It’s my life. I don’t have to be rational if I don’t want to.
I banned Brooklyn last Autumn. So many crazy things happened in one month, I was convinced Brooklyn was saying Get out of me, now so I stopped being over there so much.
I banned tequila because everytime I drink it, even just a sip, the night ends with me throwing up everything I’ve ever eaten in life.
I banned Rihanna because she’s shitty.
And now I’m banning gay Indians.
First of all, this is almost an unnecessary ban because there are so few gay Indians. Finding an (out) gay Indian is about like finding a unicorn. Do I see what I think I’m seeing? Should I take a picture and document this moment for evidence? I think it’s really pretty, but clearly that thing has a lot of issues that’ll make it impossible to ride. Let me find a pony instead.
Still, I find myself testing those waters more often than statistically likely and I need to remind myself to stop going in that wading pool, so I’m instituting a ban. Let’s have a brief overview of my two Almost Flings this past year before we get into what happened last week.
Last summer while I was on vacation, I met Alex on a flight. We were going to the same place, but he was returning home while I was flying in to visit family. Obviously we hit it off. Have you met me? I can make friends with anybody. But he was SO cute. I was in love and planning the wedding before we got to baggage claim and I guess he felt some kind of spark too. He spent the better part of the month showing me his city and taking me on dates. We hung out every other day, complete with Adult Sleepovers, and I tried to not focus on the fact that I’m forever finding guys who like me, but don’t live in NYC. We made plans to keep in touch and see each other every few months or so, but once I got back to Manhattan, he stopped answering my attempts at communication. So I stopped trying. Long distance is rough and I held no pretenses about being able to make a “relationship” work with some guy I dated for a month while on vacation. Still, I thought we’d eventually see each other again if I was back in his city or he came to NYC.
I stopped thinking that once I logged into Grindr one night a couple of months later and he was all of 1,000 feet away from me and didn’t even send me a “what’s up, I’m in town, let’s get a drink” text. Rude.
Keith is why I no longer let my friends set me up on dates.
One of my (straight) Indian friends invited me to a dinner party at his house. I don’t really eat Indian food, so I declined. He talked me into it by saying there was this really hot gay Indian guy at his office and that we’d probably get along great and I should come meet him.
Keith was indeed hot. He was also smart and rich and funny. Unfortunately, he also happened to be a Latent Racist. After he got a couple of bottles of wine in him, he timewarped back to Yo! MTV Raps, coming at me with things like “Yo what’s up my nigga?” He also managed to tell me that I was different from all those other ignorant black people and that he really wanted to hook up with a black guy just to see if we all had big dicks, but maybe not hook up all the way because he doesn’t have sex with black guys.
And now we’re up to last Thursday.
My friend and I went to a straight bar in the neighborhood because gay bars get old and sometimes you don’t feel like hearing Katy Perry warble at you while you sip whiskey. We had been there awhile and my friend was sufficiently drunk so it was time to go home. While I was waiting for him to get back from the bathroom, this really cute Indian guy came up to me and asked, “Hey where did your friend go?”
“He went to the bathroom. We’re about to leave.”
“Noooo! But I didn’t get to buy you a drink!”
“Sorry.” He was really cute, but my friend was drunk, and he didn’t need anymore booze, which is what I told the cute guy.
“But you seem fine. You should put him in a cab and then come back and let me buy you a drink.”
Well. Who am I to say no to free alcohol from a cute guy in a bar? I put my friend in a cab and went back inside the bar to drink (and hopefully flirt) with my new friend, Mike. Flirting turned into making out which turned into taking a cab to his place which turned into being a big ho which I totally needed because I’ve been feeling sad and single and not-cute for a good minute now. He said he couldn’t wait to see me again and told me about a little gallery opening Saturday morning. I had plans with another friend that day (coincidentally enough, a cute Indian guy I never dated) that I couldn’t cancel, but Mike told me we could go early, have a few free mimosas, and get to know each other better.
Sounds good. And sounds like a date, right? I mean, if you pick up a guy in a bar, buy him drinks, take him home with you, and invite him to go with you to a gallery opening a couple of days later, that sounds like a date, no?
I got all cute Saturday morning and put on actual clothes with no holes in them so I could look bougie and put together for Mike and these fancy art peoples. The first hour or so was great…until the buzz from the champagne started to hit and his true colors showed themselves. He had told his roommates about me, and when he was getting ready earlier that morning, they were talking about my blog. More importantly, they were surprised that I was black.
Mike said, “Yeah, they were like ‘OMG Mike you picked up a black guy in a bar??’ Haha!”
I laughed uncomfortably and said, “Oh so you don’t usually date black guys?”
“Oh nooooooo, never. I mean I’ve fooled around with a couple or had black friends with benefits, but I don’t think I could ever seriously date a black guy, like a relationship or long term.”
Y’ALL HE SAID THAT BIG AND BOLD TO MY FACE!
If I had had a glass right then, dude would’ve had a mimosa splashed all up and through his smug, racist grill. Are you forreal? How you just tell somebody that they are good enough to fuck but not good enough to date? I mean, damn, what happened to lying in order to protect someone’s feelings? Honestly, I would’ve preferred he just play the whole “I’m not ready for a relationship card” as opposed to putting his racism all on Front Street like that.
As a result, I get to be irrational because it’s my life. And I will never again seriously entertain the thought of dating an Indian.
Well, unless a really really cute one comes along and proves to me that he’s A) Not racist and B) Likes me enough to actually call me when he’s in town. Which, from my track record, isn’t going to happen so basically I don’t date Indian guys anymore.