adam4adam, and 1, basketball, boston terrier, dating, different, french bulldog, gay, gay fort lauderdale, humor, john jernigan, kevin mckidd, LGBT, manhunt, Miami, perspective, point of view, Ray Allen, sex, south Florida, Stephen Curry, Steve Kerr, The Daily Home, the professor, tres leches, Winterboro
I would have preferred to have used one of my better basketball pics. I actually had a few good game pics from high school, from my yearbooks, and one really awesome church league shot that I laminated, that made the Talladega Daily Home…but no, all those were lost during one of our evictions…thanks mom!
When I was still living in Pensacola I perused the “dating” websites in Fort Lauderdale and Tampa and Miami, using them to help me decide where I wanted to move. In Fort Lauderdale, I found this one guy *Mark’s * pic and profile on a couple of sights…and he was (and is) adorable…to me anyway. 5’9 dark-blonde/copper red hair, glasses, slightly nerdy in a good way…picture a 50-ish Kevin McKidd with a slightly sharper nose, aww so cute…
When I got to south Florida and settled in, I quite naturally contacted *Mark via the interweb and asked him out on a date…wait, that’s not right. I might have tried to hook up in a moment of weakness, I was lonely okay? but I was ignored.
Four months pass, and I am online doing some educational research and whatnot and I come across his little smiling-face profile again…and he’s online…it’s about 1 a.m. (what can I say, I have a thirst for knowledge).
So we message back and forth and I make my grand exit, leaving him my email address and blog link and telling him I didn’t want to just sleep with him, I wanted a real date, ya heard?
So *Mark never contacts me to take me somewhere nice like Olive Garden or the Red Lobsters. Yesterday I logged into the two “dating” sites where his profile lurks and left this message:
Hey *Mark…I remember checking out your profile when I lived in New Orleans & Pensacola…and I remember messaging with you late night about a month ago, either here or a4a? I just knew you were going to email me and arrange a date, but nothin’ happened…let me give you my info again, see if something jumps off…my email is email@example.com John Jernigan my blog is johnjernigan.wordpress.com – I play ball at Hortt Park, in Shady Banks…I will be there around 11 a.m. tomorrow (Saturday) if you wanted to come check me out, play or be my cheerleader…or if you propose a meet somewhere else I’m up for that as well…holler back
So I get up this morning, take the dogs, walk them around the park, harness them to a tree, and start ballin.’ I am of course looking for Mark everywhere and I’m confident he will be there…and he is. He is sitting with a woman across the park, past the playground, on some benches. Smart move, if he wasn’t going to play ball, bringing a fig bag I’ll call her, a security blanket, is something I might have done myself. Even though my insecurity is screaming at me to put my shirt back on because I’m too fat and pale and old, I persevere, off comes the shirt, and I’m ballin’, the Professor ya heard? ** even though I only look like the Professor when I am about 20 pounds lighter than my current 150**
A group of men have just finished softball practice on the field next to us, there are 3 or 4 tween skate kids wanting to play, so I quickly divide us up and it’s crackin.’ Admittedly I am at my best, uhh I seem to do exceptionally well against inferior competition, but sucks to be them then cause today I’m trying to impress my future husband * Mark. My shot is straight money…Swish Steph Curry…Zing Ray Allen…Pop my ex-bf Steve Kerr. I am watching * Mark out of the corner of my eye the whole time and he’s not being real attentive, keeps talking to that ignorantwoman. I get loud and argue more than I would normally about Kobe’s rapin’ ass and the Lakers with the lone brother on the court, hoping * Mark will wake up and pay attention and notice how masculine and cool his future boyfriend is…but no, *Mark and the Fig go to the water fountain, then turn and geez, they are walking toward the courts. Game time. I run and grab my t-shirt and wipe my face, don’t want a shiny forehead. Wait a minute, * Mark and the Fig are holding hands! WTF!? They are like 50 yards away now…it’s not *Mark, this guy is taller and skinny and maybe 30 years old. I give them a dirty look as they walk past, they are so ignorant.
My picking-up-a-man showoff skills have dissipated. I don’t make another shot, and we soon lose. Dude asked if we wanna run another, but I say No, I’m out, I’m done. I collect my babies and leave. I stop at the Super Saver on Davie and buy a tres leches, and I eat it all as soon as I am on my bed. Well I have my two loyal, constant steady girlfriends anyway…even if they stink a little and need a bath. I curl up with Squeak nestled between my legs and Cricket on my stomach, and we fall asleep together…without *Mark.
*Mark is not his real name*