If you're wondering why my posts are suffering from an acute case of anorexia, it is because this week I have been suffering from a major bout of Bloganoia. This is a new condition that is well documented apparently, whereby you bitch and moan and assassinate various characters, then realise that you are totally shitting where you are eating and take all the best bits out of your recent posts. However, I don't really want to write positive, mundane stories about Shire life because, lets face it, that's as dull as fuck. Therefore I have decided to go forth and be a little more pleasant than I am cynical... for as long as I can.
With this in mind, I must touch lightly upon my first night at the gay bar - not that it was bad at all, in fact quite the opposite. First of all, it isn't a bar, more of a club.... in that it has a dance floor, and the clientele like nothing more than botching the steps to the Gangnam Style over and over. Like the punch at some suburban linedancing class' christmas party had been spiked with rohipnol. And, unfortunately, I couldn't pass myself off as the elusive, sexy new barman because every single person who I have been flirting with on Grindr must have turned up that night.
Oh yes: Grindr. The iphone app that has now become my primary social networking tool.
What can I tell you about Grindr if you're not familiar with its work?
Well its been making gay, desperate men all over the globe feel inadequate for over three years now. Basically you take a picture of yourself looking sexy and nonchalant; like you do this kind of pose everyday (this shall henceforth be known as the bait). You are then presented with a sort of sliding puzzle map of pictures of other gay men doing exactly the same thing (this shall henceforth be known as the lake). Each face is lined up in the order of distance they are away from you, NOT in order of attractiveness (because that wouldn't be fair). And to be honest, if they haven't taken a picture of their face, then its probably not worth looking at. BELIEVE me.
You can then see whether there is a fellow brother within your locality and instantly message them if you want to meet up. The idea, I guess, is so that we never need come in contact with another straight person ever again; that we can march from spot, to spot, to spot without ever having to look up.
Of course, with this instant flirting (the likes of which you would never do in the real world) comes the possibility of multiple cases of crippling rejection. Especially when you swallowed your pride and punched well below your weight to message poor Joe83. Only because he's just three feet away and online and you're on your own with an unopened bottle of Pinot.
The messages also have code. For instance: "What are you looking for?" is generally a cut to the chase from someone who is looking for casual sex. I'm always tempted to respond with: "What I'm really looking for is a Morphy Richards Slow Cooker in mauve. Any ideas?"
In London, Grindr is ridiculous. You walk around with it continuously on. It bleeps at you through your trouser pocket: telling you that even the guy pissing in the bushes outside the front of your house is a fellow homosexual.
In the Shire it is totally necessary because, unless we all get electronically tagged, you'd never know where your next orgasm was coming from.
One example of it working to my advantage was when I found out the hot guy in the queue at the Post Office collection depo, who caught my eye a few times, WAS in fact a brother. Only trouble was, I didn't find out until I got home and by then he was 5 km away according to Grindr. If only I'd acted upon instinct and sparked up a Royal Mail orientated conversation.
"What are you in for? Mine was too big for the slot..."
I can understand the appeal of a devise that enables you to get your jollies without ever having to dismount Shanks' Pony but me? I'm just after mates at this point. Heaven knows, I've spent so much time on my own whilst unemployed; I've given both my shadow AND my reflection alternative names. I also couldn't just turn up at someones house for sex - I'm not spontaneous enough.
I'd feel like I had to take some sort of welcome gift, or through a few essential cosmetics into a Waitrose bag. Anyway, I simply can't stay anywhere overnight without some dental floss and a hefty splodge of cooling peppermint foot balm. And I wouldn't want to seem presumptuous by pulling these items out of my man bag before asking whether I can sleep next to the wall.
Conversely, I could never have anyone round here for something similar. I'd have to crack open a new Glade plug in (the special occasion one that I've been saving). I'd also be scratting around in the airing cupboard for the one spare towel that hasn't turned to sand paper thanks to the hard water of East London.
I'd be frantically texting: "Actually, I know I said immediate, but can you leave it an hour or so whilst I pop into town. Oh BTW: Are you a Hob Nob or an Abbey Crunch kind of guy?"
By the time I'd got home and laid out a half crescent of biscuits on one of my impressive "best plates", the moment of impulsive lust would have definitely gone. I've have to sit down with an echinacea tea and an episode of Judge Judy.
And imagine the horror as he unearthed all of my little bedroom secrets. The fact that I have separate day to night time pants in my underwear draw. And he would be sure to come across the old moisturiser dispenser that I've decanted all the free Freedom lube sachets into to save me buying a £20 bottle.
So, yes I did see about four or five Grindr pals in there and OF COURSE I couldn't say hello to them because that would have broken the illusion of mystery (my bait looks quite butch).
I went around the whole evening trying to mimic the same face that I was pulling in the photo so I didn't let them down. Needless to say that I had a great night. Lovely staff, decent music. However, I did see eight or so gold ties hanging over the door: looking set out but forgotten. I'm hoping this is NOT a coincidence...
And after all that moaning.... I scored myself a date (he shall be henceforth known as the catch).
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