Touchdown?

Sunday November 8th

Numbers Exchanged: 0 Boyfriends: Still None.

And on the 7th day, he rested. That may have been fine and well for God, but he was not a single woman on a 48 day turn around - or was he/she? Whether or not God is/was/could be a tranny isn't what's important here because the clock is ticking. Yes, look out world, I'm really going to do this - one sweaty stranger at a time; and so I didn't take Sunday Funday and instead went where no woman has ever willingly gone before: Giants Stadium.

Where better to meet a man than in a place that holds 20,000 of them? It's like a Costco for testosterone, but instead of miniature food items at the end of every isle, this Costco seems to just sell one: beer. I don't know what made me think that combining two things I dislike (New Jersey, and men in spandex) would somehow lead to anything other than my being in a place I dislike (New Jersey) watching things I don't care about (men in spandex). In this case, two negatives do not make a positive. I will say however that I got a very nice hat,... now if the Giants could get their shit together, maybe I wouldn't be harassed when I try to wear it. Seriously, even my very gay friend stopped me from putting it on; "however bad your hair may be - that hat right now is worse" - he was probably simply referring to the blaring royal blue but when even the gays are making fun of you for sucking,.... thats the pot calling the kettle black, no?

But off to the Garden state I went, in hopes of a touchdown - some for Big Blue, at least one for me. First Stop? "Tailgating" aka drinking coors light out of a trunk - know how I'll find the perfect mate? Scan the scene for the one man who looks miserable, he and I will get along well. It wasn't until I arrived at the event space (parking lot B) that I realized my view of tailgating may have been biased. What I thought would be a styrofoam cooler and ice, was a 60 person soiree, with tent, complete with chicken wings, actual liquor, and london broil, for a wall street firm of one of my dads friends. Clearly bail out money is going to the right place, but as the lamb chops were really good - I'm not complaining. The men were cute, but the men were married. For the one's that weren't? Let's just say slim pickings, and when there is a stadium full of potential suiters, I'm not just going to settle for some suit. There was one cute, young guy but of course he was from Atlanta: geographically undesirable, and so I hoofed it to the next geographical location I found undesirable; the stadium.

At the stadium, my seat is adjacent to that of a lone stranger named Nick. Clean cut, introduces himself, flirtatious and dumb as rocks. It wasn't until the fifth time he stood up to yell and start a "yankees" cheer (mind you the World Series was over a week ago) that I noticed the drool. As dumb as he was, he was at least ten times drunker. It was in that moment that I looked around the stadium again, and something became as blindingly clear as the blue of my NY Giants hat - tailgating is not a social event, tailgating is plain and simply to get as drunk as humanly possible so that you can buy as few $9 stadium beers as humanly possible - I missed this memo. This is a major flaw in my plan, major. In an instant, I went from walking into thousands of straight men to choose from to walking into the equivalent of every derelict in the world at what could have very well been 2 in the morning. Where's the choice in that? Which incoherent slob in a jersey for team they don't play for am I going to make nice with while they deafen you with screams of trying to coach the team from the stands. Check please.

A loss for me. A loss for the Giants. A huge loss of respect for literal man kind. Luckily, they were selling beer.