The Former Traveling Spotlight

The tales of a "30" something gay former stand-up comic living in NYC who is searching for his soul mate or soul...which ever comes first.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

Richy Rich

In my quest to see if money makes the man, I needed to find someone who was wealthy. Of course, my standard of wealthy is probably different than someone else. Wealthy for me is someone that makes more than I do. Currently, NYC teachers make more than me. Obviously, I needed to aim higher. A lot higher.

I wasn't even sure how to find a rich man. Most doctors and lawyers are already taken, I'm not a 22 year old buff rent boy, so my pickings are fairly slim in the rich dating pool. But dear god....this homo wanted to go for a swim.

I met Daddy Warbucks at a theater Charity event, and we seemed to hit it off. We had exchanged numbers and emails and I agreed to meet him for a drink after work. His career is of no importance (mainly because if he reads this, I wish no litigation), but he's on the partner track and very close to making the illusive SEVEN FIGURE SALARY. The man had bucks.

Tell me that doesn't get you all a little hot! This man can pay off a NYC apartment mortgage in about 5 years. Yeah...I'm so turned on.

As I greeted him at the bar, he gave me a kiss. Now gay men kiss hello. We kiss goodbye. We kiss congratulations. I'm surprised we all don't have Mono. But on a first date, a hello kiss does not normally involve tongue. I was a little thrown off, but recovered before I had his hands down my pants. Hello...there are people around! I'd say it was obvious he was into me...or at least he wanted to be.

We sat down and had the usual first date conversations. I bought the drinks, and he suggested we go to a neighborhood favorite for something to eat. We went to Bette. I had the Sweet Pea Soup. A cup of soup, but seeing that I can't eat much, it wasn't that big of a deal. He had a salad, the rack of lamb, a dessert, and split a bottle of wine with me. When the check came, he divided the the check in two, added a whopping 10% tip and told me what my portion of the check was.

Now although I do joke about this, I would prefer to pay my way when I can, but I never asked this man for his share of the drinks from the bar. With my cup of soup only costing $12 (who charges this much for soup anyway?) and my share of that bottle of wine being $20, I would have thought my check would have been $32, plus tax and tip. I was wrong. $68.73 (yes...to the freaking penny). Thankfully I had my visa with me. Hopefully ConEd won't turn off my electric for non payment.

Now I would have called it a night, but he did invite me to see the view from his apartment. A 38th floor apartment. I say floor, as his apartment was the floor of the building. We walked past the doorman, who greeted him by name, got on the elevator, and rode up to his apartment. The entire way up, I had visions of the beautiful view floating in my mind. The elevators opened upon a junkyard.

He may make a lot of money, but he doesn't pay for a cleaning person. Either that, or the maid's body is buried under the rubble of his unwashed dishes of the last six months. He led me down the pathway on his carpet (I swore I saw a roach moving) towards his balcony, and offered me a drink. I asked for a glass of water. He took a dirty glass out of the sink, filled it, and brought it out to me.

Mmmmm....bacteria...tasty. I honestly wondered if he cleaned his teeth more than his apartment. Thankfully I can attest that his hygiene habits are stronger than his apartment cleaning habits.

Tomorrow...the Bullman date.

Patrick - 12:39 PM -

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