All work and no play (or tennis) makes Adrian a very unhappy man; apparently so does getting into a heated debate about tax policy with a ‘double queen’ (chocolate and retail) while on a recent date in San Francisco. Unhappy isn’t the right word–I was vexed and and as the night went on, the state of the date grew more ridiculous with ever word that came out of his mouth. It was so entertaining to the point that there were two waiters circling our table, in a posh but near-empty restaurant, hanging off ever sharp part of the war of words that brewed between me and “Kosovo”. Not since this [link] had I encountered such a mess, but the meal was great and gave me much clarity. Whether it’s the little app with the black skull, match.com, POF or any other site, within 30 seconds of the first meeting you know if your pants will hit the floor, period. Clearly what I need is an exit plan when I know when it’s not the case. I could have definitely used those four hours back. Here’s how it went down:
Let’s start with the ‘double queen’ comment first. Though he worked in the Financial District, it’s clear that he was a retail queen – obsessed with fashion, but only fashion (I’ll get to his appearance and view points later) which always leaves me a little empty. A chubby chaser likes heavier set guys and a chocolate queen is into black guys. The funniest joke I ever heard referencing black love obsession was at the Charlie Sheen roast where someone said his liver was so black it fucked two Kardashians (I know, inappropriate). Kosovo wasn’t any ordinary chocolate queen, he also thought he was black and I’ll go as far as saying he actually thought he was Nene Leakes from the Real Housewives of Atlanta. For the record, I have no problem with him having a love for black men, however, it just means its clear that there are two tracks — he either likes all men and has a general interest in me or he’s on the black bicycle and getting to know me, really and truly is and never will be part of the equation. I landed on the latter being the exact truth. Read on.
The First Sight (The Dealbreakers and why this would NEVER work)
I can make fun of myself. Anyone with a bigger strut and mince than I have just isn’t dateable. It plain ass won’t work. Leading up to the date we were texting back and forth for days, building it up for the epic crash landing that would happen 4 hours later. we agreed on Ame Restaurant over A16 since I had never been to the former. I’ll be honest, it’s more than I’m willing to split or cover on a first date, but in my head I said, this is a good sign, “just roll with it”. I was on time with minutes to spare and sat at a table with my back to the window; facing the window would have distracted me. My thoughts going into the date were good. I actually knew my date’s twitter handle and checked him out and drooled over the photos (even paraded the link around to friends and coworkers) — his masculine jaw line, 6’0 tall, some facial hair, piercing eyes all had me thinking I better empty the bank beforehand. He sounded like a man’s man even over texts — clearly you get my genuine excitement and delusional thinking that always surfaces before an online connection becomes real. I thought I had done all my research like an Account Review – looked at the slides, knew the data and was ready to soak up the content.
Kosovo texts me that he’s in the bathroom and will be out soon. Ten minutes pass and I text him to determine if he “needs help” meaning it coyly, but at this point I was anxious. I was close enough to the reservation desk to hear him ask for me; heard his voice — didn’t quite match the image of him in my head. He wasn’t quite Mary Poppins, but “mary” for sure. He turns the corner and there it was. Stomp, stomp, stomp. If Karl Largerfeld could push a baby out of his vagina it would grow up to look like Kosovo. Dressed sharply in a crisp white shirt, thing black tie, thin everything, slicked hair like a wet comb had gone through it on a Josten’s picture day stood, Kosovo as if he was waiting for a flash to go off. His face was shiny, not glowing, but shiny; the same kind of shine that my sister had when she was a baby and got into the Vaseline. The same kind of shine that apparently I get when I have to take my passport photo leading me to cover my face in baby powder (happened twice – 2006 and 2011). Boyfriend was in full force, full mince, and skeletal. I missed the facial hair, but thought hey, this could be fun anyway, it’s just hair.
Initially I was very calm, quiet and we played the “getting to know each other game”. I usually get the career, family, interest stuff out of the way and steer clear of anything like religion or politics. Kosovo is grown, older than my 31 years, but didn’t disclose his real age (the red flags and strikes), shared that he was a child of divorce and recently became estranged from his stepfather and now lives with his grandmother in the East Bay. He shared a “riches to rags” story about growing up rich in Manhattan, all the money he had and the fact that like his mother he felt that that’s how he should live – as a kept man. I completely get the larger sentiment, find the sugarmommy or daddy and live well, however, we were at dinner and as soon as I heard this, another red flag went up — going dutch would be a hard sell as was the case and I’ll get into that later. We all have different paths to adulthood – my issues were clearly post Manhattan; we were both in San Francisco now, about to eat an expensive dinner and my fear was I would be washing plates. Yeah and the grandmother thing didn’t sit well with me either.
Enter Kimora … Exit Any Hope In Hell
“Kimora” is my alter ego, affectionately named after former fashion model turned entrepreneur, Kimora Lee Simmons. On her show she gives it to her staff, her friends, her business partners when they get out of line and you know what, so do I (on occasion). After the exchange on family – Kosovo started to head down the path of topics I tend to stay away from on a first date like political alliances and policy; sexy for some, not for me.
Kosovo starts up on politics and inquires if I am a Republican or Democrat – which I responded “I have yet to fully pick a side with respect to American politics”. Then he went on to say how important it was for a guy that he dates to have a firm political opinion (or really his which is Democrat) and that he consider this given we’re both gay. I mentioned the fact that I am Canadian, consistent voter and my views have changed over time putting me almost right of center on the political spectrum. Then he asked a question about the “rich and poor” – I think he wanted to make a statement about growing wage inequality in the US, but where it landed was a shitfight on tax policy. Bad on him for thinking I wasn’t going to bring my trueself to this date and yes, it was a date and not a game of chess; after you read the summary below, it’ll be clear that “protecting the queen” was far from my agenda. Some soundbytes:
- Thoughts on the less fortunate and taxation: Kosovo believes the poor are in fact “lazy” and the rich are overtaxed. “Why should the rich pay the same tax?
- Thoughts on the right policy: My response was simple – “proportional wage tax with taxes on luxury goods. A mix of tax policies need to be in place to ensure wealth is distributed and the state supports infrastructure and access to programs for all”. He thought I meant that Prada and H&M purchases should be taxed differently, get it? Rich vs. Poor. Umm, right.
- His defense for the rich paying the same tax: “Well the rich do a lot for the poor, there’s no need for the state. Taxation does nothing.” At this point, I let him know I studied Economics and while I lamented tax policy, I knew enough to be able to shoot down a consistent lump sum tax which I called, Robin Hood vs. the method I suggested above. He wanted out of the conversation at this point, and my blood began to boil over. My voice got louder as the conversation continued. I reminded him that people act with self interest and if people were all taxed the same rate, you would ensure at the lower level that people near the lower wage bracket who qualified for assistance would probably pick the assistance.
- Kosovo’s reaction to my outburst: “I have my opinion, you have yours. I didn’t expect you to be so charged [which means he didn’t expect me to have an academic point of view]. Maybe you should have sex and release some of that energy.” He implied he’d be the one to help, to which I responded, “would your grandmother be OK with that?”
- Prior to heading to the bathroom during dinner, Kosovo wants to know “if I plan to check out his ass while en route to the bathroom”. My response: “Maybe you should turn your head 180 degrees while walking and see if I do”
I have to give Kosovo some credit; after a sideways conversation that went on for about an hour, he still thought there was a spark between us. He laboured over his meal and I have to say that was a dealbreaker; I can’t handle a slow-eater. He eventually got the picture and confirmed what I had known within the first 30 seconds: we were splitting the bill. I pulled out my card, he pulled out his and the waitress at Ame came back with two folders and guess what? Kosovo’s ATM card did not work. Rather than retry, I could see him start to turn blue in the face. I opted to take over the bill and he said he’d be willing to walk to the bank to withdraw his half of the meal. We paid, walked out and headed to Chase at Market and Kearney. Another “surprise” – he had only $35 to his name and could only give me $20, just a third of what he owed me for the dinner. I smiled and accepted the $20 and the fact this would be the last time I would see Kosovo. After a handshake the night was over, but not my private hell. I would wake up in the middle of the night with a swollen upper lip courtesy of a food allergy that required me to kiss a bag of ice for a good 4 hours inbetween conference calls.
Thanks for getting to this point and hopefully you had a laugh or two. Still single, still hustling and I hope Kosovo isn’t holding out for date number two.