her reaching out. To make a long story short, we decided to meet. Turns out, this kid lives on my block – convenient right?

Well, we make plans to meet up at a gay bar in the area for a drink. Now, maybe this is one of the reasons I don’t have many gay friends, or maybe it is because I am the eternal hopeless romantic, but I always think that anyone I am meeting up with has the potential of being the man who sweeps me off my feet.

I meet up with Ted, and he is a giant – seriously, like 6’5”. Now, I am no shrimp, but standing next to him in all my 5’10” glory, well, I felt like I was part of the Munchkin Guild. We had a few drinks, and it turns out he is a pretty good guy, even though from now on, I would only like to hang out with him if we are sitting down.

Well, you might be wondering why this post is called Match.com, and I am getting to that, but I just needed to give some background. Ted and I decided to meet up a week or so later to go out for the night. I invited my friend Damon, who I met earlier in my tenure in NYC (recall a boy ‘breaking up’ with me at Arriba Arriba anyone?). We all go to Ted’s for cocktails before heading down to the West Village to go out. Well, the second we walk into the bar, Ted and his crew disperse. They all start doing their own thing, and it kind of became frustrating. A few vodka waters later, and realizing the fact that no one was hitting on me, or giving me the time of day (or rather, night) in general, I decided it was time to leave.

Damon and I cabbed it to this miserable dance club where I tried to order a drink with a $20 bill that had somehow ripped in half – turns out, bartenders do not enjoy 50% of any bill. After realizing that, I offered him in the other half of the $20, to which he declined, and then dumped out my innocent vodka water. Well, no one treats my boyfriend vodka that way, so I decided that I needed to go home. I was upset that no one had hit on me, which was starting to become a major theme in my life, and hailed a cab home. Well, at this point, I was in no shape to remember much, and the next thing I know I am waking up in my bed. At least I made it home. I grab my computer to check Facebook, and the most odd thing was on my computer. I was logged into Match.com. Turns out, in my drunken state, I signed up for Match!