Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: The Big Gay Charity Date Auction: Part 3

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

I have been struggling to write about the night before the Big Gay Charity Date Auction, my first ever Inferno. Mostly because I don't fully remember the night. I wasn't drinking, but the entire night is a glorious swirl of images and incidents, so that's how I shall retell it:

I swung by Lillian's house to kill some time before we headed to the club. I found street parking and called her cell when I reached the front door. She came downstairs and let me in and we took the two flights of carpeted stairs up to her one-bedroom. Lillian's building has a unique smell, always the same, that is an odd mix of flowery, with an underlying tone of musk or cologne, and always with just a hint of an unplaceable ethnic food. It's not a bad smell, it doesn't overpower, but it is a smell that in unmistakably Lillian's building. Once inside her apartment, I kicked off my shoes in the entry, met her black and white cat, Prius, who completely ignored me, and Lillian fretted over what to wear.

I pointed out that wearing flats and her hair back with a bump in it flagged her as a straight girl (true at that time), but since we'd be in a club for who knows how many hours and she might want to dance, she should make sure she was wearing shoes she was comfortable in. I can't remember if she decided on the black peep-toe heels or the silver glittery flats.

We parked in a lot instead of looking for street parking on Capitol Hill, because really? I know I'm a woman who sucks at parallel parking. I don't feel the need to humiliate myself by proving it. When given the option, I will always opt to park in a lot or garage, just to avoid the hell of parallel parking.

Lillian and I walked into Chop Suey approximately 20 minutes after the instruction email said was the start time for Inferno, but we were two of maybe 15 other people there. I will never remember that it's always better to be late to clubs. And then to add another half an hour to whatever that time is that is deemed late.

Lillian parked at a table with our drinks, I checked in with the Auction organizers to see what exactly I needed to be doing tonight. We were here to promote the Big Gay Charity Date Auction to take place the next night, but apparently the only thing the Auctionees needed to do was parade across the stage later in the evening to drum up interest. There were a grand total of ten of us at this point with our profiles on the website, but I had no idea how many other people to expect at Inferno.

Lillian and I stood at our table and watched people come in, chatting about her family's visit and our respective weeks. More people showed up and I found the Seattle Lesbian crowd to be an interesting mix, and far different that Sacramento's Lesbians. There was flannel. There were hiking boots. There were mullets.

There were also perfectly normal-looking people, but I was rather distracted and disturbed by the mullets. I texted people. I texted many, many people. Lillian and I laughed over the replies and tried to stop staring at the mullets.



We went to the dance floor once it filled up a bit more. There was a DJ and I cannot remember what was played, but I'm sure all of the songs featured on this lovely mashup of '09's pop were played. I remember Lillian busting out some moves from Britney's "Circus" video when the song came on.

When signaled, I followed Dianne, Joan and some strangers to the hallway that led to the place where all the magic and mystery happen: the back room. The green room. The prep room. Whatever you want to call it, there was a TV on a stand with a ton of VHS movies, with some throwback family-friendly 90s flick playing when we walked in. I laughed and made small talk with one of my fellow Auctionees. I want to say there were only three or four of us there, but I really can't remember.

I was ridiculously nervous and considered bolting from the room no less than ten times. I hate crowds. I hate public speaking. I hate being in front of people and having attention called to me in any way. I was way, way too sober for this, and no amount of positive self-talk about how this was an exciting new experience was going to make the sick feeling in my stomach any better.

We moved through some door and onto a hidden area of the stage. I wanted to throw up. The music was cut and Joan had a mic. She was cheerily telling the crowd about the next night's Big Gay Charity Date Auction and telling them about the charity and how much fun it would all be. My fellow Auctionees were called by name to go stand on the stage. I don't remember hearing my name, but I remember the horrible slow-motion walk from the safety of the darkened backstage into the ridiculously bright light. I couldn't see anything. I could hear the crowd give their polite cheer for each of us. I took my place next to the other vict-Auctionees, and shyly waved to the crowd.

Don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, don't puke, don't puke running through my head the entire time I stood there until we were finally, mercifully allowed to leave the stage. I'm sure I was only on the stage in the crowd's view for seconds, maybe a minute. Two tops. But it felt like a horrible, never-ending eternity. I have no desire at all for the spotlight, and while I adore live music, I never want to trade places with the person on that stage. It is terrifying to have all eyes on you, even if you can't see those eyes.

I slunk back into the safety of the darkened hallway, through the doorway and made my way back to Lillian, trying to smile politely at the strangers I passed and squish down the panicked urge to flee. We stuck around for maybe another hour, dancing and laughing with some of the other Auctionees.

We were almost back to Lillian's when she realized she didn't have her debit card. Now it was her turn to panick, realizing she must have left it at the bar, and Lillian decided she'd hop a bus when I dropped her off and go back and get it. This was an utterly ridiculous idea and I told her so. There was still at least an hour until the end of the event, I had no problem driving back. This girl was silly and it made me question just what sort of people she normally hung out with. It took next to no time to head back to the club, I parked in the same spot in the lot we had vacated (but didn't pay again, shhh!) and we ran back inside to fetch the missing card.

Once it was safely in her pocket, we again set out for Lillian's. It was growing late and I still had an hour-plus drive to my own bed, so I dropped Lillian at the front door of her building, promised to meet up again soon, and once she was safely inside, set my GPS for home.

Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: Know Your Baggage and Be Yourself

(I love music. When I spend too long without it my life goes wonky. I've just fallen in love with a pop-rock-grunge band with pretty, pretty accents called Mechanical Smile. You should give their song Take Me To The Other Side a listen and vote for it so they win Redbull's little challenge.)

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

To the Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures:

I've come across a lot of articles lately about "celebrities" (let's not start the debate about what qualifies someone as a celebrity today) saying they don't think they're pretty. And then people tear them to shreds in the comments or even the article itself.

But I totally get it. I am becoming more and more anti-label as a whole as I spend more time on this earth. I'm not particularly comfortable with undeserved complements. I don't have really any choice over the face I wear around every day, I didn't pick my name, and my voice is the one that comes out when I speak. I look in the mirror and yeah, I'm cute. I've got interesting eyes. I've usually got a cocky smirk on my face and something interesting going on with my eyebrows.

But I'm also sarcastic. A bit of a smart-ass. I'm quick with a come-back. I try to be informed about a wide range of topics and things that interest me, but I recognize that there are millions of things that I don't know anything about. I know that my taste in clothing and sneakers and music and movies and my sense of humor aren't always shared by everyone else, and I try to gauge if I've anything in common with my conversational partner so that I'm not blathering on like some completely self-absorbed douche or sitting in awkward silence. I try to stay away from the 3 conversational no-no's at all times: Religion, Politics and Hunting, because I enjoy getting to know people via conversations, not debates.

But all of that is MY baggage. They're my issues to work through, not something to expect other people to pick up on and be aware of. And above all, I'm almost painfully polite. I will never tell someone to please shut up, stop saying that thing they're saying, that they're making a complete horse's ass of themselves.

That said, I'm not comfortable with people I don't know (or barely know) who hand out superfluous complements in an unending stream. Who assign intimate, pet names upon first or second meeting. Don't call me Beautiful like it's my name when we just met 20 minutes ago. Don't have a glasses fetish (or at least keep it to yourself the first couple of meets, like everyone else). Don't be overly touchy when I'm not drunk and I have no personal relationship with you that lets you in my bubble. In fact, assume that everyone has a bubble and that you should respect it until you are invited into it.

People: BE YOURSELF. I know everyone gets nervous, or tries to hide up their unsavory quirks, but for fuck's sake! Shut your mouth for 5 seconds and pick up on what the other person's not saying. If they're tense or relaxed. If they're focusing on you or looking at anything but. If you're boring them out of their mind or making them so uncomfortable that they're squirming in their seat every time you open your mouth.

If you choose a first date/brand new relationship to start introducing yourself by a new name, how about don't meet up for a first date at a place that everyone knows your actual/common name. Because when you go to the restroom (and you will at least once), your friends or regular bartender are going to attempt to put your date at ease. And then that date will say something about what a funny person you are. And they'll use your name. And the friendly bartender will look at them like they're on crack, because apparently NO ONE FUCKING CALLS YOU THAT NAME OR ANYTHING CLOSE TO IT.

*Clears throat* But I digress, be yourself. You're pretty cool. There's a reason this person though you were pretty cool. Don't suddenly get so nervous that all of the things that make you awesome and uniquely you fly out the window. Just take a deep breath in, let all the retarded rules and advice your friends have given you out, and smile. Say hello. Repeat as many times as necessary.

Will you look a bit peculiar smiling and saying "Hi" again every 5 minutes? Yes. But hopefully they'll find it endearing and you'll still be better off than if you're rambling on like a jackass, playing some stupid mind-games or working The Rules.

Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: Conversation Starters

Fuck it. I am wiped out. I blame the herpes. Chew on this.
Big Gay Charity Date Auction update postponed another day.



Anyone who's gone on a date, gone on a new friend date or been stuck talking to someone they're related to/don't know has experienced that awkward lull where you run out of small talk. If you don't have something to drink and the other person is dull, this lull can drag on for an eternity. Here are some of my favorite tried and true Conversation Starters: (Bonus: As long as your conversation partner was not born under a rock, these are quirky enough to launch an entire new conversation instead of just sounding like the Awkward Pause Busters that they are):

-Zombie Apocalypse: Plan? Origin of the outbreak? % Seriousness?
-Where is your current BFF? How long have you been Besties?
-Tattoos or Piercings?
-Favorite color? Least favorite color?
-Santa Clause-real or not? Age you quit believing in the jolly fat man?
-Pirates or Ninjas?
-Mustache or Ugly Sweater Party? (Which have you attended/Which is more lame?)
-Hipsters
-Least grown-up item you own
-Smart phones, ipad/tablet or laptops?
-City, country or burbs?
-Camping or hoteling?
-What sports do you follow/play/loathe?


If you can't muddle through a polite amount of time with this list, there is no hope. Fake food poisoning and go home. Remember to place an X in front of their name in your phone so that even drunk you knows not to answer or drunk dial/text. (I don't delete numbers because that leaves you open to answering an unknown number and then you're stuck talking to someone you'd really rather not talk to.)

I go through the awkward so you don't have to. You're welcome.

Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: Lillian and the Big Gay Charity Date Auction Part 2

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.

I know you're expecting part two of the Big Gay Charity Date Auction. And it is. Sort of. But here's where things get a bit foggy. Because while I was signed up for the Auction, I was still signed up on other sites and looking for new friends. I was in a new state and while I thoroughly enjoy my solitude, it's nice to have people to call when you want to go out.

Lillian was the first person I met up with from the interweb and I was hers. Goodness, we're all about firsts here lately, aren't we? An East Coaster who had moved to Seattle for work, Lillian had identified as straight all her life, though she "Was physical with a girl once and really liked it." That really should have been the first red flag.

I'm not really big on sports. I can accurately figure out what sport a team is associated with maybe 50% of the time. I bounced around the usual sports and activities growing up: a year of ballet in Kindergarden, basketball from 2nd-9th grades, a year each of t-ball and softball. I just wasn't interested. Or talented. I still have my library card number memorized, knew how many books you were allowed to check out at one time at the school and public library and always completed my summer reading list early. I grew up with both an older and younger brother, so I can build a fire, target practice (with guns), play a game of HORSE and swing a hammer well enough to pass as one of the guys, but I'd rather paint my nails or grab a coffee and chat with the girls.

Lillian, on the other hand, "Loved the Big 10" and was "A pretty big college football fan who salivated at the thought that it started in only a month." (Second red flag, if anyone's keeping track.) I watched a Penn State game with her once. Once was enough. She wasn't messing around about being a fan. I got yelled at for trying to chat while they were playing. Which is not to say that Lillian cannot out-girl me. Not at all. She just happens to take her sports very seriously, whereas I don't take many things seriously at all.

We shot emails back and forth for a week and a half and then met up one Wednesday afternoon at a coffee house right across the street from Green Lake (approximately a week and a half pre-Auction). Lillian definitely read as a straight girl: flats, hair bump with her just-past-shoulder-length brown hair, glittery purse. Nothing at all wrong with that, just one of the things you pick up on. I, on the other hand, was wearing Adidas Superstars, had a faux hawk and was probably wearing a polo. No mistaking I was gay.

Lillian is one of those environment-conscious city dwellers who takes the bus or walks most places, though I was not aware of that while waiting at the coffee shop. I arrived several minutes early, located a parking spot and grabbed a chai tea, then grabbed a table out front to wait, checking my phone for the time and messages. I was a nervous wreck and kept texting a couple of friends, convinced as the time crawled on that I was being stood up.

Then Lillian rounded the corner and smiled with a little wave and I was a whole new kind of nervous. How do you greet new people in a casual environment? Shaking hands seems too business. No way will I fist-bump, that'd make me seem like a huge tool. Do I do the ASL wave?

My train of thought was cut off as Lillian approached, arms outstretched with a smile. "Kay. Hi! I'm sorry I'm late, the buses can run a little behind at this time of day."

Worries of brush-offs averted, I awkwardly stepped into the hug, counted my customary 1-2-3 followed by a tap-out back pat and stepped back. I hate hugging strangers. It makes me feel so vulnerable. "Hi Lillian! Coffee? Wait, you said you like tea, right?"

Lillian smiled again, affirmed that she liked tea and we both turned towards the coffee shop. Which was now closed. "Oh. Don't worry, there's another shop right down the street that I like."

We chatted about her day at work and the drive as we walked a block down the street. Seattle may be known for Starbucks and Seattle's Best Coffee, but it actually has far more independent coffee shops than franchises. And depending on the neighborhood, yes, there really is a coffee shop on every block.

Lillian was easy to talk to and we wandered around Green Lake for over an hour, just getting to know each other and people watching. It started getting a little darker, a little more chilly and we decided to wrap it up. Upon learning that Lillian planned to catch another bus home I offered to give her a lift.

I have no problem giving someone a lift, but I'm always cautious. I personally wouldn't want someone I just met knowing where I live. You don't know if they're a psycho yet. But Lillian did not seem to share my paranoia, and after assuring her that I really didn't mind, we walked to my vehicle and she directed me to her building.

One assumes that everyone can give directions, but few do it well. When you're in a city, especially when there's evening traffic, it's nice to know which lane you need to be in. It's even nicer to know how soon you need to get into that lane, how many lights until you need to turn, things like that. Lillian gave excellent directions. A very minor detail in the grand scheme of things, but definitely something I appreciated. I dropped her at the front door of her building, we both promised to meet up again soon, and I then watched to make sure she got safely inside before turning around.

I don't pretend to know how the dating (or friend dating) game works, but I feel it's polite to follow up the event with a text or email thanking the other person for an enjoyable activity the day/evening of the event. She replied in a similar fashion, insisted I message when I was home safely (which of course I did) and then the waiting begins. I had sent the last email, so the next move was hers.

Thankfully Lillian didn't make me wait long. She sent an email the next day while at work, saying I passed the test and now got her official email address.

When meeting strangers online, many people use an email address that is not their main address, which makes perfect sense. If you find out someone's a psycho, you don't want them to be able to find and stalk/harass you on social media sites because they were able to do a Google search of your email address. Temporary email addresses (that expire and disappear after a specified time) are one option. A little extreme perhaps. I feel it's easier to just set up a free email account via MSN, Yahoo or Gmail that you only give out to potential suitors. You can easily set them up to forward to your primary email account so you don't have to remember to check that account every day. There's even an app now that will generate legitimate phone numbers that forward to your actual number so the person you're texting/calling doesn't know your real number. You can click a button and generate a new number as often as you need. Oh, technology, what will you think up next?

Lillian's family was flying in from the East Coast for a visit, so she wasn't free to meet up again until the night before the auction. Auctionees were strongly encouraged to attend at least one promotional event to try to maximize attendance at the Big Gay Charity Date Auction and I was scheduled to go to a women-only dance night called Inferno at the Seattle club Chop Suey. Seattle's clubs are as eclectic and diverse as the residents of Seattle. Chop Suey hosts all sorts of events, from rock, electronic, indie and hip hop, to alt-country, DJ and even comedy shows. It's on the main drag (Pike/Pine) in the Capitol Hill neighborhood (the art/music/gay/nightlife/entertainment district), so the typical crowd for a given event is anyone's guess.

Upon hearing that I would be attending Inferno (my first), Lillian was game to tag along and check it out with me.

To Be Continued.

Not Quite but Related to Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: First Loves

I'm really struggling with the next scene in the Big Gay Charity Date Auction. And then I heard this song and my mind was off and running on a different tangent. I am completely in love with Gardening, Not Architecture. You should be too. The Florida Sessions (Demos) 021312: My First Love


Longtime readers might remember MarkyMark. MarkyMark was my first love. Perhaps not my first crush, but certainly the first person I ever loved more than myself. The first person I would do anything for. The first person I dreamed of a Happily Ever After with.

Perhaps we were doomed from the start. We were so incredibly young, so incredibly naive. We met first quarter, freshman year in college. We were both freshly 18. We had Calculus and Sociology together. I'll admit I was eyeing MarkyMark in Calc class. When I walked into Sociology and saw her again, you can bet I grabbed a seat nearby. MarkyMark quickly became my best friend. MarkyMark was my first kiss. My first relationship. My first everything really. I really thought we could conquer anything, that we'd always be together. I was so young.

I put a serious dent in MarkyMark's heart when I ran off to join the Air Force. Long distance relationships suck. But we made it work. We did it for four long years until we just couldn't anymore. We probably held on too long. I will always love MarkyMark, but I don't think we should ever date again. We've even discussed it, neither of us desiring that sort of relationship. We would have ended up holding each other back from what we really wanted to accomplish in life. And we make much better friends. I'm so glad I can still count MarkyMark as one of my closest, dearest, oldest friends.

Do I regret some of the things I said? Absolutely. Do I regret some of my behaviors? Of course. I was so young. I never meant to hurt MarkyMark. But I don't regret my first love or anything I learned from it.

I <3 you MarkyMark. Happy Valentine's Day.

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.

Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures: My List of Demands

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

I have amazing friends. These amazing friends give me advice, because that's what friends do. Here's a snippet of a conversation I had with M, discussing me reevaluating my life post-move (fair warning friendo's, I write down many of the things that you say because my brain is dysfunctional. If I don't go through the physical act of writing something out, it's probably not going to stick in my brain. Plus I like to be able to throw your words back at you):

M: And what do your new eyes see in me?
K: I see that you are a very dear friend with sometimes ridiculous advice.
M: Ridiculous advice?! Ha!
K: You told me to be a slore.
M: And you should be. But not with scary people.
K: Lol. Everyone's scary. I'm still considering it.
M: Be a picky slore!

There are several reasons that I don't think being a slore would work out for me. First, I'm not big on touching. I have a bubble. Once I've gotten to know someone and trust is established, the bubble disappears. But as a good child of the 80s, I was raised to believe in "Stranger Danger." I don't like people who crowd in to your space while talking to you, and I don't like people who feel that it is necessary to establish and maintain physical contact while talking to you. Second, I have a system to evaluate what percentage of their brain people use. If you're meeting someone online, spelling and grammar should probably not be overlooked. You're trying to convince someone that they should throw caution to the wind and do the no-pants-dance with you. Is it really not worth the seconds it takes to run your paragraph through a word editor of some sort? Use Google Chrome. Something that shows you an angry, squiggly red line when you fuck up.

And if that is too much for you, try this handy little chart. I'd really prefer someone with a sense of humor, but I suppose it's not a deal breaker.

That's it. Those are my requirements. And #1 doesn't even apply until I actually meet them face-to-face. I don't have height requirements. I don't have a preference regarding eye color, hair color, race, religion or politics. In fact, I don't even want to hear about their religion or politics are for at least the first month.

You would be shocked by how many people cannot pass #2. Or maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you know just how many stupid people there are on this planet, despite the widespread availability of dictionaries and apps and the big fat interweb full of spell-checking ability. I even crate the Grammar Nazi and refrain from letting the occasional mixing up of they're/there/their poke it like a stick to a caged bear. But when people cannot be bothered to take the extra half-second to type "you" instead of "u" and "are" instead of "r" I get all twitchy and start frothing at the mouth and I have to try very hard to hit "delete" instead of going off on a long-winded rant about how the public school system has obviously failed them. If you happen to be a person who texts using those characters in place of words, I give a first warning. If it happens a second time, I respond that I will not acknowledge the message unless they fix it with proper English. A third time and we won't be conversing via text anymore. I refuse to allow the advance of technology, something that is a wonderful tool, to result in the bastardization of the English language.


Recap: Respect the bubble. Know how to type. Don't push your religion/political agenda. Let the sloring begin.

The Dawn of a New Era

I'm not going to say I'm back, because only time will show if that's really the case or not. But I have promised to update more regularly. Since I'm currently updating approximately once a year, I don't see that being a tough goal to accomplish. I'm 5 days into a very lovely case of the Shingles, which have started to appear in visible places. I'm not leaving the house while I look like a monster/plague victim/freak show, so I can't use the excuse that I'm too busy.

I'm marathoning Parks and Recreation (which is hilarious, how I missed out on this show for so long I don't know) while Lolo is sitting on my bed growling out the window at the breeze. Or maybe she's growling because it sounds like one of the neighbors is reenacting a war zone down the street. Is it an airsoft gun battle? Is one of the neighbors gunning down everyone in sight? Are they using some sort of garage tool that I'm completely unfamiliar with? The world may never know.

I've been talked into writing about my trainwreck of a dating life, which we shall refer to as Kay's Blind Gayting (mis)Adventures. Unfamiliar with the term? A blind date is someone you meet for the first time when you have a date with them. Gayting is either used to define "When 2 people of the opposite sex (one of which is gay) are best friends and/or hang out on a regular basis" or "When two men go on a date." I don't see why gay boys get to have all the fun with this word, so I am commandeering it for my own use.

I would like to be clear that I am perfectly content on my own, that I do not need a relationship or anyone else to make me happy. I rock all by myself. But sometimes I get a little curious about what's out there, what the dating world has to offer. I moved back to Cali a few months ago and my best friends are all 2+ states away, so sometimes I do get a little lonely and want someone to go out with. Mostly I've been looking for new friends, but being a girl who likes other girls, the door is always open for it to be more than a friend date. Which can get confusing. It becomes a game where what is not said matters just as much as what is said. Subtext is infinitely important. Or maybe it's just me. I freely admit that I question everything. I often have to ask for clarification, not because I don't understand a person's meaning, but because I can see several different meanings and I want to be clear which one they intended to express.

I have not been in a relationship, serious or otherwise, for 3 years. I'm ok with that. I'm no slore, I don't sleep around and I have standards.


So before I jump into this let's have a 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.