The Ravenlunatic’s Exploits in Dating: Part 1

“The Miss Lonely-Hearts Rock Climbing Club”

At least once a month someone says to me,  “I have no idea why you’re single.”

I suppose this is better than someone saying,  “Oh…I get why you ‘re single.”

 The truth really isn’t some big mystery.  I was in a relationship when most my friends were sowing their wild oats, then I had a dark period of oh about 10 years, then I went trough a few tragedies, a big move and now here I am–finally the guy that I would want to date but teetering on the age when no one may care anymore.

I actually don’t mind being single but think I may possibly have a few more shots at coupledom before I have to rely on the lustful desires of men with nursing home fetishes.

So I’m giving dating another go.

I’ve gone on several computer dates and even done speed dating where you rotate from table to table meeting guys at five-minute intervals.  Some of those dates fly by quickly.  Others are so awkward you thoroughly convince yourself the timer is broken and want to scream,  “RING!  RING!   FOR LOVE OF GOD RING!!”

This week I went Rock Climbing for Love.

It all began at an event called Jock-A-Thon.    Jock-a-Thon is not as illicit as one might imagine.   A Jock-a-Thon is a mixer held at a bar—this time in the heart of Times Square–with several booths for different gay sports teams you can join.

Just to make this mixer more interesting, you are required to wear tags that list your profession instead of your name.    This is an opportunity to market yourself so you must choose wisely.    PROFESSIONAL BIGFOOT HUNTER is a conversation starter but does it sound like husband material?      WRITER FOR THE NICKLEODEON CARTOON “DOUG” certainly impresses the 20-somethings but that’s like putting a job from over 15 years ago on the top of your resume.     I decided to go with the somewhat vague title EXECUTIVE PRODUCER.

I had attended one of these a few months earlier where I met a real life firefighter—I mean he actually told me he stopped by for a drink after putting out a fire on the Upper West Side.  For a second I thought I might have a chance until I found myself competing with guys wearing tags that read DOCTOR, NUCLEAR PHYSICIST and PERSONAL TRAINER.  Finally I gave up but only after I considered igniting myself on fire in the middle of the bar to get his attention.


“Ummm…Is that a traffic cone you’re holding or are you excited to see me?”

My friend Will is a good wingman for these types of events.  He is younger and attracts a different crowd so we are not in direct competition.   His suitors are up-and-coming paralegals or young government visionaries.  I on the other hand, tend to attract guys with name tags scrawled with the words, UNEMPLOYABLE or DRUG MULE.

But I couldn’t let that get me down.   After all, I was here to join a sports team.

I didn’t even consider signing up for football or baseball as I’d be fated to relive my high school years when team captains hesitated choosing me even when I was the last man standing.

The masculine Rugby players with their orange outfits attracted my attention until Will convinced me that while I was trying to flirt during Rugby rehearsal they could accidentally kill  or maim me

Unknown-1“Hi!  What’s your sign?”

OUnknown “Come here often?”

Wrestling is intriguing but too gay even when not actually labeled as gay.

Unknown-3Need I say more?

Unknown-2I thought this was still illegal

Finally a persuasive lesbian convinced me to join the Rock Climbing Club.  I mean how hard could that be?

And if I fell off a rock at least I’d fall into some handsome man’s arms where we would realize we were soul mates.     Right?  So the decision was made.   Two days later my remarkably romantic life of rock climbing was about to begin!


COMING UP:  Quick and Easy Tips on How to Flirt Wearing an Uncomfortable Harness and Hanging by a Rope Attached to a Lesbian.

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Keith Hoffman lives with his artist husband, dog and two cats in the small town Lambertville, New Jersey 72 miles outside of New York City. He has completed a memoir entitled The Summer My Sister Grew Sideburns.

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