Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: The Big Gay Charity Date Auction: Part 1

Read the whole Blind Gayting series here. Scroll down to 8 February and work your way up.

Standard Disclaimer: These stories are all true. The people involved are real people with real feelings. I always try to keep that in mind and treat others as I would like to be treated: with fairness and respect. All views are my own and I acknowledge that this is only my side of the story. I could easily be the star of someone else's trainwreck blind gayting adventures. And finally, all names and some identifying details have been changed to protect the innocence of those involved.



It's always a little bit scary finding yourself faced with the dating pool again. Do you wade in from the shallow end? Do you belly flop off the high dive? I browsed the hot mess that is Craigslist’s personals. I bought a one-year membership with a popular weekly newspaper's online “Love Lab.” I signed up for an Ok Cupid account. And I threw caution to the wind.

Poking around a few different sites on the interweb, I came across a notice for a Big Gay Charity Date Auction. They needed people to volunteer to be auctioned off to the highest bidder for charity. A cancer charity. If you've been following for any length of time, you've probably figured out my feelings towards cancer (Fuck Cancer), so I fired off an email asking for info.

I received a reply a few hours later. The only rules were that you had to be a girl who was into girls, single until the auction and willing to go on a date with whoever bought you. I could do that. One of the two organizers scheduled a phone conference for later in the week and I was committed. I sent some pics and a basic profile and saw it go up on the website. I monitored the site daily to see who my fellow auctionees would be. That’s one great thing about being one of many gay girls in a date auction, your fellow volunteers are just that many more people you might click with. I tried to stomp down the queasy feeling growing in my stomach.

Two weeks before the Big Gay Charity Date Auction there was a dinner meet-and-greet for everyone involved at the organizers' house. One sure way to know it was a lesbian event if there had been any lingering doubts: Dianne and Joan invited their guests to bring their dogs. Lesbians and their love for their dogs are a bigger stereotype than lesbians who drive Subaru Outbacks.

Of course I brought my dog.

I was running a little late, which unfortunately happens frequently when I’m driving to an unfamiliar location, even with my GPS. I pulled onto a quiet little street with older houses set a little farther back from the street. I matched up the house numbers with the ones I had been given, the driveway full of the cars of people who managed to arrive on time, nerves slamming into the pit of my stomach. I parked in front of a neighboring house and exited with my dog and homemade dessert offering (the ever-popular Crack Brownie Cupcakes), watching a couple that looked to be in their late forties proceed up the driveway ahead of me. Dianne, who I recognized from her picture on the website, greeted them at the door and waited for me to make my way up to the house as well, tiny devil dog straining against her leash to greet all the new people.

There were already fifteen or more people inside the house, and two large dogs in the backyard. People were mingling, drinks in hand, talking and laughing, mostly gathered in the living room and kitchen. I follow Dianne through the house to the kitchen and put my dog outside with the others, just in time to grab a drink as Joan announced that the food was ready. I was introduced around and caught very few names. I chatted with a lovely doctor lady who has also brought her dog along. There was a lady who was a co-organizer discussing a rather popular local sex-toy store with the majority of the livingroom. Apparently she also worked for the store and regularly gave demonstration classes. She was very free with discussing toys and products, something that I personally feel is a bit more private, so I migrated back into the kitchen. A boy-girl couple who looked rather young and like a bit of fun arrived and headed for the kitchen, so I struck up a conversation. They gave off a coupley vibe, but apparently she was there as an auctionee and he was a crew volunteer. They were hilariously funny people and we chatted in the kitchen for probably far longer than was polite.

Dogs were let back inside and there was a huge ruckus as they raced around the house after each other. I ended up holding my dog for the rest of the night, with her falling asleep in my arms as I chatted with the older couple who arrived at the house moments before I. One half of the couple was a fellow veteran, and we wound up discussing California’s Prop 8 and the proposed repeal of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. I’m really not big on gay politics (I know. I know) and our conversation ended with me mulling over new information and a new perspective.

I wandered back to the kitchen for another drink and ran into a delightful girl with swirls of pink mixed into her dark hair and some kick-ass tattoos. I’m not sure how long she had been here or how I did not notice her before, but we had a very pleasurable conversation about our backgrounds and families and mutual love of a particular shade of pink. Pink Hair Girl leaves soon after with someone from the living room, late for a show or something.

Suddenly living room group was discussing date packages. I didn't really have a preference, I'm usually game for anything, so I wasn't not assigned a package that night. I heard WNBA game, Mani/Pedi date, white-water-rafting trip and pottery painting dates being tossed around. Someone mentioned our Auction Routines and my attention snapped away from the weight of the dog in my arms. We're supposed to have a routine? Where the eff is this coming from?

The girl half of the fun, young couple, was going to do a Hawaiian dance. An Ellen lookalike offered to hoolahoop to Flo Rida's "Right Round." Others offered up cheesy skits and the nauseated feeling in my stomach grows. I mentally rehashed every Charity Date Auction scene from any movie I'd ever seen and came up with no cheesy skit scenes. These ladies were over-complicating things.

I waited until the topic turned to methods of distinguishing the Auctionees from the guests to approach Joan. "I have no frickin' clue what to do for a skit."

"Don't worry about it," she assured me. "We'll just have you pass out roses or something while we go over your background. You're our Cancer Survivor."

Not completely reassured (because who likes to be the poster girl?) but glad to be in the clear, I tuned back in to the main conversation in time to hear talk of white sashes. Sashes? Good Lord. Is this a frickin' beauty pageant?

My disgust must have shown on my face, because someone turned to me and said, "Oh don't worry Kay. Our butches can wear a white tie or something."

I don't know how my mouth didn't fall open at that. Butch? These people think I'm butch? Sweet baby Jesus. I have got to grow my hair out. That was the night my lovely fauxhawk died and I transitioned into a longer, admittedly Beiber-esque hairstyle. (Hey, I never plan to have short hair again, I wanted to enjoy it at all the stages of grow-out.)

"Important" decisions made, people started talking about watching the Seattle Storm game that was apparently on. I'm really not one for sports, so I took that as my que to bail.


To be continued. The actual Big Gay Charity Date Auction is still coming. Patience. It's a long story.