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There was a drizzle of uneasy laughter from the men in line. These men weren't the living mannequins you see gliding on the roller skates of their good looks through Chelsea.
It was like a nightmarish game of dodgeball that would air on LOGO.
I was less than halfway through a night of gay speed dating for "bottoms" and "tops" and had already been asked three times if I was in the right group. You're gayer than Judy Garland's Christmas ornaments. " I eventually "lost" my name tag at some point in the night. Far too many of the men, who were essentially about to go on at least 15 first dates, were wearing T-shirts and tank tops.
the anime convention that attracted a sex offender)—but they aren’t completely true, either.
In fact, New York Comic Con (NYCC) and other fan specific spaces also do a tremendous job of inverting many carefully crafted social norms.
(I'd like to go on record and say those men are horrible, and the human equivalent of a parfait.) The men here were normal dudes: mostly over 30, and mostly in custody of faces I almost instantly forgot. Have you ever been at a party and realized, with a cold sweat and a shiver of dread, that you were the smartest one in the room?
It's happened to me once before; I realized that if I was the smartest person in the room, then we were all screwed.