�Hello. City Centre. B speaking.�

The door lady put her finger to her lips, motioning for me to be quiet as she went on with the conversation.

�No, she�s not still down here... Yes, she�s single... Yes, I can pass your phone number on to her...�

Meanwhile, I�m looking at my door lady, giving her the death stare, yet embarrassed that some guy was calling the door lady to hook it up.

She wrote his name and number on a post-it note and told me to call.

I think not, no matter how curious I was. Let�s get this out of the way: If I thought he was cute, I�d probably already know him.

So yesterday I walk in, and the other door lady announces that I have an admirer. Fuck, so now the guy�s being chatty with everyone. She goes on to say that he�s a lawyer, previously engaged but single for about two years, a nice enough guy, blah blah blah. My eyes gloss over because I really just don�t care, and I tell her to be cool and not say stuff about me to this guy. Although flattered that someone is making an attempt to get to know me, I�d rather he go to the source for his information.

I went upstairs to my condo and had just settled onto the couch in my underwear with a jar of olives when my phone rang. Caller ID said it was the front desk.

The door lady was calling to tell me that what�s-his-name was wondering if I�d like to join him for dinner.

Points to the door lady for not giving out my number without asking, but, um... I�m a little thrown.

Why the fuck not? Get this over with. I don�t want the teasing from the door ladies, want this guy to can it, and am admittedly not doing anything until 9 p.m. I could stand to grab a bite, and an hour with someone I don�t know won�t kill me.

Well, people... I�m indeed still alive. But there won�t be a second non-date. No guy-bashing, but I�ll chalk this one up to not being gay-friendly enough. I love my gay men, and I can�t be with someone who isn�t as comfortable with them as I am.�